# Diamonds To Sit On/Chapter 28

Contents
CHAPTER XXVIII
A POET
AFTER Madam Gritsatsuev had left the inhospitable newspaper office the humblest people who worked in that building began to come in again for their day's work. Messengers, shorthand typists, telephone operators, and office boys streamed into the various offices.
Nikifor Lyapis moved about among them. He wasa very young man with a curly head like a lamb and an impudent face. He had come into the building through the back way, for he felt quite at home there and knew all the short-cuts that led to the cashier's desk. He went up to an automatic machine, put a coin in, and took out a sandwich, a glass sealed in paper, and a cream bun. After this he had a drink of tea, and then went to have a look round. He wandered into the offices of a hunters' journal "Gerasim and Mumu", but his friend was out, so he moved on to the offices of the "Hygroscopic Messenger", a weekly journal through which pharmaceutical workers kept in touch with the outside world.
'Good morning,' said Nikifor. 'I've written some wonderful poetry.'
'What about?' asked the editor of the literary page.
'Don't you know that this is a hygroscopic journal?'
The poet looked at the floor, then threw his head back and said in a sonorous voice: 'A ballad on gangrene.'
'Interesting!' remarked the editor. 'It's high time we spread prophylactic ideas in popular form.'
Lyapis immediately began to declaim:
DIAMONDS TO SIT ON
poem went on to describe how. out of ignorE’b the chemist in time and Sbdile ’ ^ts wound
iurfy^K?’’® the editor encouragibunderstand, we should prefer some­ thing different.’ All the same he took th? baffal Sid promised to pay for it on the foUowing Tuesday. thJn 7^^ to the next office, belonging to the D«i/y Gossip, where he was very welcome Doeing NnSp ^^"ting some poems None of your lyrics, but life! life I life I Somethmg to do with the postal telegraph workers ’ think,Lyapis. ‘ Only yesterday I was hmkmg about postal telegraph workers. I’ve got a poem about them. Here it is : Gavrila served as postman He carried letters round. . .
This went on for seventy-two lines, until in the end Gavrila is mortally wounded by a Fascist bullet • addrS? ' to the right Where does all this take place ? ’ Lyapis was asked not caUed gS takeTSa«’“h,‘’R'"°”® K “‘ion 1 Juace m Russia, of course, and the Fascist is ‘No "ifossed up to look hke a Fascist! ’ ven^ aSt SadL‘
‘ But why don’t you want the postman ? ’ Nikifor LyapiTwlntbackY^tV^r^ provisionaUy.’ offices, where he found Mumu of the'snSs conipeUtor, a port from one Again he offered a poem about Gavrila, but this time ​A POET
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it had a hunting theme, and it was called ‘ The Poacher’s Prayer Gavrila sat in wait for a rabbit, He shot it and killed it at once. . . .
‘ That’s splendid,’ said the editor,' but you must alter it shghtly. You must throw out the word “ prayer ” and also the word “ rabbit ”, because both are out of season.’ By the time all the changes had been made the poem was entirely different. Several editors gave him orders for poems, but the saddest part about it all was that Lyapis was not given any money. Some of them promised to pay him on Tuesday, others on Thursday or Friday, and others in a fortnight’s time. In the end he had to borrow some money in another office, where they never gave him any orders for poetry. Lyapis came down from the fifth floor to the second and walked into the office of the Stanok, where to his utter dismay he ran straight into the arms of the reporter, Persitsky. ‘ Ah, Lapsus ! ’ exclaimed Persitsky. ‘ Listen,’ said Nikifor. ' Lend me three roubles. Gerasim and Mumu owe me a fortune.’ ‘ I’ll give you half a rouble. Wait a minute. I’ll be back in a minute.’ Persitsky returned with some collaborators of the Stanok, who teased Lyapis whenever they saw him. They all began to talk. ‘ Well, how’s business ? ’ asked Persitsky. ‘ I’ve written some wonderful poetry.’ ' About Gavrila ? Something taken from peasant hfe ? ’ said another. They teased Lyapis about his poetry until Persitsky dragged him into the next room. ' Wait a minute and I’ll bring you that half-rouble,’ he said. But he did not bring the half-rouble. ​igo
DIAMONDS TO SIT ON
Instead, he brought a friend of his who asked the poet why he did not find something more sensible to do with his time than scribbling poetry. ‘ Why don’t you learn a trade ? ’ ‘ Because I need money,’ said Lyapis. ‘ But you never have any. You’re always borrowing roubles.’ ‘ I’ve just bought some furniture and I’m out of pocket.’ ‘ What ? You’ve been buying furniture ? What can you buy with the few miserable coppers you earn ? ’ ‘ Coppers ? I’ve bought such a chair at an auction that'----- ’ ‘ I say, what’s it hke ? ’ ‘ It was from the Palace, but I’ve had a terrible misfortune. Last night when I went to my room I found the window open and I knew at once that some­ thing was wrong. Some rogue must have climbed into my room, for the chair had been ripped up. And that’s why I want five roubles. It’s to mend my chair.’ Oh, we can’t give you money for mending chairs. You’ll have to compose a new poem about Gavrila and a wondrous chair ! ’ After so much teasing Lyapis walked disconsolately out of the office and immediately began to compose another poem about Gavrila.