THE SMOOTH OPERATOR
At half past eleven a young man aged about twenty-eight entered Stargorod from the direction of the village of Chmarovka, to the north-east.
A waif ran along behind him.
"Mister!" cried the boy gaily, "gimme ten kopeks!"
The young man took a warm apple out of his pocket "and handed it to the waif, but the child still kept running behind.
Then the young man stopped and, looking ironically at the boy, said quietly:
"Perhaps you'd also like the key of the apartment where the money is?"
The presumptuous waif then realized the complete futility of his pretensions and dropped behind.
The young man had not told the truth. He had no money, no apartment where it might have been found, and no key with which to open it.
He did not even have a coat.
The young man entered the town in a green suit tailored to fit at the waist and an old woollen scarf wound several times around his powerful neck. On his feet were patent-leather boots with orange-coloured suede uppers.
He had no socks on.
The young man carried an astrolabe.
Approaching the market, he broke into a song: "O, Bayadere, tum-ti-ti, tum-ti-ti."
In the market he found plenty going on.
He squeezed into the line of vendors selling wares spread out on the ground before them, stood the astrolabe in front of him and began shouting:
"Who wants an astrolabe?
Here's an astrolabe going cheap.
Special reduction for delegations and women's work divisions !"
At first the unexpected supply met with little demand; the delegations of housewives were more interested in obtaining commodities in short supply and were milling around the cloth and drapery stalls.
A detective from the Stargorod criminal investigation department passed the astrolabe-vendor twice, but since the instrument in no way resembled the typewriter stolen the day before from the Central Union of Dairy Co-operatives, the detective stopped glaring at the young man and passed on.
By lunchtime the astrolabe had been sold to a repairman for three roubles.
"It measures by itself," he said, handing over the astrolabe to its purchaser, "provided you have something to measure."
Having rid himself of the calculating instrument, the happy young man had lunch in the Tasty Corner snack bar, and then went to have a look at the town.
He passed along Soviet Street, came out into Red Army Street (previously Greater Pushkin Street), crossed Co-operative Street and found himself again on Soviet Street.
But it was not the same Soviet Street from which he had come. There were two Soviet Streets in the town.
Greatly surprised by this fact, the young man carried on and found himself in Lena Massacre Street (formerly Denisov Street).
He stopped outside no. 28, a pleasant two-storeyed private house, which bore a sign saying: USSR RSFSR
SECOND SOCIAL SECURITY HOME OF THE STAR-PROV-INS-AD and requested a light from the caretaker, who was sitting by the entrance on a stone bench.
"Tell me, dad," said the young man, taking a puff, "are there any marriageable young girls in this town? "
The old caretaker did not show the least surprise.
"For some a mare'd be a bride," he answered, readily striking up a conversation.
"I have no more questions," said the young man quickly.
And he immediately asked one more:
"A house like this and no girls in it?"
"It's a long while since there've been any young girls here," replied the old man.
"This is a state institution-a home for old-age women pensioners."
"I see.
For ones born before historical materialism?"
"That's it.
They were born when they were born."
"And what was here in the house before the days of historical materialism?"
"When was that?"
"In the old days. Under the former regime."
"Oh, in the old days my master used to live here."
"A member of the bourgeoisie")"
"Bourgeoisie yourself!
I told you.
He was a marshal of the nobility."
"You mean he was from the working class?"