The Twelve Chairs: A Novel

7. Diamond Smoke

✦ 75 ✦ 7 Diamond Smoke ippolit matveevich took off his stained beaver hat, combed his mustache (which, at the comb’s touch, released a friendly little flock of electric sparks), cleared his throat decisively, and told Ostap Bender, the first rascal he’d happened across, everything he’d learned from his dying mother-in-law about the diamonds. Ostap leaped to his feet several times throughout the story, exclaiming rapturously to the iron stove, “The ice has started breaking up, gentlemen of the jury! The ice has started breaking up.” An hour later, both were sitting at the rickety table, their heads leaned together, reading the long list of jewels that had once adorned the mother-in-law’s fingers, neck, ears, breast, and hair. Ippolit Matveevich read with great emphasis, reseating his unsteady pince-nez on his nose every few minutes: “Three strands of pearls . . . I remember them well . . . Two strands of forty pearls each, and one long one with a hundred and ten . . . A diamond pendant . . . Claudia Ivanovna used to say that it cost four thousand, it was an antique piece . . .” Next came the rings (not heavy, stupid, cheap wedding rings, but rings that were delicate and airy, with clean, washed diamonds soldered into them); heavy, blinding pendant earrings that cast a varicolored fire onto the petite feminine ear; snake-shaped bracelets with emerald scales; a necklace paid for with the harvest of one thousand three hundred and fifty 76 ✦ the lion of stargorod acres; and a pearl choker that only a famous operatic diva would be capable of wearing. It was all crowned by a forty-thousandruble diadem. Ippolit Matveevich looked around. A vernal emerald light blazed up and trembled in the plague-infested basement room’s dark corners. Diamond smoke floated under the ceiling. Round pearls rolled across the table and bounced onto the floor. The precious mirage shook the room. Only the sound of Ostap’s voice brought the excited Ippolit Matveevich back to his senses. “A fine selection. I can tell the stones were tastefully chosen. How much was all this music worth?” “Seventy, seventy-five thousand.” “Mm-hm . . . So now, that’d be a hundred and fifty thousand .” “Would it really be that much?” asked Vorobyaninov, overjoyed . “No less. But you, my dear comrade from Paris, can just kiss all that good-bye.” “How do you mean, kiss it good-bye?” “How? With your lips,” Ostap replied. “The way people used to kiss before the age of historical materialism. Nothing’s going to come of this.” “What makes you say that?” “Here’s what. How many chairs were there?” “A dozen. A parlor set.” “Your parlor set probably burned up in a stove a long time ago.” Vorobyaninov was so terrified he even stood up out of his chair. “Easy now, easy. I’m going to take care of it. The meeting is still in session. By the way, you and I need to set up a nice little contract.” Ippolit Matveevich, breathing heavily, expressed his agreement with a short nod. Then Ostap Bender began to work out the conditions. “In the event of our acquisition of the treasure, I, as a direct participant in the concession and the whole affair’s technical director, receive sixty percent. But you don’t have to pay for my insurance. It doesn’t matter to me.” Ippolit Matveevich went gray. “That’s highway robbery!” “And how much were you planning on offering me?” “Well . . . five percent, maybe ten, in the end. You’ve got to see, after all, that is fifteen thousand rubles!” “And you don’t want anything else?” “N-no.” “But maybe you want me to work for free, and then to give you the key to a room full of money, too?” “If that’s the case, then—excuse me!” said Vorobyaninov nasally. “I have every reason to think that I can manage my affairs by myself.” “Oh-ho! If that’s the case, then excuse me,” the magnificent Ostap objected. “I have no less reason, as Andy Tucker used to say, to think that I can manage your affairs by myself.” “Swindler!” Ippolit Matveevich shouted, starting to tremble. Ostap was cold. “Listen, gentleman from Paris, do you have any idea that your diamonds are all but in my pocket as we speak?! You interest me solely to the extent that I feel like providing for you in your old age!” Only then did Ippolit Matveevich see what iron paws had seized him by...