# Diamonds To Sit On/Chapter 12

Contents
CHAPTER XII
A PASSIONATE WOMAN—A POET'S DREAM
The frost had vanished in the night. It was a warm spring morning and there were noises in the bedroom as though a horse were neighing and snorting: It was Hippolyte, who was washing himself. He was in a good mood. Bender was still in bed.
'By the way,' said Bender, 'I must ask you to settle your debt.'
Hippolyte tossed his towel to one side and glared at his partner.
'Why are you staring at me as if I were a louse? What are you so surprised about? The debt? It's quite right, you owe me money. I forgot to tell you night that I paid for the confiscation orders in accordance with your wishes. I paid seventy roubles. Here's the receipt. Toss over thirty-five roubles! Since we're partners, the expenses had better be fifty-fifty.'
Hippolyte put on his pince-nez, read the receipt, and grudgingly paid the money, but not even that could throw a shadow over his happiness. The treasure was his. The thirty-five roubles were dust in comparison with the mountain of diamonds.
Hippolyte was smiling radiantly as he went into the corridor and began to walk up and down. Plans for a comfortable life came into his head, and he chuckled to himself at the thought of Father Theodore. 'The fool remains a fool. He's no more likely to get those chairs, or even a sight of them, than he is ever to see his beard again.'
He turned round when he got to the end of the corridor, The white door of room Number 13 opened ​and Father Theodore almost fell over him. His kind face was beaming with happiness. He too had come out on to the corridor to take a short walk. The rivals passed each other several times, and after throwing triumphant looks at each other they walked on. Hippolyte was bubbling over with delight and Father Theodore was equally delighted. Each of them was overcome with feelings of pity for his vanquished rival. At last, as they met for the fifth time, Hippolyte could not resist saying something, and with inexpressible sweetness he said: 'Good morning, Father Theodore!'
'Good morning, Hippolyte,' replied Father Theodore with all the sarcasm he could summon.
The enemies parted. As they passed each other again Hippolyte remarked: 'Tell me, did I hurt you last time we met?'
'Not at all! Not at all! I was very happy to meet you,' said Father Theodore with a smile.
Again they separated. Father Theodore's face was beginning to annoy Hippolyte.
'Don't you hold Mass any more?' he said as he passed the priest again.
'How can I?' said Father Theodore. 'All the congregation are scattered looking for treasure in the towns. I don't know whose treasure it is, but I know they are looking for it.'
Hippolyte wanted to be insulting and opened his mouth to say something, but he could not think of anything strong enough to say, and, feeling annoyed, he went back into his room. A minute later Bender came out in his pale blue waistcoat and, tripping over his boot-laces, walked up to Father Theodore. The priest turned pale.
'Do you buy antiques?' asked Bender severely. 'Chairs? Giblets? Old tins?'
'What d'you mean?' said Father Theodore in a frightened voice.
​'I want to sell you a pair of old trousers.'
The priest shuddered and turned away.
'Well? Haven't you anything to say for yourself?'
Father Theodore walked towards his room.
'We buy old things,' Bender called out after him, 'and we steal new ones!'
The priest stopped outside his door and Bender went on taunting him: 'What about those breeches? D'you want them? I've got the sleeves of a waistcoat, the ring of a cracknel, and the ears of a dead donkey. You can have the whole lot cheap. And they're not inside a chair, so you won't need to look for them.'
Father Theodore banged his door behind him.
Bender was quite pleased with himself, and turned round to go into his bedroom, when Father Theodore poked his head out of his room and shouted: 'You're a fool!'
'What?' shouted Bender as he dashed back. But the priest slammed the door and locked it. 'What price opium for the people?' Bender bellowed through the keyhole.
There was no answer.
'You're a bounder, holy father!' shouted Bender.
A sharply-pointed pencil was pushed through the keyhole and Father Theodore tried to wound his enemy. Bender recoiled in time, seized the end of the pencil, and the two enemies silently tugged at it. Youth triumphed and the pencil slowly emerged from the keyhole. Bender returned to his room with the trophy, and Hippolyte and he were hilarious. Bender took his pen-knife, opened it, cut an insulting word on the side of the pencil, ran out into the corridor, pushed the pencil through the keyhole, and came back to his room. The friends began to examine the confiscation orders.
'The order for the "Shepherdess" Gobelin,' said Hippolyte meditatively. 'I bought that Gobelin from an antique-dealer in Petersburg.'
​'"The Shepherdess" can go to the devil!' shouted Bender as he tore the order to ribbons.
'The round table.'
'Let me have that round table. That too can go to the devil!'
There were two orders left. One was for ten chairs and the other for a chair given out to Comrade Gritsatsuev in Stargorod.
'Get your money ready,' said Bender. 'You may have to go to Moscow.'
'But there's a chair here,' said Hippolyte.
'That's one chance against ten, isn't it?' said Bender. 'And it's quite possible that Comrade Gritsatsuev has had it broken up for firewood long ago.'
'I think your joke is out of place,' said Hippolyte.
'Never mind, dear Konrad Karlovich Michaelson, we'll find those diamonds and we'll wear silk shirts before we're very much older, and eat caviare too!'
'I can't say why,' said Hippolyte, 'but for some reason or other I feel absolutely convinced that the diamonds are in that very chair.'
'Oh! you feel that, do you? Do you feel anything else? Nothing? All right, we'll work in the Marxist way; we'll leave the sky to the birds and turn to the chairs. I'm longing to meet the disabled soldier of the Imperialist War, Comrade Gritsatsuev of Number 15 Plekhanov Street. Hurry up, Konrad Karlovich, we'll form our plan on our way there.'
As they passed Father Theodore's room, Bender could not resist kicking the door.
'I hope he won't follow us,' said Hippolyte nervously.
'After to-day's interview between the ministers no further negotiations are possible. He's afraid of me,' said Bender.
The friends returned in the evening. Hippolyte was worried, but Bender was radiant. The latter was wearing new boots, with bright yellow suède tops ​and rubber heels, green and black check socks, a cream-coloured cap, and an artificial silk scarf.
'It's ours right enough,' said Hippolyte, thinking of their visit to Gritsatsuev's widow; 'but how can we get hold of the chair? Shall we buy it?'
'How can we?' retorted Bender. 'Apart from the expense, it'll only cause talk. And why buy one chair, and precisely that chair?'
'Well, what are we to do?' asked Hippolyte.
Bender looked down at his boots with pride.
'Chic moderne!' he said. 'What are we to do? Don't you worry, Mr. President; I shall take this little affair on to my own shoulders. Not a single chair will be able to resist these boots.'
'Do you know,' said Hippolyte excitedly, 'while you were talking to Madam Gritsatsuev about the flood, I sat down on our chair and, honour bright, I felt something hard under me. They are there! I swear they are!'
'Now, now, don't get so excited. Citizen Michaelson.'
'We'll have to steal it at night. Yes, we'll have to do that.'
'Well, I must say for a marshal of nobility you've got some pretty poor ideas,' said Bender. 'D'you know the technique of the business? Perhaps you've got a skeleton key in your trunk? No, no, put that right out of your head. That's mean; you can't plunder a poor widow.'
'But I should like to get hold of it quickly,' said Hippolyte.
'Quickly!' said Bender scornfully. 'Only kittens are born quickly! I shall marry her!'
'Marry?'
'Yes, marry Madam Gritsatsuev.'
'But why?'
'So as to be able to rummage in the chair in peace.'
'But you're tying yourself up for a lifetime!'
'What will a man not do for a couple of diamonds?' ​82
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' But it’s for life ! What a sacrifice ! ’ ' Life ? ’ said Bender. ‘ A sacrifice ? What d’you know about life and sacrifices ? Simply because you’ve been pushed out of your own home you think you know what life is. And because one of your Chinese vases was confiscated you think that is a sacrifice. Life is a complicated affair, but, my dear sir, it opens as simply as a box. AU you want is the key to it. If you haven’t got the key^ then you’re lost.’ Bender then polished his new boots with his sleeve and left Hippolyte. Towards morning he came back, took off his boots, put them on to his night-table, feU on to his bed, and stroked his boots : ‘ My dear little friends ! ’ he said to them tenderly. ‘ Where have you been ? ’ said Hippolyte half asleep. ‘ With the widow, of course,’ said Bender. ‘ WeU,’ asked Hippolyte, as he raised himself on his elbow, ‘ and are you going to marry her ? ’ Bender’s eyes shone. ‘ Being an honest man, I must marry her now.’ Hippolyte grinned stupidly. ' A passionate woman,’ said Bender, ‘ is a poet’s dream. Provincial simplicity. Such women are scarce nowadays.’ ‘ When is the wedding ? ’ ‘ The day after to-morrow. To-morrow is out of the question. It is the first of May and everything win be closed.’ ‘ Then what about our plans ? You’re getting married----- And we may have to go to Moscow.’ ‘ WeU ? What are you so worried about ? That’s no obstacle. Let the good work go on ! ’ ‘ But your wife ? ’ ‘ My wife ? The diamond widow ? Oh, that’s nothing. Business in Moscow. A tender fareweU and a chicken for the journey. We’U travel in comfort.
CHAPTER XIII
MAY DAY
IT was the first of May, and early in the morning Viktor Mikhaylovich Polesov hurried out of the yard to see the celebrations. At first he could not find anything to look at ; there were only a few people about, and the platforms that had been erected during the night were empty and were being guarded by mounted militiamen. By nine o’clock there were various signs of a holiday. Bands began to play, women ran out into the streets from their kitchens, columns of workers marched down the streets, and a lorry gaily decorated with bunting drove towards the workmen.
'Hi, there !’ shouted the workmen to the lorry driver. ‘What d’you think you’re doing ? Can’t you see you're blocking the way ?’
Viktor Mikhaylovich was in his element.
'Of course you shouldn’t be here !’ he shouted. 'Can’t you see you're blocking the way ? You should turn into the side-street. Come on, this way ! This way It’s a positive disgrace ! They can’t even organize a holiday properly ! Come on, this way ! This way !’
Other lorries were loaded with children. The smallest children were pressed against the sides of the lorries, the taller ones were behind them, and the tallest stood in the centre, so that they formed a kind of pyramid. The children were enjoying themselves thoroughly. They were waving paper flags, shouting and singing and stamping their feet.
The Young Pioneers were beating their drums ; their chests well forward, they were trying hard to keep in step. One of the groups mistook Viktor Mikhaylovich for one of their leaders and began to cheer him. ​84
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An effigy of Austen Chamberlain in a top-hat was carried down the street, and a worker with a hammer in his right hand was beating the hat on which was written ; ‘ The League of Nations Three members of the League of Communist Youth, dressed in evening dress and wearing white gloves, drove past in a motor-car. They looked uncomfortable. ‘ Bourgeois I ’ came a voice from the pavement. ' Throw us your braces ! ’ The procession was moving towards the new tram depot. Promptly at one o’clock the first Stargorod electric tram was to come out of its shed. Scarcely any one could remember when the idea of having electric trams in Stargorod had first started. Some time in 1922 a few workmen came and dug holes in the principal street. They made a number of large, deep holes, and a man wearing an engineer’s cap walked to and fro, followed by a few men who measured out the ground. A week later they were still working in the same place. Holes had been made where they were not required and they had to be filled in again. The engineer shouted at the workmen and demanded an explanation. Then fresh holes were dug, deeper still and wider. Bricks were brought and the brick­ layers came to lay the foundation. Gradually every­ thing quietened down and the work stopped. The engineer came occasionally to look at the foundations and to examine the holes, which had been lined with bricks. He would tap the foundations with his walking stick and then walk away again. The engineer’s name was Treukhov. The construction of the tramway stopped with the foundations. Treukhov had thought out the project as far back as 1912, but the Town Council had turned it down. Two years later Treukhov again tried to per­ suade the council to take up his scheme, but the War interfered. Then after the War there was the Revo­ lution, and after the Revolution there was the New ​MAY DAY
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Economic Policy and other obstacles. Grass and flowers grew over the foundations during the summer, and in the winter children made ice-hills there. Treukhov dreamt of putting his plan into action. Various departments either passed or rejected his scheme, but the town refused to spend the necessary money. ‘ It’s an absolute disgrace 1 ’ Treukhov would shout to his wife. ‘ No money ! And yet the Stargorod cabmen are paid exorbitant fares. Of course the profiteers have the monopoly. You try carrying your luggage five miles to the railway station. . . . Why, the tram service would pay for itself in six years.’ And for the thousandth time he would show the plans to his wife—plans for a tramway depot and twelve tram-lines. ‘ Twelve hues ? That is for the future, but three fines are absolutely essential, and Stargorod wifi be no good without them.’ And then Treukhov would snort and go into the kitchen to chop wood. One day he took his plans to a new member of the council who had been transferred to Stargorod from Samarkand. He listened to Treukhov without paying much attention to what he was saying, fingered the plans and then said : ‘ We had no need for trams in Samarkand.’ ‘ Yes, but that was Asia 1 ’ said Treukhov. ‘ I can see that you’re not much good.’ And he went out of the room and banged the door behind him. Each time the man from Samarkand met Treukhov he would look at him with amusement and say : ‘ Well, what about that tram ? ’ But two months later he sent for the engineer and said : ‘ Next Friday there is to be an important meeting and I shall bring up your scheme.’ At that meeting the question was settled favourably, and Treukhov set to work, but there were many hitches. The wrong material was sent, the rails were delayed in transit, and there were disputes among the workmen. ​86
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The building of the Stargorod tramway provided the town with much amusement, and there were numerous jokes about it in the papers. At last the depot was built, the tram-lines were laid from the railway station to the slaughter-house, and from the market to the cemetery. The opening ceremony was supposed to take place in October, but the trams did not arrive in time and the inauguration had to be postponed until the first of May. On that day everything was ready. The whole of Stargorod was out in the streets. The new tram depot was hung with flags, garlands, and slogans. A militiaman was galloping after an ice­ cream merchant who had managed to slip through the cordon. A microphone had been fastened on to one of the gates. Delegates crowded round a platform, and an orchestra began to tune up. A drum lay on the ground. Ten new trams numbered from 701 to 710 stood in the brightly-ht depot. A journalist from Moscow was looking for the engineer to ask him some questions about the trams. Although he knew perfectly well what he was going to say about the opening ceremony, including the speeches which had not yet been given, he continued to look for the engineer. The crowd shouted, sang, and chewed sunflower seeds as they waited for the first tram to come out of the depot. A man chmbed on to the platform and began to address the crowd : ‘ I declare this tram depot of Stargorod to be now open.’ The orchestra played the ‘ International ’ three times. There were speeches. ‘ And, comrades,’ concluded one of the speakers, ‘ I think that this tram which is about to run out of the depot has been brought into existence through the efforts of you, comrades, the workers, who have worked so very conscientiously, and too through the devoted service of that honest Soviet specialist, chief engineer Truekhov.’ ​MAY DAY
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Treukhov was not to be found. The speech was vigorously applauded by the crowd. The meeting was becoming tedious, but the speakers had grown so used to talking that they could not stop. At last Treukhov was found. His hands and face were smeared with oil, and before going on to the platform he insisted upon scrubbing his face and hands. It was his turn to make a speech. He wanted to say a great deal about hard work, about what had been done and was still to be achieved. He opened his mouth and began to stammer : ‘ C-C-Comrades ! The inter-ter-intemational position of our country is----- ’ The crowd which was hstening to the sixth inter­ national speech was entirely unresponsive. It was only when he had finished his speech that he realized he had not said a word about the tram. ‘ How stupid ! ’ he thought. ‘ We Russians simply don’t know how to make speeches. It would be much better if we didn’t talk at all! ’ It was quite dark by the time the red ribbon across the entrance to the depot was cut with a sharp pair of scissors. Workers and representatives of various societies crowded into the trams. A beU rang and the first tram, driven by Treukhov himself, ran out of the depot amid deafening cheers from the crowd. Viktor Mikhaylovich Polesov had managed to scramble on to the platform of the last tram. He was interested in the tram and was very surprised to find that, contrary to his prophecy, it ran very smoothly and that.the windows did not rattle. He exchanged a few opinions with the driver, and the distinguished guests of the Town Council thought that he was a tramway specialist from the West of Europe. After a triumphant tour of the town the trams ran back into the depot, where the crowd was waiting for them. As Viktor Mikhaylovich was getting out of the tram ​88
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he suddenly noticed a familiar face. It was none other than Hippolyte Matveyevich Vorobianinov, who was walking away from the depot with a young friend of his. When the opening ceremony was over a Ford car suddenly arrived at the depot. A cinema operator jumped out and Treukhov went up to him and said : ‘ Are you the cinema ? Why didn’t you come this afternoon ? ’ ' When was the opening ? ’ ‘ It’s aU over long ago ! ’ ‘ Yes, yes, we may be a httle late. Come along now, turn the handle 1 Take a picture of the crowd. That’ll do, thank you ! Now, the moving feet of the crowd. That’ll do, thank you! Now, the chief engineer. Comrade Treukhov, is it ? No, no, not hke that, but with a tram in the background. That’s it ! Many thanks. Stop ! ’ The cinema operator put his apparatus into the Ford again and drove off. Polesov had managed to push his way out of the crowd and was now following Hippolyte and his friend. He was waiting for an opportunity to go up to Hippolyte. ‘ Good evening, Mr. Vorobianinov,’ he said respect­ fully. Hippolyte was startled. ‘ I haven’t the honour,’ he mumbled. Bender pushed his way in between them and turned to Polesov. ‘ Now, now,’ he said, ‘ what do you want to say to my friend ? ’ ‘ You don’t need to worry,’ said Polesov, looking round. ‘ I’ve come from Elena Bauer.’ ‘ What ? Is she here ? ’ ‘ Yes, she is, and she is very anxious to see you.’ ‘ Why ? ’ asked Bender ; ' and who are you ? ’ ‘ You needn’t be nervous,’ said the locksmith. ‘ You ​MAY DAY
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may not remember me, but I remember you very well.’ ‘ I’d like to see Elena Stanislavovna,’ said Hippolyte hesitantly. ‘ She invites you to come and see her.’
‘ I saw you in the corridor at the House Depart­ ment, and for a long time I thought “ That face seems familiar,” and then I remembered. You don’t need to be afraid. It will be kept a secret.’ ‘ A woman you know ? ’ asked Bender in a businesshke way. ‘ Er—yes, an old friend.’ ‘ Well, perhaps we can go and see her and have supper with your old friend. I, for one, am dying for something to eat, and aU the restaurants are closed.’ ‘ All right. Let us go.’ ‘ Come on then,’ said Bender. ‘ Lead on, mysterious stranger.’ And the locksmith, casting furtive glances over his shoulder, led them through back streets and yards until they came to the fortime-teller’s house.