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The Recovery of the Dirigible IT WAS A cheerful April morning. Semion Semionych and I were sitting in a cramped hunting tent made of reeds on the shore of Shchadilov Pond and had our eyes glued on a small flock of wild ducks. Their black forms were visible on the open water about 150 paces from us. Turning their wide bills in our direction, they swayed on the waves and seemed to be saying to us, “And you can’t get us—we’re too far away!” “Oh, Vladim Sergev, if only I had my ‘dirigible’ gun with me right now, I’d shoot from here and, say what you will, I’d knock off three of them! Well, what can you do with a popgun like this!” and Semion Semionych scornfully rapped his finger against the barrels of his light flintlock. “Can you believe it, Vladim Sergev—no matter how many guns I’ve tried after the dirigible, they’ve all turned out to be trash: pop, pop—and nothing more. Oh, I used to load my dear dirigible with a triple charge, and boy, would I blast!” “Semion Semionych, why recall the past! Your dirigible has perished. Since last fall it has lain dead on the bottom of Ivlevo Lake. It’s time to get used to the thought that you no longer have a dirigible. Don’t disturb yourself needlessly. Wait—it looks like the ducks are swimming toward us.” We fell silent. The ducks indeed were quietly approaching us. We waited for them a very long time. The flock was already about ninety paces from us, when suddenly the birds for some reason changed their minds and turned back, slowly moving away from us. “Vladim Sergev, let’s blast at them once. Aim at the center . . . Ready? Okay, one . . . two . . . three . . .” We shot simultaneously and showered the whole flock with shot. The ducks instantly took off from the water and flew away. Only one duck had been wounded. Quickly flapping one wing, it swiftly swam away from us and immediately got out of shooting range. “No, Vladim Sergev, say what you will, but with guns like this, it’s not hunting but official personality corruption. Being without the dirigible is like being without hands. Without the dirigible it’s as if I don’t even exist.” 55 The morning’s results were lamentable. Many ducks were flying, but we took only a pair. My friend became sad. “Vladim Sergev!” he said. “I’m starting to lose all my appetite for life, and I’m also hunting without any appetite. It’s boring without the dirigible. It’s boring without its dear booming. Let’s get it from the bottom of the lake!” “My dear fellow, have you lost your mind? In order to extract the dirigible from the depths of Ivlevo Lake, you will probably have to hire deep-sea divers. It would be cheaper to order Tula craftsmen to make a new gun in the style of the dirigible.” “Vladim Sergev, you can’t get a gun like that made today no matter how much you pay for it. The late dirigible is an antique gun, and it was made by a famous Turkish craftsman. They say that gun cost a lot of money. Remember how last year I knocked off eight wild ducks with one shot? We have to get the dirigible.” “Madman, but how are you going to get it? You’re talking nonsense!” Semion Semionych sighed deeply and fell into profound thought. Spring was at its height. Semion Semionych had become completely apathetic and stopped going hunting. I was forced to go hunting alone. When on returning from the hunt I would drop in to see my friend and share my impressions with him, I almost always found him bored and pensive. My friend’s gloomy mood was nothing other than longing for his beloved lost gun. Summer arrived. Sadly I oiled my gun and secreted it in its dusty case, in order to pull it out only on the eve of August 1, when hunting season would begin. And then, when only about three days remained until August 1, I went to see my friend to find out whether his mood had changed. I wanted to propose that we open hunting season together and go to the neighboring district, which abounded in snipe. Semion Semionych wasn’t home, and his estimable spouse was in an abominable mood. She announced to me...

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