-
42. Treasure
- Northwestern University Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
✦ 495 ✦ 42 Treasure one rainy day at the end of October, Ippolit Matveevich, wearing his lunar vest sprinkled with little silver stars, was working busily in Ivanopulo’s room. Ippolit Matveevich worked at the windowsill, since there was still no table in the room. The smooth operator had received a large order for a handcrafted artisanal product: address plaques for building societies. Ostap entrusted the stenciling of the plaques to Vorobyaninov, and for his part had spent almost the whole month since their return to Moscow nosing around the general vicinity of October Station, searching with inconceivable passion for traces of the last chair, which undoubtedly concealed Madame Petukhova’s diamonds. Ippolit Matveevich frowned as he stenciled the iron plaques. He’d lost all his old habits in six months of racing after the diamonds. At night Ippolit Matveevich dreamed of mountain ranges decorated with fierce wild cutouts; Iznurenkov, his brown haunches trembling, dashed past before him; boats turned over; people drowned; bricks fell from the sky; and the gaping earth belched sulfurous smoke into his eyes. Ostap, who was with Ippolit Matveevich every day, didn’t notice any changes in him. Nevertheless, Ippolit Matveevich had changed to an unusual degree. Ippolit Matveevich’s gait was not the same, and the look in his eyes had turned wild, and his mustache, now grown back, didn’t stick out parallel to the earth’s surface anymore—it hung down almost perpendicular to the ground, like an elderly tomcat’s whiskers. Ippolit Matveevich had changed on the inside, too. Qualities like decisiveness and cruelty, which he’d never evinced before, were now part of his temperament. Three episodes had gradually cultivated these new feelings in him: his miraculous rescue from the Vasyukians’ heavy fists, his debut in the role of beggar by the Flower Garden in Pyatigorsk, and, finally, the earthquake, as a result of which Ippolit Matveevich became somewhat deranged and began nursing a secret hatred for his companion. Lately, Ippolit Matveevich had been possessed by very strong suspicions. He was afraid that Ostap would open up the chair himself and abscond with the treasure, leaving him to the mercy of fate. He didn’t dare express these suspicions, since he knew Ostap’s heavy hand and adamant temperament. Every day, as he sat by the window behind a stencil touching up dry letters with a nicked razor blade, Ippolit Matveevich stewed. Every day he was afraid that Ostap wouldn’t come home anymore , and that he, a former marshal of the nobility, would die of hunger under a dank Moscow fence. But Ostap did come home every night, although he didn’t bring any good news. His energy and cheer were inexhaustible . He didn’t lose hope for a single minute. Astampingoffeetrangoutinthehallway,someoneslammed into the fireproof safe, and the plywood door opened as easily as a page turned by the wind. The smooth operator stood on the threshold. He was drenched, and his cheeks burned applered . He was panting. “Ippolit Matveevich!” he shouted. “Listen, Ippolit Matveevich !” Vorobyaninov was amazed. The technical director had never before called him by his name and patronymic. Then, suddenly, he understood . . . “You found it?” he breathed. 496 ✦ madame petukhova’s treasure “That’s just it, I found it. Oh, Kisa, to hell with you!” “Don’t shout, people can hear you.” “True, true, someone could hear us,” Ostap whispered rapidly . “I found it. Kisa, I found it, and if you want I can show it off to you right now . . . It’s in the railroad workers’ club. A new club . . . just opened yesterday . . . How I found it, you ask? Was it a trifle, you ask? It was an inordinately difficult matter! An inspired combination, brilliantly sustained all the way to the finish! An epic adventure from days of yore! In a word, high class!” Without waiting for Ippolit Matveevich to throw on his jacket, Ostap ran out into the hallway. Vorobyaninov joined him on the stairs. They hurled questions at each other excitedly and ran along the wet streets to Watchtower Square. They didn’t even realize they could’ve taken the streetcar. “You’re dressed like a cobbler!” Ostap chattered joyfully. “Who goes around looking like that, Kisa? You need starched linens, silk socks, and, of course, a top hat. There’s something noble in your face! Tell me, were you really a marshal of the nobility?” Ostap showed the marshal the chair, which stood in the chess group’s room and had an...