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✦ 355 ✦ 31 The Mighty Handful, or the Gold-Seekers as one might have known, the story about Clotilde called forth not a single emotion in Lapis’s sheeplike soul. Styopa ran into the room shouting, “The victim speaks out,” “The robbers got away,” and “Secrets of the editor’s office.” He said, “Persitsky, run over to the scene of the crime and write something for ‘A Day in the City.’ It’s a sensation worth five lines of brevier!” It turned out that when the editor got to his office, he’d found the enormous pen with the No. 86 nib lying on the floor. The nib had pierced one of the couch’s legs. And the editor’s new chair, bought at auction, looked as though crows had been pecking at it. All the upholstery was ripped up, the stuffing was tossed out onto the floor, and the springs stuck out like snakes getting ready to bite. “Petty theft,” Persitsky said. “If we can line up three more, then we’ll give a three-line notice.” “But that’s the whole point—it’s not theft. They didn’t steal anything. They just ruined a chair.” “Just like with Lapsus,” Persitsky noted. “Looks like Lapsus wasn’t lying.” “There, you see?” Lapis said proudly. “Give me fifty kopeks.” Someone brought over the evening paper. Persitsky started looking it over. The normal reader reads a newspaper. The first thing a journalist does is examine it like a painting. He’s interested in the composition. “I wouldn’t have set it like this, anyway,” Persitsky said. “Our readers aren’t ready for the American layout . . . A caricature of Chamberlain, of course . . . An essay on Sukharev Tower . . . Lapsus, you should scribble up something about the Sukharev market; it’s a fresh theme, there are only forty essays a year printed on it . . . So what else have we got . . .” Persitsky, slightly scornful, began to read the crime section, which was complete hackwork as far as he was concerned. “This material’s a hundred years old! . . . We already had this embezzler . . . An attempted theft in the Columbus Theater! We-e-ell, comrades, this is something new . . . Listen!” Persitsky read aloud: Attempted Theft in the Columbus Theater Four antique chairs were carried off by two unknown perpetrators who broke into the props room of the Columbus Theater. The night watchman saw the perpetrators in the courtyard and chased them, upon which they threw down the chairs and escaped. It may be of interest that the chairs were acquired specifically for the new production of Gogol’s Marriage. “Looks like there’s something going on here. It’s some kind of sect that abducts chairs.” “They’re maniacs!” “No, it’s not that simple. They’re acting fairly rationally. They were at Lapsus’s, here, and at the theater.” “That’s right!” “They’re looking for something, comrades.” At this, Nikifor Lapis’s face suddenly changed. He left the room soundlessly and ran down the corridor. Five minutes later he was in a streetcar that rocked back and forth as it carried him back to the Intercession Gates. 356 ✦ in moscow Lapis resided in building No. 9 on Kazarmenny Lane with two young men who wore soft caps. Lapis wore a captain’s hat with the coat of arms of Neptune, the lord of the seas. The other people on Lapis’s floor, a large Tatar family, had to go through his room to get to their own. When Lapis got home, Khuntov was sitting on the windowsill flipping through a theater guidebook. He was a man in tune with the times. He did everything the times demanded. The times demanded poems, and so Khuntov wrote multitudes of them. Tastes changed. Demands changed. The times, and his contemporaries , were in need of a heroic novel on the theme of the Civil War. And so Khuntov wrote heroic novels. Then stories of everyday life were in demand. Khuntov, in tune with the times, got down to writing stories. The times demanded a lot, but for some reason, they didn’t take anything from Khuntov. Now the times demanded a play. Therefore, Khuntov was sitting on the windowsill, flipping through a theater guidebook . One might expect a person getting ready to write a play to begin studying the mores of the social stratum he’s going to put on stage. One might expect the author of a play that’s purportedly in progress to begin fleshing out the...

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