Diamonds To Sit On/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX
WHERE ARE YOUR LOCKS?
WHILE Bender was inspecting the home for the aged, Hippolyte left the porter's room, and feeling the cold air on his shaved head he hurried down the streets of his native town.
The pavements were wet and there was a ceaseless dripping of water from the roofs of the houses. Sparrows were busy pecking in the gutter. The sun was shining brightly. Advertisements on the damp telegraph poles were wrinkled and the printed letters of the notices: 'I can teach you to play the guitar by the numerical system', 'I give lessons in social science to those about to enter the Academy of Music', were all smeared. A detachment of Red soldiers wearing winter helmets were tramping through the puddles.
As Hippolyte walked along he examined the passersby with interest. He, who had lived in Russia all his life and during the revolution, saw how the old manners and customs were being effaced and new ones taking their place. He had grown used to this in the town of N, but now that he had returned to his native place he discovered that it upset him. He could not make anything of it: he felt uncomfortable and strange, as though he really had been abroad and had just returned from Paris. In the old days, when he used to drive through the town in his carriage, he used to meet friends or at least people known to him, but he had now walked through four different districts without meeting a soul he knew. They had vanished or perhaps they had grown so old that he could not recognize them, or perhaps they were unrecognizable because they were wearing other clothes and other hats. Perhaps they had changed the way they walked. 52
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Whatever the reason was, he did not meet any one he knew. Hippolyte walked about with a pale face, feeling cold and lost. He had quite forgotten that he was supposed to be looking for the House Department. He crossed over from pavement to pavement and turned aimlessly into side-streets, where the snow was still thick on the ground. The houses that had been previously painted blue were now green ; the yellow ones were grey, and there seemed to be more noise in the streets. He was surprised to see tram-lines in the town ; he had never noticed them before. At one moment he felt he had never been out of Stargorod, and at the next he felt he had never been in the place before. Thinking such thoughts, he walked down Marx and Engels Streets. Suddenly Hippolyte went hot and cold all over. Coming straight towards him was a stranger with a kind face who was carrying a chair on his head. Hippolyte gasped with astonishment, and immediately recognized the chair. Yes, there it was : the chair made by Gambs, up holstered with Enghsh chintz, and slightly soiled by revolutionary storms. It was the walnut chair with bent legs. Hippolyte felt as though he had been shot. Not far away some men were calling : ‘ Any knives to grind ? Any knives to grind ? ’ ‘ Pots to mend ? Pots to mend ? ’ ‘ Paper ! Paper 1 ’ A car rushed through the street; a window pane broke ; hfe was busy here. There was no time to be lost. Hippolyte pounced upon the stranger like a leopard, and without saying a word pulled the chair away from him. The stranger tugged it back again. Then Hippolyte got hold of one of the legs with his left hand and tried to tear the stranger’s fingers from the chair. WHERE ARE YOUR LOCKS ?
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‘ You’re a thief I ’ said the stranger in a whisper, hanging on to the chair more firmly. ‘ Give it to me! Let go at once ! ’ stammered Hippolyte as he tried to release the chair from the man’s grasp. A crowd began to gather. Three people were close to them, watching the development of the conflict. Both men looked round furtively and, without looking at each other or loosening their hold on the chair, walked rapidly down the street as though nothing unusual was happening. They began to walk more quickly, and on noticing an empty side-street, they turned into it as if by prearrangement. Here Hippolyte’s energy increased fourfold. ‘ Let go ! ’ he shouted. ‘ Help ! Help ! ’ called the stranger weakly. As both of them were hanging on to the chair they began to kick each other vigorously under it. The stranger’s boots had irons under the heels, and at first Hippolyte got the worst of it, but he soon adapted himself and escaped the kicks by dancing about from right to left. Then he tried to hit his enemy in the stomach. The chair was in the way, but he managed to kick the stranger’s knee-cap so forcibly that his enemy could only kick out with his left foot. ‘ Oh, God ! ’ groaned the stranger. And at this Hippolyte discovered that the stranger who was hanging on to the chair was none other than Father Theodore. Hippolyte was dumbfounded. ‘ Father Theodore! ’ he exclaimed, and in his surprise he let go of the chair. Father Theodore went purple in the face and also released his hold on the chair. Since no one was holding it, the chair fell on to the pavement.
- But where’s your moustache ? ’ asked the priest
venomously. ‘ And where are your locks ? You did have locks, didn’t you ? ’ There was undisguised contempt in 54
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Hippolyte’s voice. He looked Father Theodore up and down, picked up the chair, and turned on his heel. But the priest had recovered from his surprise and was determined not to allow Hippolyte score such an easy victory. With a shout of: ' No 1 I insist ! ’ he again seized hold of the chair. Again both of them stood with the chair between them and eyed each other like cats or boxers. ‘ So it’s you, holy father ! ’ hissed Hippolyte through his teeth. ' It’s you who are on the hunt for my goods ! ’ And having said this he kicked him. Father Theodore retahated with a kick which made Hippolyte wince. ‘ It’s not yours ! ’ ' Then whose is it ? ’ ‘ Not yours ! ’ ‘ But whose then ? ’ ' Not yours, in any case.’ There were more kicks. ‘ Whose is it then ? ’ shouted Hippolyte as he landed a kick in the holy father’s stomach. ‘ It is nationalized property.’ ‘ Nationalized ? ’ ‘ Yes, nationalized.’ They spoke rapidly. ‘ By whom ? ’ ' By the power of the Soviet.’ ' What power ? ’ ' The power of the workers.’ ' Oh ! ’ said Hippolyte. ' Did you say by the power of the workers and peasants ? ’ ‘ Ye-e-es ! ’ ‘ So you’re a party man, holy father, are you ? ’ ‘ Per-haps.’ Hippolyte could not stand it any longer. He pushed his enemy over. The priest fell with the chair and dragged Hippolyte down with him. They struggled together on the pavement. WHERE ARE YOUR LOCKS ?
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Suddenly there was a crash. The front legs broke, and, forgetting each other, the rivals began to tear the walnut treasure to pieces. The Enghsh chintz was ripped open. The back of the chair flew off. The treasure-seekers tore the hning into shreds, and, scratching their hands on the springs, they plunged their fingers into the wool stuffing. Five minutes later the chair was stripped bare. The springs were rolling about on the pavement; the wind was blowing the wool stuffing in all directions ; the bent legs were lying in the gutter, but there were no diamonds.
- Well, have you found them ? ’ sneered Hippolyte.
Father Theodore, covered with tufts of wool, was puffing and blowing . He was silent. ‘ You’re a scoundrel! ’ shouted Hippolyte. ' I’ll beat your face in. Father Theodore ! ’ ‘ Your arms are too short ! ’ retorted the priest. ‘ Where can you go now with all that fluff sticking to you ? Look what a sight you are ! ’ ‘ That’s none of your business.’ ‘ Shame on you. Father Theodore. You’re a thief ! ’ ' I haven’t stolen anything from you.’ ‘ Then how did you find out about it ? You’ve used the sacrament of confession for your own ends. Very nice ! Very pretty, I must say ! ’ And with a snort of disgust Hippolyte brushed the fluff from his coat as he walked rapidly away from the priest. A few streets ahead he suddenly noticed his friend Bender, who was standing at a comer, having his boots cleaned. ‘ Well, how’s the House Department ? ’ said Bender in a business-like voice, and immediately added: ' Wait a bit. You’re far too excited. Cahn yourself.’ He paid the bootblack, took Hippolyte by the arm, and went down the street with him. Bender listened with the greatest interest to everything he had to tell him. ‘ Ah ! yes,’ said Bender. ‘ A small black beard ? 56
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Quite right! A coat with a Persian lamb collar ? I know. That was the chair from the home for the aged. It was bought this morning for three roubles.’ ‘ But wait a minute. Listen ! ’ said Hippolyte. And Hippolyte told his partner about Father Theodore’s treachery. Bender was solemn. ‘ That’s bad,’ he said. ‘ A mysterious rival. We must forestall him. Later on we’ll have plenty of time to take our revenge.’ The two friends went into the ‘ Stenka Razin ’ for a snack, and Bender asked where the House Depart ment had been and what other Government institution occupied its premises now. As it was evening. Bender and Hippolyte decided to return to the porter’s room. ' I shall find them,’ thought Hippolyte, and he was full of confidence.