Chapter 9 Chapter Nine Karloviev's trick

Nikanor Ivanovich Bosoy was the director of the housing cooperative (housing agency) in building B, 302 Pondskaya Street, where Berlioz lived during his lifetime.From the middle of the Wednesday night when the accident happened, the director of the housing management office was simply too busy. ① Bosoi, Russian import.It means: barefoot, also has the meaning of barefoot, vagabond, vagrant. We already know that an impromptu committee, including Zherdbyn, drove up to the housing estate that night, called out Nikanor Ivanovich, and informed him that Berlioz had died.Then he led him to Berlioz's home - house No. 50 at the sixth gate.

Here they jointly sealed the manuscripts and all the relics of the deceased.Since neither Grunya, the daily maid, nor Likhodeyev, the usually frivolous theater manager, were at home, the committee had to announce to Nikanor Ivanovich that the deceased's manuscript was The committee took it back for research. The current housing area, namely the three rooms (the original jeweler's study, living room and dining room) will be managed by the housing management office from now on. legal heirs. The news of Berlioz's death spread throughout the building with miraculous speed, so, from 7 o'clock in the morning on the next day (Thursday), the telephone at Bosoy's house rang non-stop.This was followed by many people coming to the door in person to submit applications for occupying the deceased's house.Thirty-two such applications were received by Bosoi within two hours.

The contents of the application include: supplication, threat, slander, informant, promise to repair the house at one's own expense.A description of the overcrowding of the current housing, the reason why "you can no longer live with the bandits", etc.Among them, a man who lived in house No. 31 described with astonishing artistry in the application that the meat dumplings he carried in his jacket pocket were stolen, two men threatened suicide, and a woman Truthfully confessed that she had been illegally pregnant and had to apply for housing. From time to time Nikanor Ivanovitch was called into the antechamber, and people pulled his sleeves to entreat, whispered in his ear, gave him winking hints, promised him that he would never be ungrateful...

It was past twelve o'clock, and the torment was endless.Nikanor Ivanovich couldn't bear it any longer, so he ran out of the house, trying to escape to the office of the housing management office by the gate outside the building, but he saw someone waiting there for him from a long distance away, so he ran away in a hurry up.With difficulty he escaped a few pursuers across the asphalted compound and ducked into the sixth gate.He then climbed up to the fifth floor and came to the door of the inauspicious No. 50 residence. The fat Nikanor Ivanovich gasped for breath at the foot of the stairs, then stepped forward and rang the doorbell.Seeing that no one came to open the door, he pressed it again.When he pressed it for the third time, he was already cursing in a low voice.But still no one came to answer the door.The situation was beyond the patience of Nikanor Ivanovich, and he drew from his pocket a set of spare keys which the housekeeper had kept, opened the door with his powerful hand, and went in.

"Hello, auntie!" Nikanor Ivanovitch called to the housekeeper in the dim anteroom. "What's your name? Is it Grunya? You're not at home?" No one answered. So Nikanor Ivanovich took off the lacquered seal on the door of Berlioz's study, took out the measuring tape from his leather bag, and walked towards the room with a bold step... As soon as he took a step, he stopped in horror, and even shivered. A stranger is seen sitting behind the late Berlioz's desk.He was a tall, thin man in a plaid jacket, a bonnet, pince-nez... in short, that was the man. "Who are you, citizen?" Nikanor Ivanovitch asked in surprise.

"Hey! Isn't this Nikanor Ivanovich!" The man of unknown origin yelled loudly in a high-pitched voice like a broken gong, and suddenly stood up from his chair to meet the director of the Housing Management Office, and suddenly grabbed his hand , shook hands with him forcefully.This welcome, of course, did not please Nikanor Ivanovich in the slightest. "I'm sorry," he said incredulously, "who are you? Are you a public servant?" "Oh, Nikanor Ivanovich," the unknown voice exclaimed kindly, "what is a public official or a non-public official? It all depends on your point of view. Nikanor Ivan Norwich, it's all relative and insecure. I'm not a public servant today, maybe tomorrow! And maybe the other way around, Nikanor Ivanovich, anything goes!"

This argument did not satisfy the Director either.Suspicious by nature, Bosoy concluded that this guy who dared to wag his tongue in front of him was definitely not a public official, but probably a rascal who was doing nothing. "Who the hell are you? What's your last name?" The director's tone became more and more severe, and he even took a few steps closer to the stranger.But his stern attitude did not intimidate the other party at all. "My name," said the stranger, "well, let's say Karloviev! Anyway, wouldn't you like some snacks, Nikanor Ivanovich? Please don't hesitate! Huh?"

"I'm sorry," Nikanor Ivanovich was already really angry, "what side dishes are there!" (Although this is not easy to say, the author still has to say, Nikanor Ivanovich His usual speech is a bit vulgar.) "You are not allowed to stay in the former residence of the deceased! What are you doing here?" "Well, please take a seat first, Nikanor Ivanovich," said the strange citizen loudly, not seeming to be in the slightest panic, and hurriedly bringing a chair for the director. Nikanor Ivanovitch became angry, pushed back his chair and shouted: "Who the hell are you?"

"Well, you see, I am the interpreter for the foreign guests staying in this residence." The person who called himself Karloviev introduced himself, and then "snapped" the heels of two brown leather boots that had not been cleaned for a long time. Come to stand at attention. Nikanor Ivanovich was even more tongue-tied.A foreigner moved into this house with an interpreter, which he never expected.Therefore, he asked the other party to explain. The translator readily explained: Mr. Wallander, a foreign actor, had accepted the kind invitation of Stepan Bogdanovich Likhodeyev, the manager of the Valet Theater, to live in him during the week-long tour. Home; on this matter Likhodeyev had written yesterday to Nikanor Ivanovich, requesting a temporary residence permit for foreign guests; Likhodeyev himself was going to Yalta in the meantime.

"He never wrote me a letter." The director of the housing management office said in surprise. "You might as well look for it in your purse, Nikanor Ivanovitch," said Karloviev tactfully. Nikanor Ivanovitch shrugged helplessly and opened his briefcase.Sure enough, there was a letter from Likhodeyev in it. Nikanor Ivanovich stared blankly at the opened envelope and murmured: 'How could I have forgotten it? " "It happens, it happens, Nikanor Ivanovich!" said Karloviev shrilly. Noel Ivanovich! I am often forgetful myself, and this problem is still very serious. When we have a chance to have a drink together, I will tell you a few things about me, which will make you laugh out loud !"

"When is Likhodeyev going to Yalta?" "He's gone, he's gone!" the interpreter said loudly, "You know, he's gone in such a hurry! Who knows where he is at this time!" The interpreter waved his long arms like a windmill Two large fins. Nikanor Ivanovich declares: he must personally meet foreign actors.But the interpreter refused the request: it is absolutely impossible, sir is busy, he is training the cat. "I can show you the cat if you like," Karloviev suggested. Nikanor Ivanovic also rejected his proposal.The interpreter immediately made another unexpected proposal to the director, but one that interested him: In view of the fact that Mr. Wallander did not want to live in a hotel and preferred to live in a spacious one, the interpreter asked the director of the housing management office if it was possible to put the whole apartment, that is, including Berlioz, during Mr. Wallander's performance in Moscow for about a week. Those three rooms are all rented to Mr. Wallander? "What do you think? The dead don't care anymore anyway," Karloviev whispered hoarsely to the director. "Nikanor Ivanovich, you understand that what use is the house to the dead now?" Nikanor Ivanovich was a little hesitant. He said that foreign guests should normally live in the Metropolitan Hotel, and should not live in a private house at all... "As I told you, this gentleman has a bad temper," Karloviev said again, leaning into his ear, "I know why he refuses to stay in a hotel, saying he hates those places! These foreign tourists , It’s like riding on our necks!” Karloviev pointed to his thin neck with exposed veins, and whispered as if talking privately, “Do you believe it, I want to torture me to death! These people... these people A terribly bad son of a bitch, either engaged in espionage activities, or picked his nose and eyes, he didn't like it, he didn't care about it, he tossed you to exhaustion!...Besides, renting it all to him is not good for your housing management office. Great benefits! Nikanor Ivanovich, obviously he can make a lot of money 2 This man doesn't care about money," Karloviev looked back, and said close to the director's ear, "He's a millionaire! " The offer of translation is clearly a bargain.Although the suggestion itself is very decent, but from the voice of the proposer and the clothes he wears, especially the annoying pince-nez that no one wants on his nose, it is very ugly.Therefore, the director was in a state of confusion and couldn't make up his mind for a while.In the end, though, he decided to accept the offer because, sadly, the housing cooperative had been losing money recently.Before autumn, we should buy a batch of oil for heating, but the money for oil has not been settled yet.If the money from tourists is collected, it may be able to deal with it.However, Nikanor Ivanovich is a sophisticated and cautious person after all, so he explained to the interpreter that he must first contact the international travel agency in this matter. "I understand that," said Karloviev loudly, "how can we not call?! We must. The phone is right there, Nikanor Ivanovitch, and you can contact them immediately. On the matter of rent, You don't have to be polite," Karloviev whispered to the director while pulling him to the telephone in the front room, "if you don't make money from these people, who will you make it from?! You haven't seen him in that high-end building in Nice yet." What about the villa! Hey! When you go abroad next summer, you can take a detour to see it, and you will be amazed!" ①A seaside city in southeastern France, visiting a health resort. The result of the telephone contact with the international travel agency was beyond the director's surprise, and the problem was solved very smoothly and quickly.It turned out that the travel agency had been aware of Mr. Wallander's wish to live in Likhoteyev's private house, and they had no objection to this. "Oh, great!" Karloviev exclaimed. Startled by his broken gong-like cry, the director was stunned for a moment, and then said: The housing cooperative agreed to rent the entire house at No. 50 to the actor Mr. Wallander for a week, "The rent is based on..." Nicanor Ivanovitch hesitated and said: "Based on five hundred rubles per day." At this moment Karloviev surprised the director again.He glanced at the bedroom where the cat hopped heavily, and said in a hoarse voice: "So that's three thousand five hundred rubles a week?" Nikanor Ivanovich thought: The following sentence must be: "You have a big appetite, my dear director!" But Karloviev said something else entirely: "What is this little money! You want him five thousand! He will agree." Nikanor Ivanovich smiled bewilderedly.Then, without knowing why, he himself came to Berlioz's desk, while Karloviev had already prepared the written contract in duplicate with astonishing speed and skill.Then he and Karloviev quickly went into the bedroom, and when they exited the bedroom, both contracts had already been signed by foreigners in bold and unrestrained handwriting.The director himself also signed it.So Karloviev asked the director to write a receipt for five thousand rubles... "It cannot be written in Arabic numerals, Nikanor Ivanovich, but the Russian word 'five thousand rubles'..." He immediately took out five stacks of neatly bundled new bills and placed them in front of the director, mouthing Muttering words that are not quite suitable for serious business: "Ain, hedgehog, Dray!" ① ① German "one! Two! Three!" tone-modified Russian pronunciation.A common term used by magicians before they "conjure" something. Nikanor Ivanovitch counted the money.Karloviev also joked one or two jokes from the sidelines from time to time: "Coins and cash, count them face to face", "If you want to rest assured, see it with your own eyes", etc. After counting the banknotes, the director took the foreign guest's passport from Karloviev to register the temporary residence.He stuffed the cash, passport, and contract into his purse, and couldn't help but coyly made another request: Can I get a free admission ticket? "That's not a problem!" said Karloviev sharply. "How many do you need, Nikanor Ivanovitch? Twelve? Fifteen?" The astonished director hastened to explain that only two copies would be enough for him and his wife, Pilageya Antonovna. Karloviev immediately took out a note pad—a free ticket for two people in the front row of the theater.The interpreter handed the free ticket to Nikanor Ivanovich swiftly with his left hand, while with his right he thrust a thick wad of rustling banknotes into the director's other hand.Nikanor Ivanovitch glanced at the pile, blushed, pushed it away with his hand, and muttered: "I don't like this..." "I don't listen to this!" Karloviev whispered into the director's ear, "We don't like this in our country, but foreigners like it! Nikanor Ivanovich, it's not good that you will make people think you're doing this. What's more, you have bothered about this..." "If this kind of thing is discovered, it will be severely punished!" The director lowered his voice and looked around at the same time. "Who saw it?" Karloviev said into his other ear. "Excuse me, where is the witness? I said, what's the matter with you?" At this time, according to what the director insisted on later, a miracle happened: the wad of new banknotes got into his purse automatically.Later, when the exhausted, even paralyzed director of the Housing Management Office went downstairs, he felt all kinds of thoughts swirl in his mind like a whirlwind: the high-end villa in Nice, the well-trained big tomcat, no one to testify, The wife Pelagea Antonovna will be delighted, and so on.These thoughts were independent of each other, but on the whole they all made him happy.Still, somewhere deep inside the director seemed to be pricking gently with a needle, a disturbing needle.Besides, before he could go downstairs, another thought surprised him: "How did the interpreter get into Berlioz's office, all the doors are sealed?! Why didn't I ask him?" ?” The director stared blankly at the stairs like a goat for a while, and finally healed his mind, and stopped worrying about these neck-wrapping problems... The director had just left residence No. 50 when a low voice came from the bedroom: "I don't like this Nikanor Ivanovich. He's a cunning con man. Can you do something to keep him from coming here?" "My lord, just give orders!..." Karloviev replied from nowhere, his voice was clear and high-pitched, not as unpleasant as a broken gong. The hideous interpreter immediately came to the front room, picked up the phone, and dialed a number.After connecting, for some reason, he said into the microphone with a crying voice: "Hello! I feel obliged to report something to you: Nikanor Ivanovich Bosoi, the director of our Housing Management Office at Building B, No. 302 Garden Street, sells foreign currency. He lives at No. Just four hundred dollars, wrapped in newspaper and hidden in the bathroom vent. I live in the same building, No. 11, and my name is Timofey Kvastsov. But please do keep it secret for me. I'm worried about this Director revenge." After the despicable guy finished speaking, he hung up the phone. We don't know what happened next in house No. 50, but we know what happened in Nikanor Ivanovich's house.When he got home, he went into the bathroom, locked the door behind him, took out of his purse the wad of banknotes that the interpreter had given him, and counted them—four hundred rubles.He wrapped the banknotes intact in old newspapers and stuffed them into the ventilation holes in the wall. Five minutes later, the Director was sitting comfortably in the small dining room of his home.From the kitchen, the wife brings neatly sliced ​​herring pieces, sprinkled with shredded green onions.Nikanor Ivanovich poured out a small glass of Lafayette, poured another, and drank it too.He picked up three small pieces of herring with a fork and was about to put them in his mouth... The doorbell outside rang.At this moment Pelagea Antonovna had just brought in a small steaming pot, in which she could tell at a glance that the best marrowed beef bones in the world were contained in the bright red beet broth. ① A famous red wine produced in Lafayette, France. Nikanor Ivanovich swallowed, and murmured like a puppy: "To hell with them! You won't even be allowed to eat an uncooked meal. Don't let anyone in, just say I'm not at home! Not at home! If you want to ask about the apartment, tell them to stop running around and discuss it in a week's time ..." Madame ran to the antechamber, while Nikanor Ivanovich fished up the marrowed ox bone with a vertical slit from the fiery little lake with a large soup ladle.At that instant, two male citizens entered the dining room, and Pelagea Antonovna, who had accompanied them, turned pale for some reason.Nikanor Ivanovich also turned pale with fright at the sight of the people, and stood up immediately. "Where is the toilet?" A man in a Russian-style slanted collar white shirt walking in front asked with concern. Something on the dining table rattled. (Nikanor Ivanovich drops the spoon on the oilcloth.) "Here, here," said Pelagea Antonovna hastily. The two men rushed to the corridor immediately. "What's the matter?" Nikanor Ivanovich asked in a low voice, watching the visitor. "We don't have anything at home... I'm sorry... Do you two have your papers?" The first man took out his papers as he walked and showed them to Nikanor Ivanovitch, while the second man had already stood on the little stool in the toilet and put his hand into the ventilation duct.Nikanor Ivanovitch felt a darkening before his eyes.Someone came to open the newspaper packet, but instead of rubles, it contained some banknotes he didn't recognize, blue and green in color, with an old head on it.In short, Nikanor Ivanovitch did not see all this clearly, he only felt that many black spots were floating before his eyes. "There are dollar bills hidden in the vent!" said the first man thoughtfully, and then asked Nikanor Ivanovich very gently and politely: "Is this bag yours?" "No!" replied Nikanor Ivanovich, his voice becoming terrified. "It's a plant by the enemy!" "That sort of thing happens," agreed the first, but added mildly, "well, well, hand over the rest, too!" "I don't! No! I can swear to God, I have never held these things in my hands!" The director of the housing management office shouted at the top of his voice. He ran to the chest of drawers, opened the drawer with a bang, took out his leather bag, and muttered incoherently: "I'll show you the contract...it was slipped in by that badass translator...his name is Karloviev...wearing pinfold glasses..." He opened the leather bag and took a look, then reached into his hand to touch it again, his face turned blue immediately, his hand loosened, and the leather bag fell into the red cabbage soup on the table.Letters from Styopa, rental contracts, passports of foreign actors, cash, free tickets to the theater—all disappeared.There was nothing but a tape measure left in it. "Comrades!" cried the director frantically, "catch them! There are ghosts in our building!" At this moment, not knowing what evil had befallen Pelagea Antonovna, she suddenly clapped her hands together and said loudly to her husband: "Ivanovich, just tell me! You will be lenient!" Nikanor Ivanovitch stared blood-red eyes, raised his fists to his wife's head, and said hoarsely: "Oh, you bloody fool!" he said, and sank limply on the stool, evidently aware of his doom. At this time, Timofey Kondradievich Kvastsov, who lived in No. 11, was standing on the stairs outside the director's house, peeking into the keyhole with one eye, and putting his ear on the The above listened, willingly endured the torment of curiosity. Five minutes later, the residents of the building standing in the yard in front of the building saw the director walking towards the front door of the building accompanied by two people.It was said that Nikanor Ivanovitch looked very ugly at that time, staggered like a drunken man, and muttered something incessantly. After another hour, Timofey Kvastsov was in the dining room describing with relish the director's arrest to other residents, when a citizen from nowhere came in and waved to Timofey, Called him into the front room and said something to him.Then Timofe left with the man.