He was shavin' Leopold the chemist when he croaked.
People said it was his insides that bust, but I think it was the smell of medicine from the chemist that he couldn't take."
"Dear me, dear me," muttered Ippolit Matveyevich.
"So you buried him, did you?"
"I buried him.
Who else could?
Does the Nymph, damn 'em, give tassels?"
"You got in ahead of them, then? "
"Yes, I did, but they beat me up afterwards.
Almost beat the guts out of me.
The militia took me away.
I was in bed for two days.
I cured myself with spirits."
"You massaged yourself?"
"No, I don't do that with spirits."
"But what made you come here? "
"I've brought my stock."
"What stock?"
"My own.
A guard I know helped me bring it here free in the guard's van.
Did it as a friend."
It was only then that Ippolit Matveyevich noticed a neat pile of coffins on the ground a little way from Bezenchuk. Some had tassels, others did not.
One of them Ippolit Matveyevich recognized immediately.
It was the large, dusty oak coffin from Bezenchuk's shop window.
"Eight of them," said Bezenchuk smugly.
"Like gherkins."
"But who needs your coffins here?
They have plenty of their own undertakers."
"What about the flu?"
"What flu?"
"The epidemic.
Prusis told me flu was ragin' in Moscow and there was nothin' to bury people in.
All the coffins were used up.
So I decided to put thin's right."
Ostap, who had been listening to the conversation with curiosity, intervened.
"Listen, dad, the flu epidemic is in Paris."
"In Paris?"
"Yes, go to Paris.
You'll make money.
Admittedly, there may be some trouble with the visa, but don't give up.
If Briand likes you, you'll do pretty well. They'll set you up as undertaker-royal to the Paris municipality.
Here they have enough of their own undertakers."
Bezenchuk looked around him wildly.
Despite the assurances of Prusis, there were certainly no bodies lying about; people were cheerfully moving about on their feet, and some were even laughing.
Long after the train had carried off the concessionaires, the Columbus Theatre, and various other people, Bezenchuk was still standing in a daze by his coffins.
His eyes shone in the approaching darkness with an unfading light.
PART III
MADAME PETUKHOV'S TREASURE
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A MAGIC NIGHT ON THE VOLGA