The Twelve Chairs: A Novel

32. In the Columbus Theater

✦ 365 ✦ 32 In the Columbus Theater ippolit matveevich was gradually turning into a sycophant. Whenever he looked at Ostap, his eyes assumed a gendarmeblue tint. It was so hot in Ivanopulo’s room that Vorobyaninov’s driedout chairs popped like wood in a fireplace. The smooth operator was reclining, head pillowed on his sky-blue vest. Ippolit Matveevich was looking out the window. A carriage bearing a coat of arms on the side rushed past tiny Moscow yards as it rolled down crooked lanes. Its black lacquer reflected an array of bowing passersby: a bronze-headed Horse Guardsman, city ladies, and little pudgy white clouds. The horses’ hooves thundered on the sidewalk as they took the carriage past Ippolit Matveevich. He turned away in disappointment. The carriage bore the coat of arms of the Moscow Communal Services Department. Its function was trash removal, and its wooden-plank sides did not reflect a single thing. A dashing old man with a fluffy gray beard sat on the box. If Ippolit Matveevich had known that the coachman was none other than Count Alexei Bulanov, the famous hussar hermit, he would probably have hailed the old man so they could chat awhile about the delightful days of yore. Count Alexei Bulanov was gravely troubled. As he whipped the horses, he mused sadly about the bureaucracy that was consuming the division of sewage pit maintenance and which had kept the count from receiving the work apron that, ac- cording to his contract, he was supposed to have recieved six months ago. “Listen,” said the smooth operator suddenly. “What was your name when you were little?” “Why do you want to know?” “Just because! I don’t know what to call you. I’m tired of calling you Vorobyaninov, and Ippolit Matveevich is too sour. So what was your name? Ipa?” “Kisa,” Ippolit Matveevich replied, grinning. “Congenial. So how about this, Kisa: take a look and see what’s on my back, if you don’t mind. It hurts between my shoulder blades.” Ostap pulled his cowboy-style shirt off over his head. The vast back of a provincial Antinous was revealed before Kisa Vorobyaninov , a back that was most charming in form, but a bit dirty. “Oh-ho,” Ippolit Matveevich said. “You’ve got a real beauty.” Oddly shaped purple bruises in all the rainbow colors of an oil slick shone between the smooth operator’s shoulder blades. “My word of honor, it’s the number eight!” Vorobyaninov exclaimed. “I’ve never seen a bruise like that before.” “Is there another number?” Ostap asked calmly. “Something that looks like the letter P.” “No further questions. I get it. Damn pen! Do you see how I’m suffering, what dangers I’m subjecting myself to, Kisa, all because of your chairs? These mathematical signs were inflicted by a large self-falling fountain pen with a No. 86 nib. I should point out that the damn pen fell on my back just as I’d sunk both hands into the guts of the editor’s chair.” “Me too! I also suffered!” Kisa interjected hastily. “And when was that? When you were rutting around after someone else’s wife? As far as I can recall, that untimely flir366 ✦ in moscow tation didn’t end too well! Or was it during your duel with Kolya?” “Not at all, if you’ll excuse me. My injuries were inflicted on the job!” “Ah! Was this when strategical considerations caused us to retreat from the Columbus Theater?” “That’s right. When the night watchman was chasing us.” “So you consider your falling off the fence a heroic act, then?” “I hit my kneecap on the pavement.” “Not to worry! Given the pace of construction these days, it’ll be repaired before you know it.” Ippolit Matveevich promptly rolled up his left pant leg and stopped in confusion. The yellow knee revealed no signs of injury. “What a bad thing that is, lying at such a young age,” Ostap said sadly. “I’ll have to give you a B in comportment and call in your parents! And you can’t do anything right, anyway. Why did we have to run away from the theater? Because of you! What the hell made you stand on the lookout straight and tall like a sentry, without moving an inch? But of course—you did it to attract everyone’s attention. And who messed up Iznurenkov’s chair so badly that I had to go do...