The Twelve Chairs: A Novel

22. Corporal Punishment

✦ 255 ✦ 22 Corporal Punishment the auction began at five o’clock. Citizens were allowed to view items starting at four. The friends showed up at three and spent a whole hour perusing the exhibition of the machinebuilding plant right next to the auction. Ostap said, “Looks like we’ll be able to buy that little steam engine tomorrow, if we should so desire. Too bad there’s no price on it. It’s always pleasant to have one’s own steam engine.” Ippolit Matveevich was suffering. The chairs were the only things that could console him. He didn’t leave them until the very minute the auctioneer, with his checkered “Centenary” trousers and his beard falling down on to his Tolstoyan shirt of Russian-made English twill, ascended to the podium. The concessionaires took their places on the right-hand side of the fourth row. Ippolit Matveevich began worrying furiously . He somehow felt that the chairs would be sold right away. But they were forty-third on the bill, and the first to go on sale was the usual auction-house stuff and nonsense: individual pieces from heraldic tea services, a sauce boat, a silver tea-glass holder, a landscape by the artist Petunin, a lady’s beaded clutch, a brand-new gas burner for a primus stove, a little bust of Napoléon, linen brassieres, a tapestry entitled Hunter Shooting Wild Duck, and other baloney. They had to be patient and wait. Waiting was very hard. All the chairs were present; the goal was near, so close he could reach out and grab it. Ostap surveyed the auction-house audience and thought, “A real big fuss would kick up if they found out what kind of little treat’s being sold today in the guise of those chairs.” “A figurine depicting justice!” the auctioneer proclaimed. “Bronze. No defects. Five rubles. Who’ll give me more? Six and a half, seven on the far right. Eight rubles in the first row middle. Going twice, eight rubles, middle. Going three times, in the first row middle.” A young lady with a claim ticket immediately rushed over to the citizen in the first row to take his money. The auctioneer’s hammer rapped. An ashtray from a palace, some Baccarat glassware, and a porcelain powder-box were all sold. Time dragged torturously on. “A bronze bust of Alexander the Third. Can be used as a paperweight. Don’t think it’s good for much else. A small bust of Alexander the Third, going for the list price.” People in the crowd laughed. “Buy it, marshal!” Ostap said. “You like him, right?” Ippolit Matveevich remained silent and didn’t take his eyes off the chairs. “No takers? The bronze bust of Alexander the Third is removed from sale. A figurine depicting justice. Seems like the mate to the one that was just bought. Vasily, show Justice to the public. Five rubles. Who’ll give me more?” Heavy breathing through the nose resounded from the first row middle. Obviously, the citizen wanted to have a matched set of Justice. “Five rubles for the bronze Justice!” “Six!” the citizen said clearly. “Six rubles in the middle. Seven. Nine rubles, on the far right.” “Nine and a half,” the admirer of Justice said quietly, raising his hand. 256 ✦ in moscow “Nine and a half, in the middle. Going twice, nine and a half, in the middle. Going three times, nine and a half.” The gavel came down. The young lady flew over to the citizen in the first row. He paid and sauntered into the other room to receive his bronze. “Ten chairs from a palace!” the auctioneer suddenly said. “Why from a palace?” Ippolit Matveevich cried softly. Ostap said angrily, “You just go to hell! Listen and be still!” “Ten chairs from a palace. Walnut. From the reign of Alexander the Second. No defects. Made by the Gambs furniture craftsmen. Vasily, hold a chair up to the reflector lamp.” Vasily yanked the chair around so roughly that Ippolit Matveevich leaped up. “Sit down, you damned idiot! What a pain in the neck you are!” Ostap hissed. “Sit down, I’m telling you!” Ippolit Matveevich’s jaw started working. Ostap was on point. His eyes had grown brighter. “Ten walnut chairs. Eighty rubles.” The hall grew lively. Something that would be useful in the home was being sold. Hands shot up, one after the other. Ostap was calm. “Why aren’t you bidding?” Vorobyaninov said accusingly...