Having finished with both Funt and Berlaga, whose stories were very informative but hadn’t lead directly to Koreiko, Ostap determined that, in the interests of business, he would make friends with Zosya Sinitsky and clear up a few things about Alexander Ivanovich—well, not as much about him as about his finances—in between polite kisses under a dark acacia tree.
But a lengthy surveillance conducted by the Vice President for Hoofs revealed that there was no love between Zosya and Koreiko, and that the latter, as Shura put it, was just wasting his moves.
“Where there’s no love,” Ostap commented with a sigh, “there’s no talk of money.
Let’s forget about the girl for now.”
And while Koreiko recalled the charlatan in a police cap and his pathetic attempt at third-rate blackmail with a smile, the Branch President was racing all over town in a yellow car, looking for people great and small that the millionaire clerk had long forgotten about. But they remembered him very well.
A few times, Ostap called Moscow and spoke to a businessman he knew, who was an expert on commercial secrets.
The branch had begun receiving letters and telegrams that Ostap quickly separated from the bulk of the mail, which still largely consisted of urgent invitations, requests for horns, and admonishments over the slow rate of hoof collection.
Some of those letters and telegrams went straight into the folder with shoelace straps.
In late July, Ostap set out on a trip to the Caucasus.
Business required that the grand strategist make a personal visit to a small grape-growing republic.
On the day of the President’s departure, the branch was rocked by a scandal.
Panikovsky was issued thirty rubles to purchase a ticket at the port and came back within thirty minutes, drunk, with no ticket and no money left.
He didn’t offer any excuses; he just pulled out his pockets, which made them look as if they belonged on a pool table, and laughed incessantly.
Everything made him laugh, whether it was the captain’s wrath, or Balaganov’s reproachful expression, or the samovar that was entrusted to him, or Funt, who was dozing off at his desk with the panama hat covering his nose.
But when Panikovsky’s eyes fell on the deer antlers—the pride and joy of the office, he cracked up so hard that he fell on the floor and soon fell asleep with a happy smile on his purple lips.
“Now we have all the attributes of a real organization,” said Ostap, “even our own embezzler, who also doubles as the boozer doorman.
The presence of these two characters gives all our undertakings a solid footing.”
While Ostap was away, Fathers Moroszek and Kuszakowski appeared at the bureau several times.
At the sight of the priests, Kozlevich would hide in the farthest corner of the office.
The priests would open the door, peek inside, and quietly call out:
“Pan Kozlewicz!
Pan Kozlewicz!
Do you hear the voice of our Heavenly Father?
Come to your senses, Pan!”
And Father Kuszakowski would point his finger toward the heavens, while Father Moroszek would work his rosary beads.
Then Balaganov would confront the clerics and silently show them his flame-colored fist.
The priests would retreat, casting a few wistful looks at the Antelope.
Ostap returned two weeks later.
The entire staff came to greet him at the port.
From his perch atop the tall black wall of the docking ship, the grand strategist looked at his subordinates with warmth and kindness.
He had a whiff of roasted young lamb and excellent Georgian wine about him.
In addition to the secretary, who had been hired even before Ostap went away, two young men in heavy boots were also waiting at the Chernomorsk branch.
They were agriculture students who had been sent to do internships.
“Oh, great!” said Ostap unenthusiastically.
“The new generation is stepping in.
But here, my dear comrades, you’ll have to work very hard.
I’m sure you know that horns, or pointed projections covered with either fur or hard fibers, represent outgrowths of the skull, and are found primarily in mammals?”
“We know that,” said the students firmly, “we just need to do the internship.”
The way he got rid of the students was complex and rather expensive.
The grand strategist sent them to the steppes of Kalmykia to organize collection outposts.
It cost the Bureau 600 rubles, but there was no other choice: the students would have been in the way of finishing the project, which was moving forward so nicely.
When Panikovsky found out how much was spent on the students, he took Balaganov aside and whispered angrily:
“And me, I don’t get to go on business trips.
I don’t get vacation either.
I need to go to the Yessentuki resort, to take care of my health.
I get no days off and no work clothes.
No, Shura, I don’t like it here.
Actually, I heard the pay at the Hercules is better.
I’m going to go and be a messenger over there.
As God is my witness, I am!”