The ship shuddered; cymbals clashed together, flutes, cornets, trombones and tubas thundered out a wonderful march, and the town, swinging around and trying to balance, shifted to the left bank.
Continuing to throb, the ship moved into midstream and was soon swallowed up in the darkness.
A minute later it was so far away that the lights of the town looked like sparks from a rocket that had frozen in space.
The murmuring of typewriters could still be heard, but nature and the Volga were gaining the upper hand.
A cosiness enveloped all those aboard the S.S. Scriabin.
The members of the lottery committee drowsily sipped their tea.
The first meeting of the union committee, held in the prow, was marked by tenderness.
The warm wind breathed so heavily, the water lapped against the sides of the ship so gently, and the dark outline of the shore sped past the ship so rapidly that when the chairman of the union committee, a very positive man, opened his mouth to speak about working conditions in the unusual situation, he unexpectedly for himself, and for everyone else, began singing:
"A ship sailed down the Volga,
Mother Volga, River Volga. . ."
And the other, stern-faced members taking part in the meeting rumbled the chorus:
"The lilac bloo-ooms. . ."
The resolution on the chairman's report was just not recorded.
A piano began to play.
Kh. Ivanov, head of the musical accompaniment, drew the most lyrical notes from the instrument.
The balalaika virtuoso trailed after Murochka and, not finding any words of his own to express his love, murmured the words of a love song.
"Don't go away!
Your kisses still fire me, your passionate embraces never tire me.
The clouds have not awakened in the mountain passes, the distant sky has not yet faded as a pearly star."
Grasping the rail, Simbievich-Sindievich contemplated the infinite heavens.
Compared with them, his scenic effects appeared a piece of disgusting vulgarity.
He looked with revulsion at his hands, which had taken such an eager part in arranging the scenic effects for the classical comedy.
At the moment the languor was greatest, Galkin, Palkin, Malkin, Chalkin and Zalkind, who were in the stern of the ship, began banging away at their surgical and brewery appliances.
They were rehearsing.
Instantly the mirage was dispelled.
Agafya Tikhonovna yawned and, ignoring the balalaika virtuoso, went to bed.
The minds of the trade unionists were again full of working conditions, and they dealt with the resolution.
After careful consideration, Simbievich-Sindievich came to the conclusion that the production of The Marriage was not really so bad.
An irate voice from the darkness called Georgetta Tiraspolskikh to a producer's conference.
Dogs began barking in the villages and it became chilly.
Ostap lay in a first-class cabin on a leather divan, thoughtfully staring at a green canvas work belt and questioning Ippolit Matveyevich.
"Can you draw?
That's a pity.
Unfortunately, I can't, either."
He thought for a while and then continued.
"What about lettering?
Can't do that either?
Too bad.
We're supposed to be artists.
Well, we'll manage for a day or so before they kick us out.
In the time we're here we can do everything we need to.
The situation has become a bit more complicated.
I've found out that the chairs are in the producer's cabin.
But that's not so bad in the long run.
The important thing is that we're aboard.
All the chairs must be examined before they throw us off.
It's too late for today.
The producer's already asleep in his cabin."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A SHADY COUPLE