Michail Bulgakov. The heart of a dog

 

 

One

 

аааа Ooow-ow-ooow-owow!а Oh, lookа at me,а I'mа dying.а There'sа a snowstorm

moaningа a requiemа forа meа inа thisа doorway and I'm howlingа with it. I'm

finished. Some bastard in a dirty white cap - the cook in the office canteen

at the National Economic Council - spilled some boiling water and scalded my

left side.а Filthy swine -а and a proletarian, too. Christ, itа hurts!а That

boiling water scalded me right through to the bone. I can howl and howl, but

what's the use?

аааа Whatа harm wasа Iа doingа him,а anyway? I'mа notа robbing theа National

Economic Council'sа food supply if Iа goа foraging in theirа dustbins, am I?

Greedy pig! Just take a look atа his ugly mugа - it's almost fatter thanа he

is. Hard-faced crook. Oh people, people. It was midday when that fool doused

me with boiling water, now it's getting dark, must beа about four o'clock in

the afternoon judging byа the smellа of onion comingа from theа Prechistenka

fire station. Firemen have soup for supper, you know. Not that I care for it

myself. I can manage without soup -а don't like mushrooms either. The dogs I

knowа in Prechistenkaа Street, by theа way, tell me there'sа a restaurant in

Neglinny Street whereа they get the chef's special every day - mushroom stew

withа relishа at 3 roublesа andа 75а kopecksа theа portion.а Allа rightа for

connoisseurs, Iа suppose. Iа thinkа eating mushroomsа is aboutа as tastyа as

licking a pair of galoshes . . . Oow-owowow . . .

аааа My side hurts like hell and Iа can see just what's going toа becomeа of

me. Tomorrow it will break out in ulcers and then how can I make themа heal?

Inа summer you can goа and rollа in Sokolniki Park whereа there'sа a special

grass that does you good. Besides,а youа can get a free meal of sausage-ends

andа there'sа plenty of greasy bitsа of food-wrappingsа to lick.а Andа if it

wasn'tа forа someа old groaner singing '0 celeste Aida' out in the moonlight

till it makes youа sick, the place would be perfect. But where can I go now?

Haven'tа Iа beenа kicked aroundа enough? Sureа I have.а Haven't I had enough

bricks thrown at me? Plenty . . . Still, after what I've been through, I can

takeа a lot. I'm only whining now becauseа of the pain and cold - though I'm

not licked yet ... it takes a lot to keep a good dog down.

аааа But my poor old body's been knocked about by people once too often. The

troubleа is that whenа that cookа dousedа meа with boiling water it аscalded

through right under myа fur and now there's nothingа to keep the cold out on

my left side. I could easilyа get pneumonia - and if Iа get that,а citizens,

I'll die of hunger. When you get pneumonia the only thing to do is to lie up

underа someone's front doorstep,а andа thenа who'sа goingа to runа round the

dustbins looking for food for a sick bachelor dog? I shall get a chill on my

lungs, crawl on my bellyа till I'm soа weak that it'll only need one poke of

someone's stick to finish meа off. And theа dustmenа will pickа me up by the

legs and sling me on to their cart . . .

аааа Dustmen are the lowest form of proletarian life. Humans' rubbish is the

filthiestа stuff there is. Cooks varyа - for instance,а there was Vlasа from

Prechistenka,а who's dead now. He saved I don't know how manyа dogs'а lives,

because whenа you're sick you've simply got to be able to eatа and keep your

strengthа up. And when Vlas used to throw you a bone there was always a good

eighth of anа inch of meat onа it. Heа wasа a great character. Godа rest his

soul, a gentleman's cookа who worked for Count Tolstoy's family andа not for

your stinking Food Rationing Board. As for the muck they dishа out thereа as

rations, wellа it makes even aа dog wonder. They make soupа out of salt beef

that's gone rotten, the cheats. The poor fools who eat there can'tа tell the

difference. It's just grab, gobble and gulp.

аааа A typist on salary scale 9 gets 60 roubles a month. Of course her lover

keeps herа in silk stockings,а butа thinkа whatа sheа has to put up withа in

exchange for silk. He won't just want to make the usual sort of love to her,

he'llа makeа herа do itа the French way. They'reа aа lotа of bastards, those

Frenchmen,а ifа youа ask me - though they know how toа stuff theirа guts all

right, and red wine with everything. Well,а along comesа this littleа typist

and wants a meal. She can't afford to go into the restaurant on 60 roubles a

monthа and goа toа theа cinema as well.а Andа theа cinemaа is a woman'sа one

consolation in life. It's agony forа her to have to choose a meal . . . just

think:40 kopecks for two courses, and neitherа of them is worth more than 15

because theа manager has pocketed the otherа 25 kopecks-worth. Anyhow, is it

theа right sort ofа food for her? She's got a patchа on the top of her right

lung, she's havingа herа period,а she's had her pay dockedа at work and they

feed herа with any old muck at the canteen, poor girl . .а . Thereа she goes

now,а running into the doorway in her lover's stockings. Cold legs, andа the

windа blows up her belly because evenа though she has some hairа on itа like

mineа sheа wears such cold, thin,а lacy little pantsа - justа to pleaseа her

lover. Ifа she tried to wear flannel ones he'd soon bawl her out for looking

a frump.а 'Myа girlа bores me',а he'll say, 'I'mа fed up with thoseа flannel

knickers of hers,а toа hell with her. I've made goodа nowа and all I make in

graft goes on women, lobsters and champagne. I went hungry often enough as a

kid. So what - you can't take it with you.'

ааа аI feel sorry for her, poorа thing. But I feel a lot sorrier for myself.

I'm notа sayingа it out ofа selfishness, not aа bit,а but becauseа you can't

compare us. She at least has a warm home to goа to, but what about me? . . .

Where can I go? Oowow-owow!

аааа 'Here, doggy, here, boy! Here, Sharik . .а . Whatа are you whining for,

poor little fellow? Did somebody hurt you, then?'

аааа The terrible snowstorm howled around the doorway, buffetingа the girl's

ears.а It blewа herа skirt up to her knees, showing her fawn stockings and a

littleа strip of badly washed lace underwear, drownedа her words and covered

the dog in snow.

аааа 'My God . . . what weather .а . . ughа . . . And my stomach aches. It's

that awful salt beef. When is all this going to end?'

аааа Lowering her head the girlа launched intoа the attack and rushed out of

theа doorway. Onа the streetа the violent storm spun her like aа top, then a

whirlwind of snow spiralled around her and she vanished.

аааа But the dog stayedа in the doorway. His scaldedа flank wasа soа painful

that heа pressed himself againstа theа cold wall,а gaspingа forа breath, and

decidedа not toа move from the spot.а He would die inа the doorway.а Despair

overcame him. He was so bitter and sickа at heart,а so lonely andа terrified

that little dog's tears, like pimples, trickled downа from hisа eyes, and at

once dried up.а His injured sideа was covered with frozen, dried blood-clots

and between them peeped the angry red patches of the scald. All the fault of

that vicious,а thickheaded, stupidа cook. 'Sharik' she hadа called him . . .

What a name to choose! Sharik is the sort ofа name for a round, fat,а stupid

dogа that's fed on porridge, aа dogа with a pedigree, and he was a tattered,

scraggy, filthy stray mongrel with a scalded side.

аааа Acrossа the streetа the doorа of aа brightlyа litа storeа slammed and a

citizen came through it. Not a comrade, but a citizen, or even more likely -

a gentleman. As heа came closer itа wasа obvious that he was aа gentleman. I

supposeа youа thought I recognisedа him byа his overcoat?а Nonsense. Lots of

proletarians even wearа overcoats nowadays. I admit they don't usuallyа have

collars like this one, of course, but even so you can sometimes beа mistaken

at a distance. No,а it'sа the eyes:а you can'tа go wrong with those, near or

far. Eyes mean a lot. Like a barometer. They tell you everything - they tell

youа whoа has a heart of stone, whoа would poke theа toe of his boot in your

ribs as soon as look at you - and who's afraid of you. The cowards - they're

the ones whose ankles Iа like toа snap at. If they're scared, I go for them.

Serve them right . . . grrr . . . bow-wow . . .

аааа The gentlemanа boldly crossedа the street in a pillarа of whirling snow

andа headed for the doorway.а Yes,а youа can tellа his sortа allа right.а He

wouldn't eat rotten salt beef, and if anyone did happen to give him any he'd

make a fuss and write to theа newspapers - someone has been trying to poison

me - me, Philip Philipovich.

аааа He came nearer and nearer. He's the kind who always eats well and never

steals, he wouldn't kick you, but he's not afraid of anyone either. And he's

never afraid because he always has enough to eat. This man's a brain worker,

with a carefully trimmed, sharp-pointed beardа and grey moustaches, bold and

bushy ones like the knights of old. But the smell of him, that came floating

on the wind, was a bad, hospital smell. And cigars.

аааа I wonder why the hell he wants to go into that Co-op? Here he is beside

me . . . What does he want? Oowow, owow .а . . What would heа want to buy in

that filthy store,а surely he can afford to go toа the Okhotny Ryad?а What's

that he's holding? Sausage. Look sir,а ifа you knew whatа they put into that

sausage you'd never go near that store. Better give it to me.

аааа The dog gathered the last of his strength and crawledа fainting outа of

the doorway on to the pavement. The blizzardа boomed likeа gunfire overа his

head,а flappingа aа greatа canvasа billboardа markedа in hugeа letters,а 'Is

Rejuvenation Possible?'

аааа Of course it's possible.а The mere smell has rejuvenated me, gotа me up

off my belly, sent scorching waves through my stomach that'sа been empty for

two days.а Theа smellа that overpowered the hospital smell was theа heavenly

aroma of minced horsemeat with garlic and pepper. I feel it, I know -there's

a sausage in hisа right-hand coat pocket. He's standing over me. Oh, master!

Look at me. I'm dying. I'm so wretched, I'll be your slave for ever!

аааа The dog crawled tearfully forward on his stomach. Lookа whatа that cook

did to me. You'llа never give me anything, though. I know these rich people.

What good is it to you? What do you want with a bit of rotten old horsemeat?

The Moscow State Foodа Store only sells muckа likeа that. But you'veа a good

lunch underа your belt, haven't you, you're a world-famous figure thanksа to

male sexа glands. Oowow-owow .а . . What can I do?а I'm too young to die yet

and despair's a sin. There's nothing for it, I shall have to lick his hand.

аааа Theаа mysteriousа gentlemanа bentа downа towardsаа theа dog,а hisа gold

spectacle-rimsа flashing,а andа pulledа aа longа whiteа package outа ofа his

right-hand coat pocket. Without takingа offа his tanа gloves he brokeа off a

piece of the sausage, which was labelled 'Special Cracower'. And gaveа it to

the dog. Oh, immaculate personage! Oowow-oowow!

аааа 'Here, doggy,' theа gentleman whistled,а andа added sternly,а 'Come on!

Take it, Sharik!'

аааа He's christened me Sharik too. Call me whatа you like. For this you can

do anything you like to me,

аааа In a moment the dog had ripped off the sausage-skin. Mouth watering, he

bit into the Cracower and gobbledа it down in two swallows. Tears started to

hisа eyes asа heа nearly choked on theа string, which in his greed he almost

swallowed. Let me lick your hand again, I'll kiss your boots -а you've saved

my life.

аааа 'That's enough .а . .' The gentleman barked as though givingа an order.

Heа bentа over Sharik, аstaredа withа aа searchingа lookа into his eyesа and

unexpectedly stroked the dog gentlyа andа intimately along the stomachа with

his gloved hand.

аааа 'Aha,' he pronounced meaningly. 'No collar. Excellent. You're just what

I want. Follow me.' He clicked his fingers. 'Good dog!'

аааа Follow you? To the end of the earth. Kick me with your felt boots and I

won't say a word.

аааа The streetа lamps were alight allа along Prechistenka Street. His flank

hurtа unbearably, but for the moment Sharik forgotа about it, absorbedа by a

single thought:а how to avoid losingа sightа ofа thisа miraculous fur-coated

vision in the hurly-burly ofа the storm andа howа toа show him his loveа and

devotion. Seven timesа along the whole lengthа of Prechistenka Street as far

as the cross-roads atа Obukhov Streetа heа showedа it. At Myortvyа Street he

kissed his boot, he cleared the way by barkingа at a lady and frightened her

into falling flat on the pavement, and twice he gave a howl to make sure the

gentleman still felt sorry for him.

аааа A filthy, thieving stray torn cat slunk out from behind a drainpipe and

despite theа snowstorm, sniffed the Cracower. Sharik went blind with rage at

the thought that this rich eccentricа who picked up injured dogs in doorways

might take pity onа this robber and makeа him share the sausage. So he bared

hisа teethа so fiercely thatа the cat, withа aа hiss like aа leaky hosepipe,

shinned back up the drainpipe right to the second floor.а Grrrr! Woof! Gone!

We can't go handing out Moscowа State groceriesа to all theа straysа loafing

about Prechistenka Street.

аааа Theа gentlemanа noticedа the dog'sа devotionа asа theyа passed the fire

station window, out of which came the pleasant sound of aа Frenchа horn, and

rewarded him with a second piece that was an ounce or two smaller.

аааа Queer chap.а He'sа beckoning to me. Don'tа worry, I'm not going toа run

away. I'll follow you wherever you like. 'Here, doggy, here, boy!'

аааа Obukhov Street? OK by me. I know the place - I've been around.

аааа 'Here, doggy!'

аааа Here? Sure . . . Hey, no, wait a minute. No. There'sа a porters on that

block of flats. My worst enemies, porters, much worse than dustmen. Horrible

lot. Worse than cats. Butchers in gold braid.

аааа 'Don't beа frightened, comeа on.' 'Good evening,а Philipа Philipovich.'

'Good evening, Fyodor.'

аааа What a character. I'm in luck, by God. Who is this genius, who can even

bring stray dogsа off the street past a porter? Look at the bastard -а not a

move, not a word! He looks grim enough, but he doesn't seem to mind, for all

the gold braid on hisа cap. That's howа it should be, too. Knowsа his place.

Yes, I'm with this gentleman, so you can keep your hands to yourself. What's

that - didа he makeа aа move? Bite him. I wouldn'tа mindа a mouthful of homy

proletarian leg. In exchangeа for the troubleа I've hadа fromа all the other

porters and all the times they've poked a broom in my face.

аааа 'Come on, come on.'

аааа OK, OK, don'tа worry.а I'll go whereverа you go. Just show me theа way.

I'll be right behind you. Even if my side does hurt like hell.

аааа From hallway up the staircase: 'Were there any letters for me, Fyodor?'

аааа From below,а respectfully: 'Noа sir, Philipа Philipovich' (dropping his

voice and adding intimately), 'but they've just moved some more tenants into

No. 3.'

аааа The dog's dignified benefactor turned sharply round on the step, leaned

over the railing and asked in horror: 'Wh-at?'

аааа His eyes went quite round and his moustache bristled.

аааа The porterа looked upwards, put his hand to his lips, nodded andа said:

'That's right, four of them.'

аааа 'My God! I can just imagine what it must be like in that apartment now.

What sort of people are they?'

аааа 'Nobody special, sir.'

аааа 'And what's Fyodor Pavolovich doing?'

аааа 'He's gone to get some screensа and a load of bricks.а They're going to

build some partitions in the apartment.'

аааа 'God - what is the place coming to?'

аааа 'Extra tenantsа areа being moved intoа every apartment,а exceptа yours,

Philip Philipovich. There was a meeting the otherа day; they electedа aа new

house committee and kicked out the old one.'

аааа 'What will happen next? Oh, God . . .

аааа 'Come on, doggy.'

аааа I'm coming as fast asа I can. My side is giving me trouble, though. Let

me lick your boot.

аааа The porter's gold braid disappeared from the lobby.

аааа Past warmа radiators on a marble landing, another flight of stairsа and

then - a mezzanine.

 

Two

 

аааа Why bother to leam toа read when you can smell meat a mile away? If you

live in Moscow, though, and if you've got an ounce of brain in your head you

can't help learning to read -and without going to night-school either. There

are forty-thousand dogs in Moscow and I'llа betа there's notа one of them so

stupid he can't spell out the word 'sausage'.

аааа Sharik had begun by learning from colours. When he was just four months

old, blue-green signs startedа appearingа allа over Moscow with theа letters

MSFS - Moscowа State Food Stores - which meant a butcher and delicatessen. I

repeat that he had no need toа learn his letters because he could smellа the

meat anyway. Onceа he made a badа mistake:а trottingа upа toа aа bright blue

shop-sign one day whenа the smell was drownedа by car exhaust, instead ofа a

butcher's shopа he ranа into the Polubizner Brothers' electrical goods store

onа Myasnitzkaya Street.а There theа brothers taught him all about insulated

cable,а whichа can be sharper than a cabman's whip. This famous occasion may

be regarded asа theа beginning of Sharik's education.а Itа was hereа onа the

pavementа that Sharik beganа toа realiseа thatа 'blue'а doesn't alwaysа mean

'butcher',а and as heа squeezed his burningly painful tail betweenа his back

legs and howled, he remembered that on every butcher's shop the first letter

onа theа leftа wasа alwaysа goldа or brown,а bow-legged,а and lookedа like a

toboggan.

аааа Afterа thatа theа lessons wereа rather easier. 'A' he learnedа from the

barber on the comer of Mokhovaya Street, followed by 'B' (there was always a

policemanа standing in frontа of the last four letters of the word).а Corner

shops faced with tilesа always meant 'CHEESE' and the black half-moon at the

beginning of the word stood for the name ofа their former owners 'Chichkin';

they were fullа of mountainsа of red Dutch cheeses, salesmen who hated dogs,

sawdust on the floor and reeking Limburger.

аааа Ifа there was accordion music (which was slightly better thanа 'Celeste

Aida'), and theа place smeltedа ofа frankfurters,а the firstа letters on the

whiteа signboards very conveniently | spelled out the word 'NOOB', which was

short for 'No obsceneа language. No tips.'а Sometimes at these places fights

would break out, peopleа would аstartа punching each other in the faceа with

their fists - sometimes even with napkins or boots.

аааа If there wereа stale bits of ham andа mandarin oranges in the window it

meantа aа grrr . . .а grrocery.а Ifа there were blackа bottles fullа of evil

liquids it was . . . li-li-liquor . . . formerly Eliseyev Bros.

аааа The unknown gentleman had led the dog to the door of his luxurious flat

on theа mezzanine floor, and rang the doorbell. The dog at once looked up at

a big, black,а gold-letteredа nameplate hanging beside a pinkа frosted-glass

door. He deciphered the first three letters at once: P-R-O- 'Pro . . .', but

after tliat there was a funny tall thing withа aа cross bar which he did not

know.а Surely he'sа notа aа proletarian? thought Sharik with amazement... He

can'tа be. He lifted up his nose,а sniffed the furа coat andа said firmly to

himself:

аааа No, this doesn't smell proletarian.а Some high-falutin' word. God knows

what it means.

аааа Suddenlyа a lightа flashed onа cheerfully behind theа pink glassа door,

throwing the nameplate into even deeper shadow.а The door opened soundlessly

and a beautiful youngа woman in a white apronа and lace cap stood before the

dog and his master. A wave of deliciousа warmth flowed over the dogа and the

woman's skirt smelled of carnations.

аааа This I like, thought the dog.

аааа 'Comeа in,а Mrа Sharik,'а saidа theа gentlemanа ironicallyа andа Sharik

respectfully obeyed, wagging his tail.

аааа A greatа multitude of objects filled the richlyа furnished hall. Beside

himа wasа a mirrorа stretchingа rightа down toа the floor,а whichа instantly

reflectedа aа secondа dirty,а exhaustedа Sharik. Highа up on the wallа was a

terrifying pairа of antlers, thereа were countlessа fur coatsа andа pairs of

galoshes and an electric tulip made of opal glass hanging from the ceiling.

аааа 'Whereа on earth did youа get that from, Philipа Philipovich?' enquired

the woman,а smiling asа she helped to take off the heavy brown, blue-flecked

fox-fur coat.

аааа 'God, he looks lousy.'

аааа 'Nonsense. He doesn't look lousy to me,' said the gentleman abruptly.

аааа With his fur coat off he was seen to be wearing a black suit of English

material; a gold chain across his stomach shone with a dull glow.

аааа 'Holdа still, boy, keep still doggy . .а .а keep still you little fool.

H'm . . . that's not lice . . . Stand still, will you . . . H'mm . . . aha -

yes . . . It's a scald. Who was mean enough to throw boiling water over you,

I wonder? Eh? Keep still, will you . . .!'

аааа It was that miserable cook, said the dog with his pitiful eyes and gave

a little whimper.

аааа 'Zina,' orderedа the gentleman, 'take himа into the consulting-roomа at

once and get me a white coat.'

аааа Theа womanа whistled,а clicked her fingersа andа the dogа followedа her

slightly hesitantly. Together they walked down a narrow, dimly-lit corridor,

passed a varnishedа door, reached the end then turned left andа arrived in a

dark little room which the dog instantly disliked for its ominous smell. The

darkness clicked and was transformed into blinding whiteа which flashedа and

shone from every angle.

аааа Oh, no,а the dog whined to himself, youа won'tа catchа me as easilyа as

that! I see it now - to hell with them and their sausage. They've tricked me

into aа dogs'а hospital.а Nowа they'llа forceа me to swallowа castor oil and

they'll cut up my side with knives - well, I won't let them touch it.

аааа 'Hey - where are you trying to go?' shouted the girl called Zina.

аааа The animalа dodged, curled up like a spring andа suddenly hitа the door

with his unharmed side so hard that the noise reverberated through the whole

apartment. Thenа he jumped back,а spun around on the spotа like a top and in

doing so knocked over a white bucket,а spilling wads ofа cottonа wool. As he

whirled round there flashed past him shelves full of glittering instruments,

a white apron and a furious woman's face.

аааа 'You littleа devil,'а criedа Zinaа in desperation, 'whereа d'youа think

you're going?'

аааа Where's the back door? the dog wondered.а He swung round, rolled into a

ballа and hurled himself bullet-fashion atа a glass in the hope thatа it was

another door. With a crash andа a tinkle a shower of splinters fell down and

a pot-bellied glass jar ofа some reddish-brownа filthа shotа out andа poured

itself over theа floor, giving off aа sickeningа stench. The real door swung

open.

аааа 'Stopа it, you little beast,' shoutedа theа gentlemanа as he rushedа in

pullingа on oneа sleeveа of hisа white coat.а He seized the dog by the legs.

'Zina, grab him by the scruff of the neck, damn him.' 'Oh - theseа dogsа . .

.!'

аааа The door opened wider still and anotherа person of theа male sex dashed

in, also wearing a white coat. Crunchingа over the broken glass he went past

the dog to a cupboard, opened it and the whole room was filled with a sweet,

nauseatingа smell. Thenа theа person turned the animalа over on his back, at

which the dog enthusiastically bit him just above his shoelaces. Theа person

groaned but kept his head. The nauseating liquidа choked the dog's breathing

and his head beganа to spin, thenа his legsа collapsedа and heа seemed to be

moving sideways.а This is it, he thought dreamily as he collapsed onа to the

sharpа slivers ofа glass.а Goodbye, Moscow!а Iа shan't seeа Chichkinа or the

proletariansа orа Cracowа sausagesа again.а I'mа goingа toа theа heavenа for

long-suffering dogs. You butchers -а why did you have to do this to me? With

that he finally collapsed on to his back and passed out.

аааа When he awokeа heа feltа slightly dizzyа and sickа to hisа stomach. His

injured side did not seem to beа there at all, but was blissfullyа painless.

Theа dog opened a languidа right eye and saw outа of its corner that heа was

tightly bandagedа all around his flanks andа belly. So those sons of bitches

did cut me up, he thought dully, but I must admit they've made a neat job of

it.

аааа . . . "from Granada to Seville . . . those soft southern nights" . . .'

a muzzy, falsetto voice sang over his head.

аааа Amazed, the dogа opened both eyesа wideа and saw two yards away a man's

legа proppedа up on a stool. Trousers and sock hadа been rolled back and the

yellow, naked ankle was smeared with dried blood and iodine.

аааа Swine! thought the dog. He must beа the one I bit, so that's myа doing.

Now there'll be trouble.

аааа '. . . "the murmur of sweet serenades, the clink ofа Spanish blades . .

." Now, you little tramp, why did you bite the doctor? Eh? Why did you break

all that glass?а M'm?' Oowow, whined the dig miserably. 'All right, lie back

and relax, naughtyа boy.'а 'However did you manage to entice such a nervous,

excitableа dogа intoа followingа youа here,а Philip Philipovich?' enquired a

pleasantа male voice, andа a long knitted underpant loweredа itselfа toа the

ground. Thereа was a smell ofа tobacco,а andа glassа phialsа tinkled inа the

closet.

аааа 'Byа kindness. Theа onlyа possibleа method whenа dealingа with a living

creature. You'llа get nowhereа with an animalа ifа you use terror, no matter

what itsа level of development may be. Thatа Iа have maintained, do maintain

and alwaysа will maintain. People who thinkа you can useа terrorа areа quite

wrong. No, terror's useless, whatever its colour - white, red or even brown!

Terror completely paralyses the nervousа system. Zina! I boughtа this little

scamp some Cracow sausage for 1 rouble 40 kopecks. Please see that he is fed

when he gets over his nausea.'

аааа Thereа wasа a crunching noise as glass splinters wereа sweptа upа and a

woman's voice said аteasingly: 'Cracower! Goodness,а youа oughtа to buyа him

twenty kopecks-worth of scraps from the butcher. I'd rather eat the Cracower

myself!'

аааа 'Youа justа try!а That stuff's poison for human stomachs. A grown woman

andа you're ready to poke anything аinto your mouthа like a child. Don't you

dare! I warn you that neither I nor Doctor Bormenthal will lift a finger for

you when your stomach finally gives out . . .'

аааа Just then a bell tinkled all through the flat and from farа away in the

hall came the sound of voices. The telephone rang. Zina disappeared.

аааа Philip Philipovich threw his cigar buttа intoа the bucket, buttonedа up

hisа white coat, smoothed his bushy moustache inа front of aа mirrorа on the

wall and called the dog.

аааа 'Come on, boy, you'll be all right. Let's go and see our visitors.'

аааа The dog stood upа onа wobbly legs, staggered andа shivered butа quickly

felt better and set off behind the napping hem of Philip Philipovich's coat.

Again the dog walked down the narrow corridor, but saw that this time it was

brightlyа lit from above by a round cut-glass lampа in the ceiling. When the

varnished door opened he trotted into Philip Philipovich's study. Its luxury

blinded him. Above all it was blazingа with light: there was a light hanging

from the moulded ceiling, a light on the desk,а lights on the walls,а lights

on the glass-fronted cabinets. The light poured over countless knick-knacks,

of whichа the most striking was an enormous owl perched on a branch fastened

to the wall.

аааа 'Lie down,' ordered Philip Philipovich.

аааа The carvedа doorа at the other end ofа the room opened and inа came the

doctor who had been bitten. In the bright light he now looked very young and

handsome, with a pointed beard. He putа down a sheet of paper and said: 'The

same as before . . .'

аааа Thenа heа silentlyа vanishedа andа Philipа Philipovich,а spreadingа his

coat-tails, sat downа behind the hugeа desk and immediately looked extremely

dignified and important.

аааа No, this can'tа beа a hospital, I've landed upа somewhere else, the dog

thoughtа confusedlyа andа stretchedа outа on the patternedа carpet besideа a

massive leather-covered couch. I wish I knew whatа that owl was doing here .

. .

аааа Theа door gently openedа and in came a man who lookedа so extraordinary

that the dog gave a timid yelp . . .

аааа 'Shut up! . . . My dear fellow, I hardly recognised you!'

аааа Embarrassed, theа visitorа bowedа politely toа Philipа Philipovichа and

giggled nervously.

аааа 'You're a wizard, a magician, professor!' he said bashfully.

аааа 'Take downа yourа trousers, old man,'а ordered Philip Philip-ovichа and

stood up.

аааа Christ, thoughtа theа dog, whatа a sight! The man's hair was completely

green,а although atа the back it shaded off into aа brownish tobacco colour,

wrinkles covered his face yet hisа complexion wasа as pink as aа boy's.а His

leftа leg would notа bend and hadа to be dragged acrossа the carpet, but his

right legа was as springy as a jack-in-the-box.а Inа theа buttonholeа of his

superb jacket there shone, like an eye, a precious stone.

аааа Theа dog wasа so fascinated that he even forgot hisа nausea. Oow-ow, he

whined softly.

аааа 'Quiet! . . . How have you been sleeping!'

аааа Theа man giggled. 'Areа we alone, professor? It'sа indescribable,' said

theа visitor coyly. 'Parole d'honneur - I haven't known anything like it for

twenty-five years . . .' the creature started struggling with his flybuttons

. . . 'Would you believe it, professor - hordes of naked girls everyа night.

I am absolutely entranced. You're a magician.'

аааа 'H'm,' grunted Philip Philipovich,а preoccupiedа as he stared intoа the

pupilsа of hisа visitor'sа eyes. The man finally succeeded in masteringа his

flybuttonsа andаа tookа offаа hisа checkedаа trousers,а revealingа theа most

extraordinaryа pairа of pants.а Theyа were cream-coloured,а embroidered with

black silk cats and they smelled of perfume.

аааа The dog could not resist the cats andа gave such aа barkа that theа man

jumped.

аааа 'Oh!'

аааа 'Quiet - or I'll beat you! . . . Don't worry, he won't bite.'

аааа Won't I? thought the dog in amazement.

аааа Out of the man's trouser pocket a little envelope fell to the floor. It

was decoratedа with a pictureа of a naked girl with flowing hair. Heа gave a

start, bent down to pick it up and blushed violently.

аааа 'Look here,' said Philip Philipovich in a tone of grim warning, wagging

a threatening finger, 'you shouldn't overdo it, you know.'

аааа 'I'mа notа overdoа . . .' the creature muttered inа embarrassment as he

went on undressing. 'It was just a sort of experiment.'

аааа 'Well, what were the results?' asked Philip Philipovich sternly.

аааа Theа manа waved hisа hand in ecstasy. 'Iа swearа toа God,а professor, I

haven'tа known anything like it for twenty-five years. The lastа time was in

1899 in Paris, in the Rue de la Paix.'

аааа 'And why have you turned green?'

аааа Theа visitor'sа faceа cloudedа over.а 'That damnedа stuff! You'dа never

believe, professor, what those rogues palmedа off on me instead of dye. Just

take a look,' theа man muttered, searchingа for a mirror. 'I'd like to punch

him on the snout,' he added in a rage. 'What am I to do now, professor?'а he

asked tearfully.

аааа 'H'm. Shave all your hair off.'

аааа 'But, professor,' cried the visitor miserably, 'then it would only grow

greyа again. Besides,а I daren't show myа faceа at the officeа likeа this. I

haven't been there for three days. Ah, professor, if only you had discovered

a way of rejuvenating hair!'

аааа 'One thingа at a time, old man, one thing atа a time,' mutteredа Philip

Philipovich. Bending down, his glitteringа eyes examined the patient's naked

abdomen.

аааа 'Splendid, everything's in great shape. To tell you theа truth I didn't

even expect such results. You can get dressed now.'

аааа 'а "Ah, she'sа soа lovely .а .а ." ' sang the patientа inа a voice that

quaveredа like theа soundа ofа someoneа hittingа an old,а crackedа saucepan.

Beaming, he started to dress. When he wasа ready he skipped across the floor

inа a cloudа ofа perfume,а countedа outа a heapа ofа white banknotes onа the

professor's desk and shook him tenderly by both hands.

аааа 'You needn'tа come back for two weeks,' said Philip Philipovich, 'but I

must beg you - be careful.'

аааа Theа ecstaticvoiceа repliedаа fromаа behindаа thedoor:а 'Don'tаа worry,

professor.' The creature gaveа a delighted giggleа andа went.а Theа doorbell

tinkled throughа the apartmentа and the varnished door opened, admitting the

other doctor, who handed Philip Philipovich a sheet of paper and announced:

аааа 'She has lied about her age.а It's probably aboutа fifty or fifty-five.

Heart-beats muffled.'

аааа He disappeared, to be succeeded by aа rustling lady withа a hat planted

gaily on one side of her head andа with a glitteringа necklace on her slack,

crumpled neck. Thereа were black bags under herа eyes and her cheeks were as

red as a painted doll. She was extremely nervous.

аааа 'Howа oldа areа you,а madam?'а enquired Philip аPhilipovichа with great

severity.

аааа Frightened, theа lady paledа under her coatingа of rouge. 'Professor, I

swear that if you knew the agony I've been going through . . .!'

аааа 'Howа oldа areа you,а madam?'а repeatedа Philipа Philipovichа even more

sternly.

аааа 'Honestly . . . well, forty-five . . .'

аааа 'Madam,' groaned Philipа Philipovich,а I am aа busy man.а Pleaseа don't

waste my time. You're not my only patient, you know.'

аааа The lady's bosom heaved violently. 'I've come to you, a great scientist

... I swear to you - it's terrible . . .'

аааа 'How old are you?' Philip Philipovich screeched in fury, his spectacles

glittering.

аааа 'Fifty-one!' replied the lady, wincing with terror.

аааа 'Take off your underwear, please,' said Philip Philipovich with relief,

and pointed to a high white examination table in the comer.

аааа 'I swear, professor,' murmuredа the lady asа with trembling fingers she

unbuttoned the fasteners onа her belt, 'this boy Moritz ... I honestly admit

to you . . .'

аааа 'а "From Granadaа toа Sevilleа .а .а ."а 'а Philipа Philipovichа hummed

absentmindedly and pressed the foot-pedal of his marble washbasin. There was

a sound of running water.

аааа 'I swear to God,' said the lady, patches of real colour showing through

theа rouge on аher cheeks, 'this willа be my last affair. Oh,а he'sа suchа a

brute! Oh,а professor!а All Moscow knows he'sа aа card-sharper andа he can't

resistа any littleа tart ofа a dressmakerа who catches hisа eye. But he's so

deliciously young . . .'As she talked the lady pulled out a crumpled blob of

lace from under her rustling skirts.

аааа Aа mistа cameа inа frontа ofа theа dog's eyesа and his brainа turnedа a

somersault. Toа hell with you, heа thought vaguely, laying hisа headа on his

paws and closing his eyes with embarrassment. I'm not going to try and guess

what all this is about -it's beyond me, anyway.

аааа He was wakened by a tinkling sound and saw that Philipа Philipovich had

tossed some little shining tubes into a basin.

аааа The painted lady, her hands pressed toа her bosom, was gazing hopefully

at Philip Philipovich. Frowning impressively he had sat down at his desk and

was writing something.

аааа 'Iа am goingа to implant some monkey'sа ovaries intoа you,а madam,'а he

announced with a stern look.

аааа 'Oh, professor - not monkey's ?'

аааа 'Yes,' replied Philip Philipovich inexorably.

 

аааа 'When will you operate?' asked the lady in a weak voice, turning pale.

аааа ' ". . . from Granada to Seville . . ." H'm ...а on Monday. You must go

into hospital on Monday morning. My assistant will prepare you.'

аааа 'Oh, dear. I don't want to go into hospital. Couldn't you operate here,

professor?'

аааа 'I only operate here in extreme cases. It would be very expensive - 500

roubles.'

аааа 'I'll pay, professor!'

аааа Again came the sound of running water, the feathered hat swayed out, to

be replacedа byа aа head asа bald as aа dinner-plate whichа embracedа Philip

Philipovich. Asа hisа nauseaа passed, the dog dozed off, luxuriating inа the

warmth and the sense of relief as his injury healed. He even snored a little

and managed to enjoy a snatch of a pleasant dream - he dreamed he had torn a

whole tuft of feathers out of theа owl's tail .а . . until an agitated voice

started yapping above his head.

аааа 'I'm too well known in Moscow, professor. What am I to do?'

аааа 'Really,' cried Philip Philipovich indignantly, 'you can't behaveа like

that. You must restrain yourself. How old is she?'

аааа 'Fourteen,а professor . . . The scandal would ruin me, you see. I'm due

to go abroad on official business any day now.'

аааа 'I'm afraid I'm not aа lawyer . . . you'd better wait a couple of years

and then marry her.'

аааа 'I'm married already, professor.'

аааа 'Oh, lord!'

аааа The doorа opened,а facesа changed,а instrumentsа clatteredа andа Philip

Philipovich worked on unceasingly.

аааа This place is indecent, thought theа dog,а but I like it! What the hell

can he want me for, though? Is he just going to let me live here? Maybe he's

eccentric.а Afterа all,а he couldа getа a pedigree dogа asа easy as winking.

Perhapsа I'm good-looking! Whatа luck.а As for thatа stupid owl . . . cheeky

brute.

аааа The dogа finally woke up late in the evening when the bells had stopped

ringing and at the very moment when the door admitted some special visitors.

There were four of them at once, all young people and all extremely modestly

dressed.

аааа What's all this?а thought the dog inа astonishment.а Philip Philipovich

treated these visitors withа considerableа hostility. He stood atа his desk,

staringа atа them like a general confronting the enemy.а The nostrils of his

hawk-like nose were dilated. The party shuffled awkwardly across the carpet.

аааа 'Theа reason why we've comeа to see you, professor . . .'а began one of

them, who had a six-inch shock of hair sprouting straight out of his head.

аааа 'Youа ought not to goа outа in thisа weatherа without wearing galoshes,

gentlemen,'а Philipа Philipovichа interruptedа in aа schoolmasterishа voice.

'Firstly you'll catch cold and secondly you've muddied my carpets and all my

carpets are Persian.'

аааа The young man with theа shock of hair broke off, and all four stared at

Philipа Philipovich in consternation. The silence lasted several minutes and

was only broken by the drumming of Philip Philipovich's fingers on a painted

wooden platter on his desk.

аааа 'Firstly, we're not gentlemen,' the youngest ofа them, with a face like

a peach, said finally.

аааа 'Secondly,'а Philip Philipovich interrupted him, а'are you aа man orа a

woman?'

аааа The four were silent again and their mouths dropped open. This time the

shock-haired young man pulled himself together.

аааа 'What difference does it make, comrade?' he asked proudly.

аааа 'I'm aа woman,' confessedа the peach-likeа youth,а whoа wasа wearingа a

leather jerkin,а and blushedа heavily. For someа reason one of the others, a

fair young man in a sheepskin hat, also turned bright red.

аааа 'Inа that case you may leave your capа on, butа I must ask you, my dear

sir, to remove your headgear,' said Philip Philipovich imposingly.

аааа 'Iа am not your dear sir,' said the fair youth sharply, pulling off his

sheepskin hat.

аааа 'We have come to see you,' the dark shock-headed boy began again.

аааа 'First of all - who are 'we'?'

аааа 'We are the new management committee of this blockа of flats,' said the

dark youth with suppressed fury. 'I am Shvonder, her name is Vyazemskaya and

these two are comrades Pestrukhin and Sharovkyan. So we . . .'

аааа 'Are you theа peopleа who wereа moved in asа extraа tenants into Fyodor

Pavlovich Sablin's apartment?' 'Yes, we are,' replied Shvonder.

аааа 'God, what is this placeа coming to!'а exclaimedа Philip Philipovich in

despair and wrung hisа hands.а 'What are you laughing for, professor?' 'What

doа youа meanаа -а laughing?а I'mа inа absoluteаа despair,'а shoutedа Philip

Philipovich. 'What's going to become of the central heating now?'

аааа 'Are you making fun ofа us.а Professorа Preobrazhensky?'а 'Why have you

come toа seeа me?а Pleaseа be asа quick as possible. I'mа justа going inа to

supper.'

аааа 'We, the house management,' saidа Shvonder withа hatred, 'have comeа to

see you as a result of a general meeting of theа tenants of this block,а who

areа charged with the problemа of increasing the occupancy of this house . .

.' 28

 

аааа 'What d'you mean - charged?' criedа Philip Philipovich. 'Please try and

express yourself more clearly.'

аааа 'We are charged with increasing the occupancy.'

аааа 'All right, Iа understand! Do you realise that underа the regulation of

Augustа 12thа thisа yearа myа apartmentа isа exemptа fromа anyа increaseа in

occupancy?'

аааа 'We know that,' replied Shvonder,а 'but whenа theа generalа meeting had

examined thisа questionа it came to the conclusion thatа taken all round you

are occupying too much space. Far too much. You are living,а alone, in seven

rooms.'

аааа 'I live and work in sevenа rooms,'а replied Philip Philipovich,а 'and I

could do with eight. I need a room for a library.'

аааа The four were struck dumb.

аааа 'Eight! Ha, ha!' said the hatless fair youth. 'That's rich, that is!'

аааа 'It's indescribable!' exclaimed the youthа who had turnedа out to beа a

woman.

аааа 'I have a waiting-room, which you will noticeа also has toа serve as my

library,а a dining-room, and myа study - that makes three. Consulting-room -

four, operatingа theatreа -five.а My bedroom -а six, and theа servant's room

makes seven. It's notа really enough. But that's not the point. My apartment

is exempt, and ourа conversationа isа therefore at an end. May I go and have

supper?'

аааа 'Excuse me,' said the fourth, who looked like a fat beetle.

аааа 'Excuse me,' Shvonder interrupted him, 'but it was just because of your

dining-roomа and your consulting-roomа that we came to see you.а The general

meetingа requests you,а as aа matter ofа labour discipline, to giveа up your

dining-room voluntarily. No one in Moscow has a dining-room.'

аааа 'Notа even Isadora Duncan,' squeakedа the woman. Somethingа happened to

Philip Philipovich which made his face turn gently purple.а He said nothing,

waiting to hear what came next.

аааа 'And give up yourа consulting-room too,'а Shvonder went аon. 'а You can

easily combine your consulting-room with your study.'

аааа 'Mm'h,'а saidа Philip Philipovich in a strangeа voice. 'And where amа I

supposed to eat?'

аааа 'In the bedroom,' answered the four in chorus.

аааа Philip Philipovich's purple complexion took on a faintly grey tinge.

аааа 'Soа I canа eat in the bedroom,'а heа said in a slightly muffled voice,

'read in the consulting-room, dress in the hall, operate in theа maid's room

andа examineа patients in theа dining-room.а I expect that isа whatа Isadora

Duncan does.а Perhapsа she eats in herа studyа andа dissects rabbits inа the

bathroom. Perhaps.а But I'm not Isadora Duncan. . . !' he turnedа yellow. 'I

shall eat in the dining-room and operate in the operating theatre! Tell that

to the general meeting, and meanwhile kindly goа and mindа your own business

andа allow me to haveа my supper in the place where all normal people eat. I

mean in the dining-room - not in the hall and not in the nursery.'

аааа 'In that case,а professor, in view of your obstinate refusal,' said the

furiousа Shvonder,а 'weа shallа lodgeа a complaintа aboutа youа withа higher

authority.'

аааа 'Aha,' saidа Philipа Philipovich, 'so that's your game, is it?' And his

voice took on a suspiciously polite note. 'Please wait one minute.'

аааа What a man, thought the dog with delight, he's just like me. Any minute

now and he'll bite them. I don't know how, but he'll bite them all right ...

Go on!а Goа for 'em! I couldа just getа that long-legged swine in the tendon

behind his knee . . . ggrrr . . .

аааа Philip Philipovich lifted the telephone receiver, dialled and said into

it:а 'Pleaseа giveа meа . . . yes . . .а thankа you. Put me through to Pyotr

Alexandrovich,аа please. ааProfessorааа Preobraz-henskyааа speaking.аа Pyotr

Alexandrovich? Hello,а how are you?а I'mа so gladа Iа was ableа to getа you.

Thanks,а I'mа fine.а Pyotrа Alexandrovich,а I'mа afraidа yourа operationа is

cancelled. What? Cancelled. Andа so are allа my otherа operations. I'll tell

you why:

аааа Iа am not going to work inа Moscow, in factа I'mа not going to workа in

Russia any longer . . .а I am just having a visit from fourа people,а one of

whomа isа aа womanа disguisedа asа a man,а andа two ofа whom are armedа with

revolvers. They are terrorisingа me inа my ownа apartment and threatening to

evict me.'

аааа 'Hey, now, professor . . .' began Shvonder, his expression changing.

аааа 'Excuse me ... Iа can't repeatа all they've beenа saying. Iа can't make

sense of it, anyway. Roughlyа speakingа theyа have toldа me toа giveа upа my

consulting-room,а which will oblige meа to operate inа the room Iа have used

untilа nowа for dissecting rabbits.а Iа notа onlyа cannotа workа underа such

conditions - I have noа right to. So I am closing down my practice, shutting

up my apartment and going to Sochi. I will give the keys to Shvonder. He can

operate for me.'

аааа The fourа stood rigid. The snowа was melting on their boots. 'Can'tа be

helped,а I'm afraidа . . . Of course I'm veryа upset,а but ... What? Oh, no,

Pyotrа Alexandrovich! Oh,а no. That Iа must flatlyа refuse. My patienceа has

snapped.а This isа the second time since Augustа . . . What? H'm .а . .а All

right, if youа like. I suppose so. Only this time onа one condition: I don't

care who issues it, when they issue it or what they issue, provided it's the

sort ofа certificateа which will mean that neither Shvonderа nor anyone else

can so much as knock on myа door.а The ultimate inа certificates. Effective.

Real.а Armour-plated! Iа don't even want my nameа on it. The end. Asа far as

they are concerned, Iа am dead. Yes, yes.а Please do.а Who? Aha . .а . well,

that's another matter. Ahaа . .а .а good. I'll justа hand himа the receiver.

Would youа mind,'а Philip Philipovichа spoke to Shvonder in aа voice likeа a

snake's, 'you're wanted on the telephone.'

аааа 'But, professor,' said Shvonder, alternately flaringа up andа cringing,

'what you've told him is all wrong' -

аааа 'Please don't speak to me like that.'

аааа Shvonder nervously picked up the receiver and said:

аааа 'Hello. Yes ... I'm the chairman of the house managementа committee . .

. We were only acting according to the regulations . . . the professor is an

absolutely special case .а .а .а Yes, we know about his workа . . . Weа were

going to leave him five wholeа rooms .а . . Well, OK ... if that's how it is

... OK.'

аааа Very red in the face, he hung up and turned round.

аааа What a fellow! thought the dog rapturously.а Does he know how to handle

them! What's his secret, I wonder? He can beat me as muchа as he likes now -

I'm not leaving this place!'

аааа The three young people stared open-mouthed at the wretched Shvonder.

аааа 'This is a disgrace!' he said miserably.

аааа 'If that Pyotr Alexandrovich had been here,' began the woman, reddening

with anger, 'I'd have shown him . . .'

аааа 'Excuseа me, would youа likeа toа talkа to himа now?'а enquiredа Philip

Philipovich politely.

аааа The woman's eyes flashed.

аааа 'You can be as sarcastic as you like, professor, but we're goingа now .

. . Still, as manager of the cultural department of this house . . .'

аааа ' Manager,' Philip Philipovich corrected her.

аааа 'I wantа to ask you' -а here theа woman pulledа aа numberа ofа coloured

magazines wet with snow, from outа of the front of her tunic - 'to buy a few

of these magazines in aid of the children of Germany. 50 kopecks a copy.'

аааа 'No, I will not,' saidа Philip Philipovich curtly after a glance at the

magazines.

аааа Totalа amazementаа showedаа onаа theаа faces,а andа theаа girlаа turned

cranberry-colour.

аааа 'Why not?'

аааа 'I don't want to.'

аааа 'Don't you feel sorry for the children of Germany?'

аааа 'Yes, I do.'

аааа 'Can't you spare 50 kopecks?'

аааа 'Yes, I can.'

аааа 'Well, why won't you, then?'

аааа 'I don't want to.'

аааа Silence.

аааа 'You know, professor,' said the girl with a deep sigh,а 'if you weren't

world-famous and ifа you weren'tа beingа protected by certainа people in the

most disgusting way,' (the fairа youth tugged at the hem ofа her jerkin, but

sheа brushedа him away),а 'which we propose toа investigate, youа shouldа be

arrested.'

аааа 'What for?' asked Philip Philipovich with curiosity.

аааа 'Because you hate the proletariat!' said the woman proudly.

аааа 'You're right, I don't like the proletariat,' agreed Philip Philipovich

sadly, and pressed a button. A bell rang in the distance. The door opened on

to the corridor.

аааа 'Zina!' shoutedа Philip Philipovich. 'Serve theа supper, please. Do you

mind, ladies and gentlemen?'

аааа Silently theа four leftа the study,а silentlyа theyа troopedа downа the

passage and throughа theа hall. The frontа doorа closedа loudlyа and heavily

behind them.

аааа Theа dogа roseа onа hisа hind legsа in front of Philipа Philipovich and

performed obeisance to him.

 

 

 

Three

 

 

 

аааа Onа gorgeous flowered platesа withа wideа black rims lay thin slices of

salmon and soused eel; a slab of over-ripe cheese on a heavy wooden platter,

and in a silver bowl packedа aroundа with snowа - caviare. Beside the plates

stood delicateа glasses andа three crystalа decanters ofа different-coloured

vodkas.а All theseа objectsа wereа on aа small marble table, handilyа placed

besideа the huge carved oak sideboard whichа shone with glass and silver. In

the middle of the room was a table, heavy as a gravestone and covered with a

white tablecloth set with two places, napkins folded into the shape of papal

tiaras, and three dark bottles.

аааа Zina brought in aа covered silver dish beneath which something bubbled.

The dish gave off such a smell that the dog's mouthа immediately filled with

saliva. Theа gardensа of Semiramis! he thought asа he thumped the floor with

his tail.

аааа 'Bringа itа here,' orderedа Philipа Philipovich greedily.а 'Iа beg you,

Doctor Bormenthal, leave the caviare alone. And ifа you want a piece of good

advice, don't touch the English vodka but drink the ordinary Russian stuff.'

аааа The handsomeа Bormenthal -а whoа had taken offа his white coatа and was

wearing a smart black suit - shrugged hisа broad shoulders, smirked politely

and poured out a glass of clear vodka.

аааа 'What make is it?' he enquired.

аааа 'Blessа you,а my dear fellow,'а replied hisа host, 'it'sа pure alcohol.

Darya Petrovna makes the most excellent homemade vodka.'

аааа 'But surely, Philip Philipovich, everybody says that 30-degree vodka is

quite good enough.'

аааа 'Vodka should be at least 40 degrees, not 30 - that's firstly,'а Philip

Philipovich interrupted him didactically, 'andа secondlyа -а God knowsа what

muck they make into vodka nowadays. What do you think they use?'

аааа 'Anything they like,' said the other doctor firmly.

аааа 'I quite agree,' said Philip Philipovich and hurled the contents of his

glass down his throatа in one gulp. 'Ah .а . . m'm . . . Doctor Bormenthal -

please drink that at onceа and ifа you ask me what it is, I'm your enemy for

life. "From Granada to Seville . . ." '

аааа With theseа words he speared somethingа likeа a littleа piece ofа black

breadа on his silverа fish-fork.а Bormenthalа followedа his example.а Philip

Philipovich's eyes shone.

аааа 'Notа bad, eh?' askedа Philipа Philipovich,а chewing. 'Isа it? Tell me,

doctor.'

аааа 'It's excellent,' replied the doctor sincerely.

аааа 'Soа I should think . .а . Kindly note, Ivan Arnoldovich, that the only

people whoа eat cold hors d'oeuvres nowadays are the few remaining landlords

whoа haven't had their throats cut.а Anybody withа aа spark ofа self-respect

takesа hisа hors d'oeuvresа hot. And of all the hot hors d'oeuvres in Moscow

this is the best. Once they used to do them magnificently atа the Slavyansky

Bazaar restaurant. There, you can have some too.'

аааа 'If you feed a dog at table,' saidа a woman's voice, 'you won't get him

out of here afterwards for love or money.'

аааа 'I don'tа mind. Theа poor thing'sа hungry.' Onа theа point of hisа fork

Pliilip Philipovich handed the dog a tit-bit, which the animal took with the

dexterity ofа a conjuror.а The professorа then threw the fork with a clatter

into the slop-basin.

аааа Theа dishesа now steamed with anа odour of lobster; theа dog sat in the

shadowа of the tablecloth with the look of a sentry by aа powder magazine as

Philip Philipovich,а thrusting the endа ofа a thickа napkin into his collar,

boomed on:

аааа 'Food, Ivan Arnoldovich, is a subtle thing.а One must know how toа eat,

yet just think - most people don't know how to eat at all. One must not only

know what toа eat,а but whenа and how.'а (Philip Philipovichа waved his fork

meaningfully.)а 'Andа what to say while you're eating.а Yes, my dear sir. If

you care about your digestion, my advice is - don't talk about bolshevism or

medicine at table.а And, аGodа forbid - neverа read Soviet newspapers before

dinner.'

аааа 'M'mm . . . But there are no other newspapers.'

аааа 'Inа that case don't read any at all.а Doа you knowа I once made thirty

tests in my clinic. Andа whatа doа youа think?а The patientsа who never read

newspapers feltа excellent. Those whom I specially made read Pravda all lost

weight.

аааа 'H'm . . .' rejoined Bormenthal with interest, turning gently pink from

the soup and the wine.

аааа 'And not only did they lose weight. Their knee reflexes wereа retarded,

they lost appetite and exhibited general depression.'

аааа 'Good heavens . . .'

аааа 'Yes, my dear sir. But listen to me - I'm talking about medicine!'

аааа Leaningа back,а Philip Philipovichа rangа theа bell andа Zinaа appeared

throughа the ceriseа portiere.а Theа dogа was given a thick, white pieceа of

sturgeon, which heа didа not like, thenа immediatelyа afterwardsа a chunk of

underdone roast beef. When he had gulped itа down the dog suddenly felt that

heа wanted toа sleep and could not bear the sight of any moreа food. Strange

feeling,а heа thought,а blinking his heavy eyelids, it's as if my eyes won't

look at food any longer. As for smoking after they've eaten - that's crazy.

аааа Theа dining-roomа was fillingа withа unpleasant blue smoke.а The animal

dozed,а its head on its forepaws. 'Saintа Julien is a very decent wine,' the

dog heard sleepily, 'but there's none of it to be had any more.'

аааа A dull mutter of voices in chorus,а muffled by the ceiling and carpets,

was heard coming from above and to one side.

аааа Philip Philipovich rang for Zina. 'Zina my dear, what's that noise?'

аааа 'They'reа having another generalа meeting, Philip Philipovich,' replied

Zina.

аааа 'What, again?' exclaimed Philip Philipovich mournfully. 'Well,а this is

the end of this house. I'll have to go away -but where to? I can see exactly

what'll happen. First of all there'll beа communityа singing in the evening,

then the pipes willа freezeа inа the lavatories, thenа theа centralа heating

boiler will blow up and so on. This is the end.'

аааа 'Philip Philipovich worries himselfа to death,' saidа Zina with a smile

as she cleared away a pile of plates.

аааа 'How can I help it?'а exploded Philip Philipovich. 'Don't you know what

this house used to be like?'

аааа 'You take too black a view of things, Philip Philipovich,' objected the

handsome Bormenthal. 'There is a considerable change for the better now.'

аааа 'My dear fellow, you know me, don't you? I am a man of facts, a man who

observes. I'm the enemy of unsupported hypotheses. And I'm known as such not

only in Russia but in Europe too. If I say something,а that means that it is

based on some fact from which I draw my conclusions. Now there'sа a fact for

you: there is a hat-stand and a rack for boots and galoshes in this house.'

аааа 'Interesting . . .'

аааа Galoshes - hell. Who caresа about galoshes, thought the dog, but he's a

great fellow all the same.

аааа 'Yes, a rack for galoshes. I have been living in this house since 1903.

And from then untilа March 1917 there was not one case - let me underline in

red pencil not one caseа -а of a single pair ofа galoshesа disappearing from

that rack even when the front door was open.а There are, kindly note, twelve

flatsа inа thisа houseа andа aа constantа streamа ofа peopleа comingа toа my

consulting-rooms. One fineа day in March 1917 all theа galoshes disappeared,

including two pairs ofа mine, threeа walkingа sticks,а an overcoatа andа the

porter's samovar.а And since then the rack has ceasedа to exist. And I won't

mention the boiler. The rule apparently is -а once a social revolution takes

place there's noа need to stoke theа boiler.а But I ask you:а why, when this

whole business started, should everybody suddenly start clumping up and down

the marble staircase inа dirty galoshes and felt boots? Why must we now keep

ourа galoshes under lockа and key? Andа put a soldier on guard overа them to

preventа themа fromа being stolen? Why has the carpet been removed fromа the

front staircase? Did Marx forbidа people toа keep their staircases carpeted?

Did Karl Marx say anywhere that the front door of No. 2 Kalabukhovа House in

Prechistenka Streetа must be boarded up so that people have to goа round and

come inа by theа back door?а WTiatа good doesа itа do anybody? Why can't the

proletariansа leaveа theirа galoshesа downstairsа insteadа ofа dirtyingа the

staircase?'

аааа 'But theа proletarians don'tа haveа anyа galoshes, Philip Philipovich,'

stammered the doctor.

аааа 'Nothingа ofа theа sort!'а repliedа Philip Philipovichа inа a voiceа of

thunder,а and poured himself a glass of wine. 'H'mmа ... Iа don't approve of

liqueurs after dinner. They weigh on the digestion and are bad for the liver

. .а . Nothing of the sort! The proletarians do haveа galoshes now and those

galoshes are - mine! The very ones thatа vanished in the spring of 1917. Who

removed them,а you may ask?а Did Iа removeа them? Impossible. Theа bourgeois

Sablin?'а (Philipа Philipovich pointedа upwards to the ceiling.)а 'Theа very

idea's laughable.а Polozov,а theа sugar manufacturer?'а (Philipа Philipovich

pointed to one side.) 'Never! You see? But if they'd only take them off when

theyа comeа up theа staircase!' (Philip Philipovich started to turn purple.)

'Why on earth do theyа have to remove the flowers from the landing? Why does

the electricity, which to the best of my recollection has only failedа twice

in theа past twentyа years, now goа out regularlyа once a month? Statistics,

Doctor Bormenthal, areа terribleа things.а You who knowа my latest work must

realiseа thatа better thanа anybody.'а 'Theа place is goingа to ruin, Philip

Philipovich.'

аааа 'No,' countered Philip Philipovich quite firmly. 'No. You must first of

all refrain, my dearа Ivan Arnoldovich, from using that word. It's a mirage,

a vapour,а a fiction,'а Philipа Philipovichа spreadа outа his short fingers,

producing a double shadowа like twoа skulls on the tablecloth. 'What doа you

mean by ruin? Anа old woman with a broomstick? A witch who smashesа allа the

windows and puts out all the lights? No such thing. What do you mean by that

word?' Philip Philipovich angrily enquired of an unfortunate cardboardа duck

hangingа upside downа byа the sideboard, then answered the question himself.

'I'll tell youа what it is: if instead ofа operating every evening I were to

start a glee club in my apartment, that would mean that I was on the road to

ruin.а Ifа when I goа to theа lavatory I don'tа pee,а ifа you'llа excuse the

expression, into theа bowl but on to the floor instead and if Zina and Darya

Petrovna wereа to doа the sameа thing,а the lavatory would be ruined.а Ruin,

therefore,а is notа caused byа lavatories but it'sа something that starts in

people's heads. Soа when these clownsа start shouting "Stop theа ruin!"а - I

laugh!'а (Philipа Philipovich's face became so distortedа thatа the doctor's

mouth fell open.)а 'I swear to you,а I find it laughable! Every one ofа them

needsа to hit himself on the back of theа head and thenа when he has knocked

allа theа hallucinationsа out ofа himselfа andа getsа onа with sweepingа out

backyardsа -а which isа his realа jobа - all thisа "ruin" will automatically

disappear. You can't serve two gods!а Youа can't sweep theа dirt out ofа the

tram tracks and settle the fate of the Spanish beggars at theа same time! No

one canа ever manage it, doctor - andа above all it can't beа done by people

who are two hundred years behindа theа rest ofа Europe and whoа so far can't

even manage to do up their own fly-buttons properly!'

аааа Philip Philipovich had worked himself upа intoа a frenzy. His hawk-like

nostrilsа wereа dilated. Fortifiedа by his ample dinner he thundered like an

ancient prophet and his hair shone like a silver halo.

аааа His words sounded to the sleepy dog like a dull subterranean rumble. At

first heа dreamed uneasilyа thatа the owlа withа itsа stupid yellow eyes had

hoppedа off its branch, then heа dreamed about the vile face of that cook in

his dirty white cap, then of Philip Philipovich's dashing moustaches sharply

lit byа electric light from the lampshade. The dreamy sleigh-ride came to an

end as theа mangled piece of roast beef, floating inа gravy, stewed awayа in

the dog's stomach.

аааа He could earn plenty of money by talking at political meetings, the dog

thought sleepily.а Thatа wasа a great speech.а Still,а he's rolling in money

anyway.

аааа 'A policeman!' shouted Philip Philipovich. 'A policeman!'

аааа Policeman? Ggrrr ... - something snapped inside the dog's brain.

аааа 'Yes, a policeman!а Nothingа else will do. Doesn'tа matterа whetherа he

wearsа a number or a redа cap. A policeman shouldа be posted alongside every

person in the country with the jobа of moderating the vocal outbursts of our

honest citizenry. You talk about ruin. I tell you, doctor, that nothing will

change for the better in thisа house, or in any other house for that matter,

until you can make theseа people stopа talking claptrap! As soon as they put

an end to thisа madа chorus the situation will automatically changeа for the

better.'

аааа 'You sound like a counter-revolutionary, Philipа Philipovich,' said the

doctor jokingly. 'I hope to God nobody hears you.'

аааа 'I'm doingа no harm,' Philip Philipovichа objectedа heatedly. а'Nothing

counter-revolutionaryа inа all that. Incidentally,а that'sа aа word I simply

can't tolerate. What the devil is it supposed to mean, anyway? Nobody knows.

That's why I sayа there's nothing counter-revolutionaryа in what I say. It's

full of sound sense and a lifetime of experience.'

аааа At this point Philip Philipovich pulled the end of his luxurious napkin

out of his collar. Crumpling it up he laid it beside his unfinished glass of

wine. Bormenthal at once rose and thanked his host.

аааа 'Justа a аminute, doctor,' Philip Philipovichа stoppedа himа and took a

wallet out of his hip pocket. He frowned,а counted out some whiteа 10-rouble

notes and handed them to the doctor,а saying,а 'Youа are due for 40а roubles

today, Ivan Arnoldovich. There you are.'

аааа Stillа inа slightа pain from his dog-bite, theа doctor thanked himа and

blushed as he stuffed the money into his coat pocket.

аааа 'Do you need me this evening, Philip Philipovich?' he enquired.

аааа 'Noа thanks, my dear fellow. We shan't be doingа anything this evening.

For one thing the rabbit has died and for another Aida is on at theа Bolshoi

this evening. It'sа aа long timeа sinceа I heard it.а Iа love itа ... Do you

remember that duet? Pom-pom-ti-pom . . .'

аааа 'How doа you findа time forа it,а Philip Philipovich?' asked the doctor

with awe.

аааа 'Oneа canа findа timeа for everythingа ifа one isа neverа inа a hurry,'

explainedа hisа host didactically. 'Of course if I started going to meetings

andа carolling like aа nightingale allа day long, I'd neverа find time to go

anywhere' - the repeater in Philip Philipovich's pocket struck its celestial

chimes as he pressed the button - 'It starts atа nine. I'llа goа in time for

the second act. I believe in the division of labour. The Bolshoi's job is to

sing,а mine's to operate. That's how things should be. Then there'dа be none

of this "ruin" . . . Look, Ivan Arnoldovich, you mustа go and take a careful

look:а as soonа asа he's properly dead, takeа him аoff theа table,а putа him

straight into nutritive fluid and bring him to me!'

аааа 'Don't worry, Philip Philipovich, the pathologist has promised me.'

аааа 'Excellent. Meanwhile, we'll examine this neurotic street arabа of ours

and stitch him up. I want his flank to heal . . .'

аааа He's worryingа about me, thought the dog, good for him. Now I know what

he is. He's the wizard, the magician,а the sorcerer out of those dogs' fairy

tales ... I can't have dreamed it all. Or have I? (The dog shudderedа in his

sleep.) Anyа minute nowа I'llа wakeа upа andа there'll beа nothingа here. No

silk-shaded lamp, no warmth, no food. Back on the streets, back in the cold,

the frozenа asphalt,а hunger,а evil-minded humans . . . the factory canteen,

the snow . . . God, it will be unbearable . . .!

аааа But noneа of that happened. It was the freezing doorway whichа vanished

like a bad dream and never came back.

аааа Clearly the country was not yet in aа total stateа of ruin. In spite of

it theа grey accordion-shaped radiators under the windowsа filledа with heat

twice a day and warmth flowed in waves through theа whole apartment. The dog

had obviously drawn the winning ticket in the dogs' lottery. Never less than

twice aа dayа his eyes filled with tearsа of gratitude towardsа theа sage of

Prechistenka.а Everyа mirrorа inа theа living-room or the hallа reflectedа a

good-looking, successful dog.

аааа I am handsome. Perhaps I'm really a dog prince, living incognito, mused

theа dog asа heа watchedа theа shaggy,а coffee-coloured dogа withа theа smug

expression strolling about in the mirrored distance. I wouldn't be surprised

if my grandmother didn't have an affair with a labrador. Nowа that I look at

my muzzle, I see there's a whiteа patchа onа it. I wonder how itа got there.

Philip Philipovich is a manа of great taste -heа wouldn't justа pickа up any

stray mongrel.

аааа In two weeksа the dogа ate as much as in his previous sixа weeks on the

street.а Only by weight, of course.а Inа quality the food at the professor's

apartment was incomparable. Apart from the fact that Darya Petrovna bought a

heapа of meat-scraps for 18 kopecksа every day at the Smolensk market, there

was dinner everyа evening in the dining-roomа at seven o'clock, at which the

dog was always present despite protests from the elegant Zina. It was during

theseа meals that Philip Philipovich acquired his finalа titleа to divinity.

The dog stood on his hind legs and nibbled his jacket,а theа dog learnedа to

recogniseа Philipа Philipovich'sа ringа atа theа doorа -а twoа loud,а abrupt

proprietorial pushes onа the bell - and would run barking out into the hall.

The master was enveloped in a dark brown fox-fur coat, whichа glittered with

millionsа ofа snowflakesа and smelled of mandarin oranges, cigars,а perfume,

lemons, petrol, eau de cologneа and cloth,а and his voice, like a megaphone,

boomed all through the apartment.

аааа 'Why did you ruin the owl, you little monkey? Was the owl doing you any

harm? Was it, now? Why did you smash the portrait of Professor Mechnikov?'

аааа 'Heа needs atа least one good whipping, Philip Philipovich,' saidа Zina

indignantly, 'or he'll become completelyа spoiled. Just look what he'sа done

to your galoshes.'

аааа 'No oneа is to be beaten,' said Philip Philipovichа heatedly, 'remember

thatа onceа and forа all.а Animals andа peopleа canа only beа influencedа by

persuasion. Have you given him his meat today?'

аааа 'Lord, he's eaten us out ofа house andа home.а What a question,а Philip

Philipovich. He eats so much I'm surprised he doesn't burst.'

аааа 'Fine. It's good for him . . . what harm did the owl do you, you little

ruffian?'

аааа Ow-ow, whined the dog, crawling on his belly and splaying out his paws.

аааа The dog was forcefullyа dragged by the scruffа of his neckа through the

hall andа into the study. He whined, snapped, clawedа at the carpet and slid

alongа onа his rump as if he were doing aа circus act.а In the middle of the

study floor lay the glass-eyed owl. Fromа its disembowelled stomach flowed a

stream of red rags that smelled of mothballs. Scattered on the desk were the

fragments of a portrait.

аааа 'I purposely didn'tа clear it up so that youа couldа take a good look,'

said Zina distractedly. 'Look - he jumpedа upа onа to theа table, the little

brute, and then - bang! - he had the owl by the tail. Before I knew what was

happeningа heа hadа tornа it toа pieces. Rub hisа noseа inа the owl,а Philip

Philipovich, so that he learns not to spoil things.'

аааа Then the howling began. Clawing at the carpet, the dog was dragged over

to have his nose rubbed in theа owl. He wept bitter tears andа thought: Beat

me, do what you like, but don't throw me out.

аааа 'Sendа the owl to theа taxidermistа at once. There's 8а roubles, and 16

kopecks for the tram-fare, go down toа Murat's and buy him a good collar and

a lead.'

аааа Nextа day the dog was given aа wide,а shiny collar. As soon asа heа saw

himself in the mirror he was very upset, put his tail betweenа hisа legs and

disappearedа intoа theа bathroom, where he planned to pullа theа collarа off

againstа a box orа aа basket. Soon, however, the dog realisedа thatа heа was

simply aа fool. Zina took him walking onа the lead along Obukhov Street. The

dog trottedа along like a prisonerа under arrest, burning with shame, but as

heа walked alongа Prechistenka Street as farа as theа churchа ofа Christ the

Saviourа heа soonа realised exactly what a collar meansа in life.а Madа envy

burnedа in the eyes ofа every dog heа metа and atа Myortvyа Streetа a shaggy

mongrel with a docked tail barked at him that he was a 'master'sа pet' and a

'lackey'. As they crossedа the tram tracks a policeman lookedа at the collar

with approval and respect. When they returned home the most amazing thing of

all happened - with his own hands Fyodor the porter opened the front door to

admit Sharik and Zina, remarking to Zina as he did so: 'What aа sight he was

when Philip Philipovich brought him in. And now look how fat he is.'

аааа 'So heа should be -а he eats enough for six,'а said the beautiful Zina,

rosy-cheeked from the cold.

аааа Aа collar's just likeа a briefcase,а the dog smiled to himself. Wagging

his tail, he climbed up to the mezzanine like a gentleman.

аааа Once havingа appreciated the proper value of a collar, the dog made his

firstа visitа toа theа supremeа paradiseа from whichа hithertoа he hadа been

categorically barred - the realmа of theа cook, Darya Petrovna.а Twoа square

inchesа ofа Darya's kitchenа was worth moreа than allа the rest of the flat.

Every dayа flamesа roared andа flashed inа theа tiled,а black-leadedа stove.

Delicious crackling soundsа came fromа theа oven. Tortured by perpetual heat

and unquenchable passion, Darya Petrovna's face was a constant livid purple,

slimy and greasy. In the neat coils overа her ears and in the blondeа bun on

the back of her head flashed twenty-two imitation diamonds. Golden saucepans

hung on hooks round the walls, theа whole kitchen seethed with smells, while

covered pans bubbled and hissed . . .

аааа 'Get out!' screamed Darya Petrovna. 'Get out, you no-good little thief!

Get out of here at once or I'll be after you with the poker!'

аааа Hey, why all the barking? signalled the dog pathetically with his eyes.

Whatа d'you meanа -а thief? Haven'tа you noticedа myа new collar? Heа backed

towards the door, his muzzle raised appealingly towards her.

аааа The dog Sharik possessed some secret which enabled him toа win people's

hearts. Two days later he was stretched out beside the coal-scuttle watching

Darya Petrovnaа at work. Withа a thin sharpа knife she cut off the heads and

claws ofа aа flockа ofа helpless grouse, thenа likeа a merciless executioner

scooped the guts out of the fowls, stripped the flesh from the bones and put

it intoа the mincer. Sharik meanwhile gnawed a grouse's head. Darya Petrovna

fished lumps ofа soaking bread out of aа bowl of milk, mixed them on a board

with the minced meat, poured cream over the whole mixture, sprinkled it with

salt and kneaded it into cutlets.а The stove was roaring like a furnace, the

frying panа sizzled, poppedа andа bubbled. Theа oven door swungа open with a

roar, revealing a terrifying inferno of heaving, crackling flame.

аааа Inа theа eveningа theа fieryа furnace subsidedа andа above theа curtain

half-wayа upа theа kitchenа windowа hungа theа dense,а ominous night skyа of

Prechistenka Streetа with its single star.а Theа kitchen floor was damp, the

saucepansа shone withа aа dull,а mysteriousа glowа andа onа the tableа was a

fireman's cap. Sharik lay on the warm stove, stretched out like a lion above

a gateway, andа with oneа ear cocked inа curiosityа heа watched throughа the

half-openа doorа ofа Zina'sа andа Daryaа Petrovna'sа roomа asа anаа excited,

black-moustached man in a broadа leather belt embracedа Darya Petrovna.а All

her face, except her powdered nose, glowed with agony and passion. Aа streak

of lightа lay across a picture of a manа withа a black moustache andа beard,

from which hung a little Easter loaf.

аааа 'Don't go too far,' muttered Darya Petrovna in the half-darkness. 'Stop

it! Zina will be backа soon. What's theа matterа withа you -а have youа been

rejuvenated too?'

аааа 'I don'tа needа rejuvenating,'а croakedа theа black-moustachedа fireman

hoarsely, scarcely able to control himself. 'You're so passionate!'

аааа Inа the eveningsа theа sageа ofа Prechistenka Street retired behind his

thick blinds and if there was no A'ida at the Bolshoi Theatre and no meeting

of the All-Russian Surgical Society, then the great man would settle down in

a deep armchairа inа his study. There were no ceiling lights; the only light

came from a green-shaded lampа on the desk. Sharik lay on theа carpet in the

shadows, unable to take his eyes off the horrors that lined the room.

аааа Human brains floatedа in aа disgustinglyа acrid, murky liquidа in glass

jars. On hisа forearms, bared toа the elbow,а theа great man wore red rubber

globesа asа hisа blunt, slipperyа fingersа delvedа intoа the convoluted grey

matter. Nowа and again he would pick up a small glistening knifeа and calmly

slice off a spongey yellow chunk of brain.

аааа '. . . "to the banks of the sa-acred Nileа . . .," ' he hummed quietly,

lickingа his lips asа he rememberedа the gildedа auditoriumа of theа Bolshoi

Theatre.

аааа It was the time of evening when the central heating was at its warmest.

The heat from it floated up to the ceiling,а from there dispersing allа over

theа room. In the dog'sа furа the warmth wakenedа the last flea,а whichа had

somehowа managedа toа escape Philip Philipovich's comb. The carpets deadened

all sound in the flat. Then, from far away, came the sound of the front door

bell.

аааа Zina's goneа out to the cinema, thought the dog, andа Iа supposeа we'll

have supper whenа she getsа home.а Somethingа tells me thatа it's veal chops

tonight!

аааа Onа the morningа ofа thatа terribleа dayа Sharik hadа feltа a senseа of

foreboding, which hadа made him suddenly break intoа a howl and he had eaten

hisа breakfastа -а half aа bowl ofа porridge andа yesterday'sа mutton-bone -

withoutа the least relish. Bored, heа wentа padding up andа downа theа hall,

whining at his own reflection. The rest of the morning, after Zina had taken

him for his walk along theа avenue, passed normally.а There were no patients

that dayа asа it was Tuesday -а aа dayа when asа weа all knowа thereа are no

consultingа hours.а The master was inа his study, several largeа booksа with

coloured pictures spreadа outа in front of himа onа the desk.а It was nearly

supper-time. The dog was slightly cheered byа the news from the kitchen that

the second course tonight was turkey. As he was walking down the passage the

dogа heard the startling, unexpected noise of Philip Philipovich's telephone

bellа ringing.а Philipа Philipovichа pickedа upа theа receiver, listened and

suddenly became very excited.

аааа 'Excellent,' he was heard saying, 'bring it round at once, at once!'

аааа Bustling about, he rangа forа Zinaа andа orderedа supperа to beа served

immediately: 'Supper! Supper!'

аааа Immediately thereа was a clatter ofа plates in the dining-room and Zina

ran in, pursued by the voice of Darya Petrovna grumbling that the turkey was

not ready yet. Again the dog felt a tremor of anxiety.

аааа I don'tа like it when there's a commotionа in the house, he mused . . .

and no sooner had the thought entered his head than the commotion took on an

even more disagreeable nature. This wasа largely dueа to theа appearanceа of

Doctorа Bormenthal, who brought withа him an evil-smelling trunk and without

waiting toа remove hisа coat started heaving itа down theа corridor into the

consulting-room. Philip Philipovich put downа hisа unfinished cup of coffee,

whichа normally he would never do, and ran out toа meetа Bormenthal, another

quite untypical thing for him to do.

аааа 'When did he die?' he cried.

аааа 'Three hours ago,'а repliedа Bormenthal, his snow-coveredа hat still on

his head as he unstrapped the trunk.

аааа Who's died? wonderedа theа dogа sullenly and disagreeablyа as heа slunk

under the table. I can't bear it when they dash about the room like that.

аааа 'Out of my way, animal! Hurry, hurry, hurry!' cried Philip Philipovich.

аааа It seemed toа the dog that the master was ringing everyа bellа at once.

Zina ranа in. 'Zina! Tell Darya Petrovna to takeа over the telephone and not

to let anybody in. I need you here. Doctor Bormenthal - please hurry!'

аааа Iа don'tа like this, scowledа the dog, offended, and wandered off round

theа apartment.аа Allа theа bustle,аа itа seemed,аа wasа confinedаа toаа the

consulting-room. Zina suddenlyа appeared inа aа white coat like a shroud and

began running back and forth between the consulting-room and the kitchen.

аааа Isn't it time I hadа my supper? They seemа to have forgotten aboutа me,

thought the dog. He at once received an unpleasant surprise.

аааа 'Don'tа giveа Sharikа anythingа toа eat,'а boomedа theа orderа from the

consulting-room.

аааа 'How am I to keep an eye on him?'

аааа 'Lock him up!'

аааа Sharik was enticed into the bathroom and locked in.

аааа Beasts, thought Sharik as he satа in the semi-darkness of the bathroom.

What an outrage ... In an odd frame of mind, half resentful, half depressed,

he spent aboutа a quarter of an hour in the bathroom.а He felt irritated and

uneasy.

аааа Right.а Thisа meansаа theа endаа ofа yourа galoshesаа tomorrow,а Philip

Philipovich, he thought. You've already had to buy two new pairs. Now you're

going to have to buy another. That'll teach you to lock up dogs.

аааа Suddenlyа aа violent thought crossed his mind. Instantly and clearly he

remembered a scene from hisа earliest youth -a huge sunny courtyard near the

Preobrazhenskyа Gate,а sliversа of sunlightа reflectedа inа brokenа bottles,

brick-rubble, and a free world of stray dogs.

аааа No, it's no use. I could never leave this place now. Why pretend? mused

the dog,а with a sniff. I've got used toа this life. I'm aа gentleman'sа dog

now, anа intelligent being,а I'veа tastedа better things.а Anyhow,а whatа is

freedom? Vapour, mirage, fiction . . . democratic rubbish . . .

аааа Then the gloom ofа the bathroom began to frightenа him andа heа howled.

Hurling himself at the door, he started scratching it.

аааа Ow-ow . . ., the noise echoed round the apartment like someone shouting

into a barrel.

аааа I'llа tearа that owlа toа pieces again, thoughtа theа dog, furiousа but

impotent. Then he felt weakа and lay down. When heа got up his coat suddenly

stood up on end, as he had an eerie feeling that a horrible, wolfish pair of

eyes was staring at him from the bath.

аааа Inа the midst of his agony theа doorа opened.а Theа dog went out, shook

himself, and made gloomily for the kitchen,а but Zina firmly dragged himа by

the collar into the consulting-room. The dog felt a suddenа chill around his

heart.

аааа What do they want me for?а he wondered suspiciously. My side has healed

up - I don't get it. Sliding along on his paws over the slippery parquet, he

was pulled into the consulting-room. There he was immediately shocked by the

unusually brilliant lighting. A white globe on the ceiling shone so brightly

that it hurt hisа eyes. In theа white glareа stoodа the high priest, humming

throughа hisа teethа somethingа aboutа theа sacredа Nile.а Theа only wayа of

recognisingа him as Philip Philipovich was a vague smell. Hisа smoothed-back

greyа hairа was hiddenа under aа white cap, makingа himа look as if heа were

dressed up as a patriarch; the divine figure was all inа white and overа the

white, likeа a stole, he wore a narrow rubber apron. His hands were in black

gloves.

аааа The other doctor was also there. The long tableа was fully unfolded,а a

small square box placed beside it on a shining stand.

аааа The dog hated the other doctor more than anyone else and more than ever

because ofа the look in his eyes. Usually frank and bold, they now flickered

inа all directionsа to avoid the dog's eyes. They were watchful, treacherous

and in their depths lurked something mean and nasty, even criminal. Scowling

at him, the dog slunk into a comer.

аааа 'Collar,а Zina,' saidа Philip Philipovichа softly,а 'only don'tа excite

him.'

аааа For aа momentа Zina's eyes had theа same vile look as Bormenthal's. She

walked up to the dog and with obvious treachery, stroked him.

аааа What're you doing ... all three of you? OK, take me if you want me. You

ought to be ashamed ... If only I knew what you're going to do to me . . .

аааа Zinaа unfastenedа hisа collar,а theа dog shookа hisа headа and snorted.

Bormenthal rose up in front of him, reeking of that foul, sickening smell.

аааа Ugh, disgusting . . . wonder why I feel so queer . . ., thought the dog

as he dodged away.

аааа 'Hurry,а doctor,'а said Philipа Philipovichа impatiently.а Thereа was a

sharp, sweet smellа in the air.а Theа doctor,а withoutа taking hisа horrible

watchful eyes offа theа dog slipped his right handа out from behind his back

and quicklyа clampedа a pad of damp cotton wool over the dog'sа nose. Sharik

went dumb, his head spinning a little, but he stillа managedа to jumpа back.

The doctor jumped after him and rapidly smothered his whole muzzle in cotton

wool.а His breathingа stopped, but againа the dog jerkedа himself away.а You

bastard . . .,а flashed through his mind. Why? Andа down came the pad again.

Thenа a lake suddenlyа materialisedа in theа middle ofа theа consulting-room

floor. On itа was a boat, rowedа by a crew ofа extraordinary pinkа dogs. The

bones in his legs gave way and collapsed.

аааа 'Onа toа the table!'а Philipа Philipovich boomed fromа somewhereа inа a

cheerful voiceа andа the sound disintegrated intoа orange-colouredа streaks.

Fear vanished and gave way to joy. For two seconds the dog loved the manа he

had bitten.а Then the whole worldа turned upside down and he felt a cold but

soothing hand on his belly. Then - nothing.

аааа The dog Sharikа layа stretched out onа the narrow operatingа table, his

head lolling helplesslyа against aа white oilcloth pillow.а Hisа stomach was

shavenа and now Doctor Bormenthal,а breathing heavily, was hurriedly shaving

Sharik's headа with clippers that ateа through hisа fur. Philip Philipovich,

leaningа on the edgeа of the table,а watched the process throughа his shiny,

gold-rimmed spectacles. He spoke urgently:

аааа 'Ivanа Arnoldovich,а the most vital moment is when I enterа the turkish

saddle. Youа must thenа instantly pass me the gland andа startа suturingа at

once. If weа have a haemorrhage then we shall lose time and lose the dog. In

any case, he hasn't a chance .а . .'а He wasа silent, frowning,а and gave an

ironicа look at the dog's half-closed eye, then added: 'Do youа know, I feel

sorry for him. I've actually got used to having him around.'

аааа So sayingа he raised his hands as though calling down a blessing on the

unfortunate Sharik's greatа sacrificial venture.а Bormenthal laid аaside the

clippers and picked up a razor. He lathered theа defenceless little head and

startedа to shave it. The blade scraped across theа skin, nicked it and drew

blood. Having shaved the head the doctor wiped it with an alcohol swab, then

stretchedа out theа dog'sа bareа stomach andа said withа a sighа ofа relief:

'Ready.'

аааа Zina turned onа theа tapа over the washbasin andа Bormenthalа hurriedly

washed his hands. From a phial Zina poured alcohol over them.

аааа 'Mayа Iа go, Philip Philipovich?' she asked, glancing nervouslyа at the

dog's shaven head.

аааа 'You may.'

аааа Zinaа disappeared. Bormenthal busiedа himselfа further.а Heа surrounded

Shank's head with tight gauze wadding, which framed the odd sight of a naked

canine scalp and a muzzle that by comparison seemed heavily bearded.

аааа The priestа stirred. He straightened up, looked atа the dog'sа head and

said: 'God bless us. Scalpel.'

аааа Bormenthal took a short, broad-bladed knife from the glittering pile on

the small table and handed it to the great man. He too then donned a pair of

black gloves.

аааа 'Is he asleep?' asked Philip Philipovich.

аааа 'He's sleeping nicely.'

аааа Philipа Philipovich clenched hisа teeth, hisа eyesа tookа onа aа sharp,

piercingа glintа andа withа aа flourish of his scalpel heа made a long, neat

incisionа down theа length ofа Sharik'sа belly. Theа skin partedа instantly,

spurtingа bloodа in severalа directions. Bormenthal swooped likeа a vulture,

beganа dabbingа Sharik's wound with swabsа of gauze,а then gripped its edges

withа aа rowа ofа little clamps like sugar-tongs, and theа bleeding stopped.

Droplets of sweat oozed fromа Bormenthal's forehead. Philip Philipovich made

aа second incision andа againа Sharik'sа bodyа wasа pulled apartа byа hooks,

scissors and littleа clamps. Pinkа and yellow tissues emerged,а oozingа with

blood.а Philipа Philipovichа turned the scalpelа inа the wound, then barked:

'Scissors!'

аааа Like aа conjuring trickа theа instrumentа materialisedа in Bormenthal's

hand. Philipа Philipovich delved deep and with a fewа twistsа he removed the

testicles and some dangling attachments fromа Sharik'sа body. Drippingа with

exertion andа excitement Bormenthal leapt to a glass jar and removed from it

twoа moreа wet, dangling testicles,а theirа short,а moist, stringyа vesicles

dangling likeа elastic inа the hands of the professor and his assistant. The

bent needles clicked faintly 54

 

аааа against the clamps as the new testicles were sewn in place of Sharik's.

The priest drew back from the incision, swabbed it and gave the order:

аааа 'Suture, doctor. At once.' He turned aroundа andа looked atа theа white

clock on the wall.

аааа 'Fourteenа minutes,'а grunted Bormenthal throughа clenched teethа as he

pierced the flabbyа skin withа his crooked needle. Both grew as tense as two

murderers working against the clock.

аааа 'Scalpel!' cried Philip Philipovich.

аааа The scalpel seemedа to leap intoа his hand as though of its own accord,

at which point Philip Philipovich's expression grew quite fearsome. Grinding

hisа goldа and porcelainа bridge-work, in a singleа stroke he incised aа red

fillet around Sharik's head. The scalp, withа its shaven hairs, was removed,

the skull bone laid bare. Philip Philipovich shouted: 'Trepan!'

аааа Bormenthalа handedаа himа aа shiningа auger.а Bitingа hisа lipsа Philip

Philipovich began to insert the auger andа drill a complete circle of little

holes, a centimetre apart, around the topа of Sharik's skull. Each hole took

no more than fiveа seconds toа drill.а Then withа a sawа of the most curious

designа heа put its point intoа the first hole and began sawingа through the

skullа asа though he wereа making a lady's fretwork sewing-basket. The skull

shook and squeaked faintly.а After three minutes the roof of the dog's skull

was removed.

аааа Theа dome ofа Sharik'sа brain wasа nowа laid bare - grey, threaded with

bluish veins andа spots of red.а Philipа Philipovichа plungedа hisа scissors

betweenа the membranes andа eased themа apart.а Once a thinа stream of blood

spurted up, almost hitting the professor in the eye and spattering his white

cap.а Like a tiger Bormenthalа pouncedа in with aа tourniquet andа squeezed.

Sweat streamed down his face, whichа was growing puffy and mottled. His eyes

flicked to and fro from the professor's hand to the instrument-table. Philip

Philipovich was positively awe-inspiring. A hoarse snoring noiseа cameа from

his nose,а his teeth wereа baredа to the gums.а He peeledа asideа layersа of

cerebral membrane and penetratedа deep between the hemispheres of the brain.

It was then that Bor-menthal went pale, and seizing Sharik's breast with one

hand he said hoarsely: 'Pulse falling sharply . . .'

аааа Philip Philipovich flashedа him aа savage look,а grunted somethingа and

delved further still.а Bormenthal snappedа openа a glassа ampoule, filledа a

syringe with the liquid and treacherously injected the dog near his heart.

аааа 'I'm comingа toа the turkish saddle,'а growled Philip Philipovich. With

hisа slippery, bloodstained gloves he removed Sharik's greyish-yellowа brain

from hisа head. For a secondа he glanced atа Sharik's muzzleа and Bormenthal

snapped open a second ampoule ofа yellow liquid and sucked it intoа the long

syringe.

аааа 'Shall I do it straight into the heart?' he enquired cautiously.

аааа 'Don't waste time asking questions!' roaredа the professor angrily. 'He

could die fiveа timesа over while you'reа making up yourа mind. Inject, man!

What areа youа waiting for?'а His face hadа the lookа of anа inspired robber

chieftain.

аааа With a flourish the doctor plunged the needle into the dog's heart.

аааа 'He's alive, but only just,' he whispered timidly.

аааа 'No timeа toа argue whetherа he's аalive or not,'а hissed theа terrible

Philip Philipovich. 'I'm atа the saddle.а Soа whatа if he does dieа ... hell

..."... the banks of the sa-acred Nile" . . . give me the gland.'

аааа Bormenthalа handedа him a beaker containing a white blob suspended on a

thread in some fluid. Withа one hand ('God, there's no oneа like himа in all

Europe,'а thought Bormenthal) he fished out the dangling blobа andа with the

other hand, usingа the scissors, heа excised a similar blob from deep within

the separatedа cerebral hemispheres. Sharik'sа blob he threwа on to a plate,

theа newа oneа he inserted into the brain withа a piece ofа thread. Then his

stumpyаа fingers,а nowа miraculouslyа delicateа andа sensitive,а sewedаа the

amber-colouredа thread cunningly into place. Afterа thatа he removed various

stretchersа andа clamps fromа theа skull, replaced theа brainа inа itsа bony

container, leaned back and said in a much calmer voice:

аааа 'I suppose he's died?'

аааа 'There's just a flicker of pulse,' replied Bormenthal.

аааа 'Give him another shot of adrenalin.'

аааа Theа professor replacedа the membranes overа theа brain,а restoredа the

sawn-offа lidа toа its exact place, pushedа the scalp back into position and

roared: 'Suture!'

аааа Fiveа minutes laterа Bormenthalа had sewn upа the dog'sа head, breaking

three needles.

аааа There on the bloodstained pillow lay Sharik's slack, lifeless muzzle, a

circularа woundа onа hisа tonsuredа head.а Likeа aа satisfied vampire Philip

Philipovich finallyа stepped back, ripped off one glove, shookа out of itа a

cloudа of sweat-drenchedа powder, tore off the otherа one, threw itа onа the

ground and rang the bell in the wall. Zina appeared inа the doorway, looking

away to avoid seeing the blood-spattered dog.а Withа chalky handsа the great

man pulled off his skull-cap and cried:

аааа "Give me a cigarette, Zina. And then some clean clothes and a bath.'

аааа Layino- his chin on the edgeа of theа table he partedа theа dog's right

eyelids, peered into the obviously moribund eye and said:

аааа 'Well, I'll beа ... He's not deadа yet. Still,а he'll die. I feel sorry

for the dog, Bormenthal. He was naughty but I couldn't help liking him.'

 

Four

 

 

аааа Subject of experiment: Male dog aged approx. 2 years.

аааа Breed: Mongrel.

аааа Name: 'Sharik'.

аааа Coatа sparse, inа tufts,а brownishа with tracesа of singeing.а Tail the

colourа of baked milk. On right flankа traces ofа healed second-degree burn.

Previousаа nutritionalаа stateа -poor.а Afterаа aа week'sа stayа withа Prof.

Preobrazhensky -extremelyа well nourished. Weight: 8 kilograms (!). Heart: .

. . Lungs: . . . Stomach: . . . Temperature: . . .

аааа December 23rdа Atа 8.05pmа Prof.а Preobrazhenskyа commencedа theа first

operation ofа its kind to be performed in Europe: removal underа anaesthesia

of the dog's testicles and their replacement by implanted human testes, with

appendages and seminal ducts, taken from a 28-year-oldа human male,а deadа 4

hours and 4 minutes before the operation and kept by Prof. Preobrazhensky in

sterilised physiological fluid.

аааа Immediately thereafter, following a trepanning operation on the cranial

roof,а theа pituitaryа glandа was removed and replaced byа a human pituitary

originating from theа above-mentioned human male. Drugs used: Chloroform - 8

cc.

аааа Camphor - 1 syringe.

аааа Adrenalin - 2 syringes (by cardiac injection ).

аааа Purpose ofа operation: Experimental observation by Prof. Preobrazhensky

ofа the effect of combinedа transplantationа ofа the pituitary and testes in

order to study both the functional viability in a host-organism and its role

in cellular etc. rejuvenation.

аааа Operation performed by; Prof.а P. P. Preobrazhensky. Assisted by: Dr I.

A. Bormenthal. During the night following the operation, frequentа and grave

weakening of the pulse. Dog apparently in terminal state.

аааа Preobrazhensky prescribes camphor injections in massive dosage.

аааа Decemberа 24th am Improvement.а Respiration rateа doubled. Temperature:

42C. Camphor and caffeine injected subcutaneously.

аааа December 25th Deterioration.

аааа Pulseа barelyа detectable,а cooling ofа the extremities,а noа pupillary

reaction. Preobrazhensky ordersа cardiac injection of adrenalin and camphor,

intravenous injections of physiological solution.

аааа December 26th Slight improvement. Pulse: 180.

аааа Respiration: 92. Temperature: 41C. Camphor. Alimentation per rectum.

аааа Decemberа 27thа Pulse:а 152.аа Respiration:а 50.аа Temperature:а 39.8C.

Pupillary reaction. Camphor - subcutaneous.

аааа Decemberаа 28thаа Significantаа improvement.аа Atа noonаа suddenа heavy

perspiration. Temperature: 37C.

аааа Condition of surgical wounds unchanged. Re-bandaged. Signs of appetite.

Liquid alimentation.

 

аааа Decemberа 29thа Suddenа moultingа ofа hair on foreheadа andа torso. The

following were summoned for consultation:

аааа 1. Professor of Dermatology - Vasily Vasilievich Bundaryov.

аааа 2. Director, Moscow Veterinary Institute.

аааа Both stated the case to be without precedent in medical literature.

аааа No diagnosis established.

аааа Temperature: (entered in pencil).

аааа 8.15pm. First bark.

аааа Distinct alteration of timbre and lowering of pitch

аааа noticeable. Instead ofа diphthongа 'aow-aow',а barkа nowа enunciated on

vowels 'ah-oh', in intonation reminiscent

аааа of a groan.

аааа December 30th Moulting process has progressed to almost total baldness.

аааа Weighingа producedа theа unexpectedа resultа of 80 kg., dueа toа growth

(lengthening of the bones). Dog still lying prone.

 

аааа December 31st Subject exhibits colossal appetite.

аааа (Ink-blot.аа Afterаа theаа blotаа theаа followingаа entryа inа scrawled

hand-writing):а Atаа 12.12pmа theа dogа distinctlyа pronouncedаа theа sounds

'Nes-set-a'.

ааа а(Gap in entries. The following entries show errors due to excitement):

аааа Decemberаа 1stа (deleted;аа correctedаа to):а Januaryа 1stа 1925.аа Dog

photographed a.m.

аааа Cheerfullyа barksа 'Nes-set-a',а repeatingа loudlyа andа withа apparent

pleasure.

а ааа3.0pmа (in heavy lettering): Dog laughed,а causing maid Zina toа faint.

Later, pronounced theа following 8а timesа inа succession:а 'Nesseta-ciled'.

(Sloping characters, written in pencil):

аааа The professor hasа deciphered the word 'Nesseta-ciled' by аreversal: it

is 'delicatessen' . . . Quite extraord . . .

 

аааа January 2nd Dog photographed by magnesiumа flash while smiling. Gotа up

and remained confidently on hind legs for a half-hour. Now nearly my height.

(Loose page inserted intoа notebook): Russian science almost suffered a most

serious blow. History of Prof. P. P. Preobrazhensky's illness:

аааа 1.13pm Prof. Preobrazhenskyа falls into deep faint. On falling, strikes

head on edge of table.

аааа Temp.: . . .

аааа Theа dogа inа theа presenceа ofа Zinaа andа myself,а hadа calledа Prof.

Preobrazhensky a 'bloody bastard'.

аааа January 6th (entries made partly in pencil, partly in violet ink):

аааа Today, after the dog's tail had fallen out, he quite clearly pronounced

the word 'liquor'.

аааа Recording apparatus switched on. God knows what's happening.

аааа (Total confusion.)

аааа Professor has ceased to seeа patients. From 5pm this eveningа sounds of

vulgarа abuse issuingа from the consulting-room, where the creature is still

confined. Heard to ask for 'another one, and make it a double.'

 

аааа January 7thа Creatureа can nowа pronounceа several words: 'taxi', 'full

up', 'eveningа paper',а 'takeа oneа home forа theа kiddies' andа every known

Russian swear-word. His appearance is strange. Heа now only hasа hair on his

head, chinа and chest. Elsewhere he is bald,а with flabby skin.а His genital

regionа nowа has theа appearance of anа immatureа humanа male. His skull has

enlarged considerably. Brow low and receding.

а аааMy God, I must be going mad. . . .

аааа Philipа Philipovichа stillа feelsа unwell.а Mostа ofа theа observations

(pictures and recordings) are being carried out by myself.

аааа Rumoursа areа spreadingа roundа theа townа .а . .а Consequencesа may be

incalculable. All day today the whole street was full of loafing rubbernecks

and old womenа . . . Dogs still crowding round beneath theа windows. Amazing

report in the morning papers: The rumours of a Martian in Obukhov Street are

totally unfounded. They have been spread byа black-market traders andа their

repetition will be severely punished.а What Martian, for God's sake? This is

turning into a nightmare.

аааа Reports in today's evening paper even worse - they say that a child has

been born who could play the violin from birth. Beside it is a photograph of

myselfа withа theа caption:а 'Prof.а Preobrazhenskyа performing aа Caesarian

operation on the mother.' The situation isа getting out of hand ...а Heа can

now say a new word - 'policeman' . . .

аааа Apparently Darya Petrovna was in love with me andа pinched the snapshot

ofа me outа of Philip Philipovich's photograph album. After I had kicked out

all the reporters one of them sneaked back into the kitchen, and so ...

аааа Consulting hours are nowа impossible. Eighty-two telephone calls today.

The telephone has been cut off. We are besieged by child-less women . . .

аааа House committee appearedа in fullа strength,а headed by Shvonder - they

could not explain why they had come.

 

аааа Januaryа 8thа Lateа this eveningа diagnosis finallyа agreed.а Withа the

impartialityа ofа aа trueа scholar Philip Philipovich hasа acknowledgedа his

error:а transplantation of theа pituitary induces not rejuvenation but total

humanisationа (underlined threeа times).а This does not, however, lessen the

value of his stupendous discovery.

аааа The creature walked round the flat today for the first time. Laughed in

theа corridorа after lookingа at theа electric light.а Then,а accompanied by

Philip Philipovichа and myself, he went into the study. Stands firmly on his

hind (deleted) ... his legs andа givesа the impressionа of a short, ill-knit

human male.

аааа Laughed in the study. His smile is disagreeable and somehow artificial.

Then heа scratched theа backа ofа hisа head,а looked round and registeredа a

further,а clearly-pronouncedа word:а 'Bourgeois'.а Swore.а Hisа swearingа is

methodical,а uninterruptedа andа apparentlyа totallyа meaningless.а There is

something mechanical about it - it is as if this creature had heard all this

badа languageа atа anа earlierа phase,а automaticallyа recordedа itа inа his

subconsciousа andа nowаа regurgitatesа itаа wholesale.а However,а Iаа amа no

psychiatrist.

аааа Theаа swearingа somehowа hasа aа veryаа depressingаа effectа onа Philip

Philipovich.а Thereа are momentsа whenа heа abandonsа his cool,а unemotional

observation ofа new phenomena andа appearsа toа lose patience. Once when the

creatureа was swearing, for instance,а heа suddenlyа burst outа impulsively:

'Shut up!' This had no effect.

аааа After his visit toа the study Sharik was shut up in the consulting-room

byа our joint efforts. Philip Philipovichа and Iа thenа held a conference. I

confess that this was the first time I had seen this self-assured and highly

intelligentа man at a loss. Heа hummed a little, as heа isа in theа habit of

doing,а thenа asked: 'Whatа areа weа going toа doа now?' He answered himself

literally as follows:

аааа 'Moscow State Clothing Stores, yes . . . "from Granadaа to Seville" . .

.а M.S.C.S., myа dearа doctorа . .а .'а I could not understand him, thenа he

explained: 'Ivan Arnold-ovich, please go and buy him some underwear,а shirt,

jacket and trousers.'

аааа January 9th Theа creature's vocabulary is being enrichedа by a new word

every five minutes (on average) and, since this morning, by sentences. It is

as if they had been lying frozen in his mind, are melting and emerging. Once

out, the word remainsа inа use.а Since yesterdayа eveningа theа machineа has

recorded the following: 'Stop pushing', 'You swine', 'Get off the bus - full

up', 'I'll show you', 'American recognition', 'kerosene stove'.

аааа January10th The creature wasа dressed. He took to a vest quite readily,

even laughingа cheerfully. Heа refused underpants,а though, protestingа with

hoarse shrieks:

аааа 'Stopа queue-barging, you bastards!'а Finally we dressed him. The sizes

of his clothes were too big for him.

аааа (Hereа theаа notebookа containsа aаа number аofа schematisedа drawings,

apparently depicting theа transformation of aа canine into a human leg.) The

rearа lialf of the skeleton ofа the footа is lengthening.а Elongation of the

toes. Nails. (With appropriate sketches.)

аааа Repeatedа systematicа toiletа training.а Theа servantsа areа angryа and

depressed.

аааа However,а the creature isа undoubtedly intelligent.а The experimentа is

proceeding satisfactorily.

 

аааа January llth Quite reconciled to wearing clothes, although was heard to

say, 'Christ, I've got ants in my pants.'

аааа Fur onа headа now thin andа silky; almost indistinguishableа from hair,

thoughа scarsа stillа visible in parietalа region. Today lastа traces of fur

dropped from hisа ears.а Colossal appetite.а Enjoysа salted herring.а At 5pm

occurred a significantа event: for the first time the wordsа spokenа byа the

creatureа wereа notа disconnectedа fromа surroundingа phenomena butа wereа a

reactionа toа them.а Thusа whenа theа professor saidа toа him,а 'Don't throw

food-scraps on the floor,' heа unexpectedly replied:а 'Get stuffed.'а Philip

Philipovich was appalled, but recovered and said: 'If you swear at me or the

doctor again, you're in trouble.' I photographed Sharik at that moment and I

swear that he understood what theа professor said. His face clouded over and

he gave a sullen look, but said nothing. Hurrah - he understands!

 

аааа January 12th. Putа hands in pockets. Weа are teaching him not to swear.

Whistled,а 'Hey,а littleа apple'. Sustainedа conversation.а Iа cannot resist

certainа hypotheses:а we mustа forgetа rejuvenation for the timeа being. The

otherа aspectа isа immeasurablyа moreаа important.аа Prof.а Preobrazhensky's

astounding experiment has revealedа one ofа the secrets ofа the human brain.

The mysterious function of the pituitary as an adjunct to the brainа has now

beenа clarified.а It determines humanа appearance.а Its hormonesа may now be

regarded as the most important in the whole organism - the hormones of man's

image. A newа field has been opened up toа science; withoutа theа aid of any

Faustian retortsа a homunculus has beenа created.а The surgeon's scalpel has

brought to life a newа human entity. Prof. Preobrazhensky-you are a creator.

(ink blot)

аааа But I digress ... As stated,а he can now sustain a conversation.а Asа I

seeа it, the situation is as follows:а the implanted pituitary has activated

the speech-centre in the canine brain and words have poured out in a stream.

I do notа think that weа have beforeа us a newly-created brain butа aа brain

whichа has beenа stimulated to develop. Oh, what aа glorious confirmation of

the theoryа ofа evolution! Oh,а the sublimeа chainа leading fromа aа dogа to

Mendeleyev the great chemist! Aа further hypothesisа of mineа is that during

its canineа stageа Sharik'sа brainа hadа accumulatedа a massiveа quantity of

sense-data. All theа words whichа he used initially were the language of the

streets which he had picked up and stored in his brain. Now as Iа walk along

the streets I look at every dog I meet with secret horror. God knows what is

lurking in their minds.

аааа Sharik canа read. He can read (three exclamation marks).а Iа guessed it

fromа hisа early useа ofа the wordа 'delicatessen'. He could readа fromа the

beginning. Andа I evenа know the solutionа toа this puzzle - it lies inа the

structure of the canine optic nerve. God alone knows what is now going on in

Moscow.а Seven black-market traders areа alreadyа behind bars forа spreading

rumours that theа end of theа worldа is imminent and has been caused byа the

Bolsheviks.а Darya Petrovna told me aboutа thisа andа even named theа date -

Novemberа 28th, 1925,а the day of St Stephen the Martyr, when the earth will

spiral off into infinity. . .а . Some charlatans are already giving lectures

about it.а We have started such a rumpus with this pituitary experiment that

Iа have had to leave my flat. Iа have moved in with Preobrazhensky and sleep

inа the waiting-room with Sharik. The consulting-room has been turned into a

new waiting-room. Shvenderа wasа right.а Trouble isа brewing withа the house

committee.а Thereа is not aа single glass left, as he willа jumpа onа to the

shelves. Great difficulty in teaching him not to do this.

аааа Somethingа oddа is happeningа toа Philip.а Whenа Iа told himа aboutа my

hypotheses and my hopes of developing Sharik into an intellectually advanced

personality, he hummedа and hahed, then said: 'Doа you really think so?' His

toneа was ominous. Have I made a mistake? Then he had an idea. While I wrote

up these case-notes, Preobrazhensky madeа a careful studyа of the life-story

of the man from whom we took the pituitary.

аааа (Loose page inserted into the notebook.)

аааа Name: Elim Grigorievich Chugunkin. Age: 25.

аааа Marital status: Unmarried.

аааа Not a Party member, butа sympathetic to the Party. Threeа times charged

with theft and acquitted - on theа first occasion for lack ofа evidence,а in

the second case saved by his social origin, the thirdа time put on probation

with a conditional sentence of 15 years hard labour.

аааа Profession: playsа the balalaika in bars.а Short, poor physicalа shape.

Enlargedа liverа (alcohol).а Causeа ofа death:а knife-woundа inа theа heart,

sustained in the Red Light Bar at Preobrazhensky Gate.

 

аааа Theа old man continues to study Chugunkin's case exhaustively, although

I cannot understandа why. He grunted something about theа pathologist having

failedа toа makeа a complete examination of Chugunkin's body. Whatа doesа he

mean? Does it matter whose pituitary it is?

 

аааа January 17th Unableа to makeа notes for several days,а as I have had an

attackа ofа influenza.а Meanwhileа theа creature'sа appearanceа hasа assumed

definitive form:

аааа (a) physically a complete human being.

аааа (b) weight about 108 Ibs.

аааа (c) below medium height.

аааа (d) small head.

аааа (e) eats human food.

аааа (f) dresses himself.

аааа (g) capable of normal conversation.

аааа So much for the pituitary (ink blot).

аааа This concludes the notes on this case. We now have a new organism which

must be studied as such. appendices: Verbatim reports of speech, recordings,

photographs. Signed: I. A. Bormenthal, M.D.

аааа Asst. to Prof. P. P. Preobrazhensky.

 

 

Five

 

аааа A winter afternoon in late January,а theа time before supper,а the time

before theа start of evening consulting hours. On theа drawing-room doorpost

hung a sheet of paper, on which was written in Philip Philipovich's hand:

 

 

аааа I forbid the consumption of sunflower seeds in this flat.

аааа P. Preobrazhensky

аааа Below this in big, thick letters Bormenthal had written in blue pencil:

аааа Musical instruments may not be played between 7pm and 6am.

аааа Then from Zina:

аааа Whenа youа come back tellа Philip Philipovich thatа he's gone out and I

don't know where to. Fyodor says he's with Shvonder.

аааа Preobrazhensky's hand:

аааа How much longer do I have to wait before the glazier comes?

аааа Darya Petrovna (in block letters):

аааа Zina has, gone out to the store, says she'll bring him back.

аааа Inа the dining-room thereа was a cosy evening feeling, generated by the

lamp onа the sideboard shining beneath its dark ceriseа shade. Its light was

reflected in random shafts all over the room, as the mirror was cracked from

side to side and had been stuck in place with a criss-cross of tape. Bending

over theа table, Philip Philipovich was absorbed in the large double page of

an open newspaper. His faceа was working withа furyа and throughа hisа teeth

issued a jerky stream of abuse. This is what he was reading:

аааа There's no doubt that itа is his illegitimate (asа theyа used to say in

rotten bourgeois society) son. This is how the pseudo-learned members of our

bourgeoisie amuseа themselves. He willа only keepа his seven rooms until the

glittering sword ofjustice fi'ashes over him like a red ray. Sh . . . r.

аааа Someoneа was hard at work playing a rousingа tuneа on the balalaika two

rooms away and the sound of a series of intricate variations on 'The Moon is

Shining'а mingledа inа Philipа Philipovich'sа headа withа the wordsа ofа the

sickening newspaper article. When heа had read itа he pretended to spit over

his shoulderа and hummed absentmindedly through his teeth: ' "The moo-oon is

shining . .а .а shining bright . . .а the moonа is shining . . ."а God, that

damned tune's on my brain!'

аааа He rang. Zina's face appeared in the doorway.

аааа 'Tell him it's five o'clock and he'sа to shut up. Then tell him to come

here, please.'

аааа Philip Philipovich satа downа in anа armchair beside his desk, aа brown

cigar buttа betweenа theа fingersа ofа hisа leftа hand. Leaning againstа the

doorpost there stood, legs crossed, aа short manа of unpleasantа appearance.

His hair grew in clumps of bristles like a stubble field and on his face was

aа meadow of unsliaven fluff. His brow wasа strikingly low. A thick brush of

hair began almost immediately above his spreading eyebrows.

аааа His jacket, torn under the left armpit, was covered with bits of straw,

hisа checkedа trousersа had a hole onа theа right knee and the leftа leg was

stained with violetа paint.а Roundа the man's neck wasа a poisonously bright

blueа tie with a gilt tiepin. Theа colourа ofа theа tie was soа garishа that

whenever Philip Philipovich covered his tired eyes and gazed at the complete

darkness of the ceiling or the wall, he imagined he saw a flaming torch with

a blue halo. As soon as heа openedа them he wasа blinded again, dazzled by a

pair of patent-leather boots with white spats.

аааа 'Like galoshes,'а thought Philip Philipovichа with disgust.а He sighed,

sniffedа andа busied himself with relighting hisа dead cigar. The man in the

doorway stared at the professor with lacklustre eyes and smoked a cigarette,

dropping the ash down his shirtfront.

аааа Theа clockа onа theа wallа beside aа carvedа wooden grouseа struck five

o'clock.а The inside of the clock was stillа wheezing asа Philip Philipovich

spoke.

аааа 'I thinkа Iа have askedа youа twiceа not to sleep byа the stove inа the

kitchen - particularly in the daytime.'

аааа The manа gaveа a hoarse cough as though heа were choking on aа bone and

replied:

аааа 'It's nicer in the kitchen.'

аааа Hisа voice had anа odd quality, at once muffled yet resonant, as ifа he

were far away and talking into a small barrel.

аааа Philip Philipovich shook his head and asked:

аааа 'Where onа earthа did you get thatа disgusting thingа from? I mean your

tie.'

аааа Following the direction of the pointing finger, the man's eyes squinted

as he gazed lovingly down at his tie.

аааа 'What's disgusting aboutа it?' he said. 'It's a veryа smartа tie. Darya

Petrovna gave it to me.'

аааа 'In that case Daryaа Petrovnaа hasа veryа poorа taste. Those bootsа are

almost as bad. Why did you get suchа horrible shiny ones? Where did youа buy

them?а What did I tell you? Iа told youа to find yourselfа aа pair of decent

boots. Just lookа at them. You don't mean toа tell me that Doctor Bormenthal

chose them, do you?'

аааа 'Iа told himа to getа patent leather ones. Whyа shouldn't Iа wear them?

Everybodyа elseа does.а If you go downа Kuznetzkyа Streetа you'll see nearly

everybody wearing patent leather boots.'

аааа Philip Philipovich shook his head and pronounced weightily:

аааа 'No more sleeping inа the kitchen. Understand? I've never heard of such

behaviour. You're a nuisance there and the women don't like it.'

аааа The man scowled and his lips began to pout.

аааа 'So what? Those women actа as though they owned the place. They're just

maids,а but you'dа think they were commissars.а It'sа Zinaа -а she'sа always

bellyaching about me.'

аааа Philip Philipovich gave him a stern look.

аааа 'Don't you dare talk about Zina in that tone of voice! Understand?'

аааа Silence.

аааа 'I'm asking you - do you understand?'

аааа 'Yes, I understand.'

аааа 'Take that trash off yourа neck. Shaа . .а . ifа you sawа yourself in a

mirror you'd realise what a fright it makes you look. You look like a clown.

Forа the hundredth time - don't throwа cigarette ends on to the floor. And I

don'tа want toа hearа anyа moreа swearingа inа thisа flat!а Andа don'tа spit

everywhere! The spittoon's over there. Kindlyа take better aim when you pee.

Cease all further conversation with Zina.а She complains that you lurk round

her room at night. And don't be rude to my patients! Where do'you thinkа you

are - in some dive?'

аааа 'Don't beа so hard on me. Dad,'а theа man suddenlyа saidа inа a tearful

whine.

аааа Philip Philipovich turned red and his spectacles flashed.

аааа 'Who are you callingа "Dad"? What impertinent familiarity! I never want

to hear that word again! You will address me by my name and patronymic!'

аааа The man flared up impudently: 'Oh,а why can't you lay off? Don't spit .

. . don't smokeа . . .а don't goа there, don't do this, don'tа do that . . .

sounds likeа the rules in aа tram. Why don't you leaveа me alone, forа God's

sake? And why shouldn't I call you "Dad", anyway? I didn't ask you to do the

operation, did I?' - the man barked indignantly - 'A nice business -youа get

anа animal,а slice hisа head openа andа now you're sick ofа him.а Perhapsа I

wouldn't have given permission forа the operation. Nor would . . . (theа man

stared up at the ceiling as though tryingа to remember a phrase heа had been

taught) . . . nor would my relatives. I bet I could sue you if I wanted to.'

аааа Philip Philipovich's eyes grew quite round andа his cigarа fell outа of

his fingers. 'Well, I'll be . . .' he thought to himself.

аааа 'So youа object to havingа been turned into a human being,а do you?' he

asked,а frowningа slightly. 'Perhapsа you'dа prefer toа beа sniffingа around

dustbins again? Or freezing in doorways? Well, ifа I'd known that I wouldn't

. . .'

аааа 'Soа what if I had to eat outа ofа dustbins? At least itа was an honest

living.а And supposing I'd died on your operatingа table? What d'youа say to

that, comrade?'

аааа 'My nameа is Philipа Philipovich!' exclaimedа theа professor irritably.

'I'm not your comrade!а This is monstrous!' ('I can't stand it much longer,'

he thought to himself.)

аааа 'Oh,а yes!' said the manа sarcastically,а triumphantlyа uncrossingа his

legs. 'I know! Of course we're not comrades! How could we be? I didn't go to

college,а I don'tа own aа flatа withа fifteen rooms and a bathroom. Only all

that's changed now - now everybody has the right to . . .'

аааа Growingа rapidlyа paler,а Philipа Philipovichа listenedа toа theа man's

argument. Then the creature stopped and swaggered demonstratively over to an

ashtray with a chewed butt-end in his fingers. He spent a long time stubbing

it out, with a look on his face which clearly said:а 'Drop dead!' Having put

out his cigarette he suddenly clicked his teeth and poked his nose under his

armpit.

аааа 'You'reа supposed toа catchа fleasа with yourа fingersVа shouted Philip

Philipovich in fury. 'Anyhow, how is it that you still have any fleas?'

аааа 'Youа don'tа think I breedа themа on purpose,а doа you?' said theа man,

offended. 'I suppose fleas just like me, that's all.' With this he poked his

fingers through the lining of his jacket,а scratchedа aroundа and produced a

tuft of downy red hair.

аааа Philip Philipovichа turned his gaze upwardsа toа the plaster rosette on

the ceiling and started drumming his fingersа on the desk. Having caught his

flea, the man sat down in a chair, stickingа his thumbs behind the lapels of

hisа jacket.а Squintingа down at the parquet, heа inspected his boots, which

gaveа himа greatа pleasure.а Philipа Philipovichа also lookedа downа atа the

highlights glinting on the man's blunt-toed boots, frowned and enquired:

аааа 'What else were you going to say?'

аааа 'Oh, nothing, really. I need some papers, Philip Philipovich.'

аааа Philip Philipovichа winced. 'H'mа . .а . papers, eh? Really, well . . .

H'm . . . Perhaps we might . . .' His voice sounded vague and unhappy.

аааа 'Now, look,' said the man firmly. 'I can't manage without papers. After

all you knowа damn well that people who don't have any papers aren't allowed

to exist nowadays. To begin with, there's the house committee.'

аааа 'What does the house committee have to do with it?'

аааа 'A lot. Every time I meet one of them they ask me when I'm going to get

registered.'

аааа 'Oh, God,'а moaned Philipа Philipovich. 'а "Every time you meetа one of

them ..." I can just imagine what you tell them. I thought I told you not to

hang about the staircases, anyway.'

аааа 'Whatа am I -а aа convict?'а saidа theа man in amazement. Hisа glowа of

righteous indignation made even his fake ruby tiepin light up.а "Hang about"

indeed! That's an insult. I walk about just like everybody else.'

аааа So saying he wriggled his patent-leather feet.

аааа Philipа Philipovich said nothing, butа lookedа away. 'One must restrain

oneself,' heа thought,а asа heа walked overа toа the sideboardа andа drank a

glassful of water at one gulp.

аааа 'Iа see,'а he said ratherа moreа calmly. 'All right, I'll overlook your

toneа of voiceа for the moment. What does your precious house committee say,

then?'

аааа 'Hell, I don't know exactly. Anyway, you needn't be sarcastic about the

house committee. It protects people's interests.'

аааа 'Whose interest, may I ask?'

аааа 'The workers', of course.'

аааа Philipа Philipovichа opened his eyesа wide.а 'What makes you think that

you're a worker?'

аааа 'I must be - I'm not a capitalist.'

аааа 'Very well. How does theа house committee propose toа stand up for your

revolutionary rights?'

аааа 'Easy. Put me onа the register. They say they've never heard of anybody

being allowedа to liveа inа Moscow withoutа being registered.а That'sа for a

start. But the most important thingа is an identity card. I don't want to be

arrested for being a deserter.'

аааа 'Andа where, pray, am I supposed to register you? On that tablecloth or

on my own passport? One must, after all, be realistic. Don't forget that you

areа . . .а h'm, well. . . you areа what you might callа a ... anа unnatural

phenomenon, an artefact . .а .' Philipа Philipovichа sounded lessа andа less

convincing.

аааа Triumphant, the man said nothing.

аааа 'Very well. Let's assume that in the end we shall have to register you,

if only toа please this house committee of yours. Theа trouble is - you have

no name.'

аааа 'Soа what?а I can easilyа choose one. Just put it in the newspapers and

there you are.'

аааа 'What do you propose to call yourself?'

аааа The man straightened his tie and replied: Toligraph Poligraphovich.'

аааа 'Stopа playingа theа fool,'а groaned Philip Philipovich.а 'Iа meantа it

seriously.'

аааа The man's face twitched sarcastically.

аааа 'Iа don'tа get it,'а heа said ingenuously. 'Iа mustn't swear. I mustn't

spit. Yetа all you ever do is call me names. I supposeа only professorsа are

allowed to swear in the RSFSR.'

аааа Blood rushed to Philip Philipovich's face.а He filled a glass, breaking

itа as he did so. Having drunk fromа anotherа one, he thought: 'Much more of

this, and he'll start teaching me how to behave,а and he'll be right. I must

control myself.'

аааа He turned round, made an exaggeratedly politeа bowа and said withа iron

self-control: 'Iа beg your pardon. My nerves areа slightlyа upset. Your name

struck me as aа little odd, that is all. Where, as a matter of interest, did

you dig it up?'

аааа 'The house committee helped me.а We looked in the calendar. And I chose

a name.'

аааа 'That name cannot possibly exist on any calendar.'

аааа 'Can'tа it?'а Theа man grinned.а 'Thenа how wasа it I foundа itа on the

calendar in your consulting-room?'

а аааWithout gettingа up Philipа Philipovich leaned over to the knobа on the

wall and Zina appeared in answer to the bell.

аааа 'Bring me the calendar from the consulting-room.'

аааа Thereа wasа aа pause.а When Zinaа returnedа withа theа calendar, Philip

Philipovich asked: 'Where is it?'

аааа 'The name-day is March 4th.'

аааа 'Show me . .а .а h'mа . . . dammit, throw theа thing into the stoveа at

once.'а Zina, blinking with fright, removed the calendar. The manа shook his

head reprovingly.

аааа 'And what surname will you take?'

аааа 'I'll use my real name.'

аааа 'You're real name? What is it?'

аааа 'Sharikov.*

аааа Shvonder the house committee chairman was standing in his leather tunic

inа frontа ofа the professor'sа desk.а Doctor Bormen-thalа was seatedа in an

armchair. The doctor's glowing face (he had just come in from the cold) wore

anа expressionа whoseа perplexityа wasа onlyа equalledа byа thatа ofа Philip

Philipovich.

аааа 'Write it?' he asked impatiently.

аааа 'Yes,' said Shvonder, 'it's not veryа difficult. Writeа aа certificate,

professor. You know the sort of thing - 'This is toа certify that the bearer

isа really Poligraph Poligraphovich Sharikov . .а .а h'm, born in, h'm . . .

this flat.'

аааа Bormenthal wriggled uneasily in his armchair. Philip Philipovich tugged

at his moustache.

аааа 'God dammit,а I've never heardа anything so ridiculous inа myа life. He

wasn't born at all, he simply . . . well, he sort of..'

аааа 'That's your problem,' said Shvonder with quiet malice. 'It's up to you

to decide whether heа was born or not ... It was your experiment, professor,

and you brought citizen Sharikov into the world.'

аааа 'It'sа allа quiteа simple,'а barkedа Sharikovа fromа theа glass-fronted

cabinet, where he was admiring the reflection of his tie.

аааа 'Kindlyа keepа outа of this conversation,' growledа Philip Philipovich.

'It's not at all simple.'

аааа 'Why shouldn't I joinа in?' spluttered Sharikovа in anа offended voice,

and Shvonder instantly supported him.

аааа 'I'm sorry,а professor,а but citizen Sharikov is absolutely correct. He

has aа right to take part in aа discussion about his affairs,а especially as

it'sа aboutа hisа identityа documents.а Anа identityа documentа is theа most

important thing in the world.'

аааа At thatа momentа aа deafeningа ring fromа the telephoneа cutа intoа the

conversation. Philip Philipovich said into the receiver:

аааа 'Yes . . .', then reddened and shouted: 'Willа youа please not distract

me with trivialities. What's it to do with you?' Andа he hurled the receiver

back on to the hook.

аааа Delight spread over Shvonder's face.

аааа Purpling, Philip Philipovich roared: 'Right, let's get this finished.'

аааа He tore a sheet of paper from a notepad and scribbled a few words, then

read it aloud in a voice of exasperation:

аааа ' "Iа hereby certify . . ." God, what am Iа supposed to certify?а . . .

let'sа see .а . . "Thatа theа bearerа isа a man created duringа a laboratory

experiment byа means of anа operationа onа theа brainа andа that he requires

identityа papers" .а . .'I object in principle to hisа having theseа idiotic

documents, but still . . . Signed:

аааа "Professor Preobrazhensky!" '

аааа 'Really, professor,' said Shvonder inа an offended voice.а 'What do you

meanа byа callingа theseа documents idiotic?а I can't allowа an undocumented

tenantа toа goа onа living in this house,а especially oneа whoа hasn'tа been

registeredа withа the policeа for military service.а Supposingа war suddenly

breaks out with the imperialist aggressors?'

аааа 'I'm not going to fight!' yapped Sharikov.

аааа Shvonderа wasа dumbfounded, butа quicklyа recoveredа himselfа andа said

politelyа toа Sharikov: 'I'm afraid youа seem to beа completelyа lackingа in

politicalа consciousness, citizen аSharikov. You mustа register for military

service at once.'

аааа 'I'llа register,а butа I'm dammed ifа I'mа goingа toа fight,'а answered

Sharikov nonchalantly, straightening his tie.

аааа Now it was Shvonder's turn to be embarrassed. Preobraz-hensky exchanged

a look of grim complicity with Bormenthal, who nodded meaningly.

аааа 'I was badly woundedа during theа operation,'а whined Sharikov. 'Look -

they cutа meа rightа open.' Heа pointedа toа his head. The scar ofа aа fresh

surgical wound bisected his forehead.

аааа 'Areа youа anа anarchist-individualist?'а askedа Shvonder, raisingа his

eyebrows.

аааа 'I ought to be exempt on medical grounds,' said Sharikov.

аааа 'Well,а there'sа no hurryа about it,'а saidа the disconcerted Shvonder.

'Meanwhile we'll send the professor's certificateа to the police and they'll

issue your papers.'

аааа 'Er, look hereа . .а .'а Philipа Philipovichа suddenly interrupted him,

obviously struck byа an idea. 'I suppose you don't liave a room to spareа in

the house, do you? I'd be prepared to buy it.'

аааа Yellowish sparks flashed in Shvonder's brown eyes.

аааа 'No, professor,а Iа very much regret to say that we don'tа have a room.

And aren't likely to, either.'

аааа Philipа Philipovich clenchedа his teethа andа saidа nothing.а Again the

telephone rang as though to order. Without a word Philip Philipovich flicked

the receiver off theа restа so that it hung down, spinningа slightly, on its

blueа cord.а Everybody jumped.а 'Theа oldа man's gettingа rattled,'а thought

Bormenthal. With a glint in his eyes Shvonder bowed and went out.

аааа Sharikov disappeared after him, his boots creaking.

аааа The professor andа Bormenthalа were leftа alone. After a short silence,

Philip Philipovich shook his head gently and said:

аааа 'On my word of honour,а thisа is becoming an absolute nightmare.а Don't

you see?а I swear, doctor, that I've sufferedа more these last fourteen days

than in the past fourteen years! I tell you, he's a scoundrel . . .'

аааа From a distanceа came the faint tinkle of breaking glass, followed by a

stifled woman'sа scream,а thenа silence.а Anа evilа spirit dashedа downа the

corridor, turned into theа consulting-room where it producedа anotherа crash

and immediately turnedа back. Doors slammed and Darya Petrovna's low cry was

heard from the kitchen. There was a howl from Sharikov.

аааа 'Oh, God, what now!' cried Philip Philipovich, rushing for the door.

аааа 'Aа cat,' guessedа Bormenthal andа leapedа after him. They ran down the

corridor into theа hall, burstа in, thenа turned into the passage leading to

the bathroom and the kitchen.а Zina came dashingа out of the kitchen and ran

full tilt into Philip Philipovich.

аааа 'How many times have I told you not to let cats into the flat,' shouted

Philip Philipovich in fury. 'Where is he? Ivan Amoldovich, for God's sake go

and calm the patients in the waiting-room!'

аааа 'He'sа inа theа bathroom,а theа devil,'а criedа Zina,а panting.а Philip

Philipovich hurled himself at the bathroom door, but it would not give way.

аааа 'Open up this minute!'

аааа The only answer fromа the lockedа bathroomа was the soundа of something

leaping upа atа the walls,а smashing glasses, andа Sharikov'sа voice roaring

through the door: 'I'll kill you . . .'

аааа Waterа could be heard gurgling through the pipes and pouringа intoа the

bathtub. Philip Philipovich leaned againstа the door andа tried to breakа it

open. Daryaа Petrovna, clothes torn and face distorted with anger,а appeared

in the kitchen doorway. Thenа the glassа transom window, high up in the wall

between theа bathroom and the kitchen, shatteredа with a multiple crack. Two

large fragments crashed into the kitchen followed by a tabby cat of gigantic

proportions with a face like aа policeman andа a blue bow round its neck. It

fell on to the middleа of theа table, rightа into a longа platter,а which it

broke in half. From there it fell toа the floor, turned round onа three legs

as it wavedа the fourth inа the air asа though executingа a dance-step,а and

instantlyа streaked out through theа back door, whichа was slightly ajar.The

door opened widerа and the cat was replaced by the face of an old woman in a

headscarf, followed by her polka-dotted skirt. The old woman wiped her mouth

with her index and second fingers, stared round the kitchen withа protruding

eyes that burned with curiosity and she said:

аааа 'Oh, my lord!'

аааа Pale, Philip Philipovich crossed the kitchen and asked threateningly:

аааа 'What do you want?'

аааа 'I wanted to haveа a look at theа talking dog,' replied theа oldа woman

ingratiatingly andа crossed herself.а Philipа Philipovichа went evenа paler,

strode up to her and hissed: 'Get out of my kitchen this instant!'

аааа The old woman tottered back toward the door and said plaintively:

аааа 'You needn't be so sharp, professor.'

аааа 'Getа out, Iа say!' repeated Philipа Philipovich andа his eyesа went as

round as the owl's. He personally slammed the door behind the old woman.

аааа 'Darya Petrovna, I've asked you before . . .'

аааа 'Butа Philipа Philipovich,'а repliedа Daryaа Petrovnaа inа desperation,

clenchingа herа hands, 'what can I do?а People keep coming in allа day long,

however often I throw them out.'

аааа Aа dull, threatening roar of waterа was still coming from the bathroom,

although Sharikov was now silent. Doctor Bormenthal came in.

аааа 'Please,а Ivan Amoldovich ... er... howа many patients are there in the

waiting-room?'

аааа 'Eleven,' replied Bormenthal.

аааа 'Send them all away, please. I can't see any patients today.'

аааа With a bony finger Philip Philipovich knocked on the bathroom doorа and

shouted: 'Come out at once! Why have you locked yourself in?'

аааа 'Oh . . . oh . . .!' replied Sharikov in tones of misery.

аааа 'What on earth ... I can't hear you - turn off the water.'

аааа 'Ow-wow! . . .'

аааа 'Turn off the water! What has he done? I don't understandа . . .' cried

Philipа Philipovich, working himself into a frenzy.а Zina and Darya Petrovna

openedа theа kitchen doorа and peepedа out.а Once againа Philipа Philipovich

thundered on the bathroom door with his fist.

аааа 'Thereа heа is!'а screamedа Daryaа Petrovna fromа theа kitchen.а Philip

Philipovich rushed in. The distortedа featuresа of Poligraphа Poligraphovich

appearedа throughа the broken transom andа leaned outа into the kitchen .His

eyes were tear-stained and there was a long scratch down his nose, red with

аааа fresh blood.

аааа 'Have you gone out of your mind?' asked Philip Philipovich.а 'Why don't

you come out of there?'

аааа Terrified and miserable, Sharikov stared around and replied:

аааа 'I've shut myself in.'

аааа 'Unlock the door, then. Haven't you ever seen a lock before?'

аааа 'The blasted thing won't open!' replied Poligraph, terrified.

аааа 'Oh, my God,а he's shut theа safety-catch too!' screamed Zina, wringing

her hands.

аааа 'There'sа a sort ofа button on the lock,'а shoutedа Philip Philipovich,

trying toа out-roarа the water. 'Pressа it downwardsа .а . .а press it down!

Downwards!'

а аааSharikov vanished, to reappear over the transom a minute later.

аааа 'I can't see a thing!' he barked in terror.

аааа 'Well, turn the light on then! He's gone crazy!'

аааа 'That damned cat smashed the bulb,' replied Sharikov, 'and when I tried

toа catchа theа bastard by the leg I turned on the tapа and now I can't find

it.'

аааа Appalled, all three wrung their hands in horror.

аааа Five minutes later Bormenthal,а Zina and Darya Petrovna were sitting in

aа row on aа dampа carpet that had beenа rolledа up against the foot ofа the

bathroomа door, pressingа it hard withа their bottoms. Fyodor the porter was

climbing up aа ladder into theа transom window, with the lighted candle from

Darya Petrovna's ikon in his hand. His posterior, clad in broad grey checks,

hovered in the air, then vanished through the opening.

аааа 'Ooh! . .а . ow!' came Sharikov'sа strangled shriek aboveа theа roar of

water.

аааа Fyodor'sа voice was heard: 'There's nothing for it, Philip Philipovich,

we'll have to open the door and let the water out. We can mop it up from the

kitchen.'

аааа 'Open it then!' shouted Philip Philipovich angrily.

аааа The three gotа upа from the carpetа and pushedа the bathroom door open.

Immediately a tidal wave gushed out into theа passage, where it divided into

three streams -а oneа straightа into the lavatory opposite, one to the right

intoа the kitchen and one to the left into the hall. Splashing and prancing,

Zina shut the door into the hall. Fyodor emerged, up to his ankles in water,

and for some reason grinning. He wasа soakingа wet and looked as if heа were

wearing oilskins.

аааа 'The water-pressure was so strong, I only just managed to turn it off,'

he explained.

аааа 'Whereа is he?' asked Philip Philipovich, cursing as heа lifted one wet

foot.

аааа 'He's afraid to come out,' said Fyodor, giggling stupidly.

аааа 'Willа youа beatа me.а Dad'а cameа Sharikov's tearfulа voiceа fromа the

bathroom.

аааа 'You idiot!' was Philip Philipovich's terse reply.

аааа Zina andа Darya Petrovna, with bare legsа and skirts tucked up to their

knees, andа Sharikovа andа the porterа barefoot with rolled-up trousers were

hard at work mopping up the kitchenа floor withа wet cloths,а squeezing them

outа intoа dirty buckets and into the sink. The abandoned stove roared away.

The water swirled out ofа the back door, down the well of the back staircase

and into the cellar.

аааа Onа tiptoe,а Bormenthalа was standing inа a deep puddleа on the parquet

floor of the hallа and talkingа through the crack of theа front door, opened

only as far as the chain would allow.

аааа 'No consultingа hoursа today,а I'mа afraid, theа professor'sа not well.

Please keep away from the door, we have a burst pipe.

аааа 'But when can the professor see me?' a voice came through the door. 'It

wouldn't take a minute . . .'

аааа 'I'mа sorry.'а Bormenthal rocked backа from his toes to his heels. 'The

professor's in bed and a pipeа has burst. Come tomorrow. Zinaа dear, quickly

mop up the hall or it will start running down the front staircase.'

а ааа'There's too much - the cloths won't do it.'

аааа 'Never mind,' said Fyodor. 'We'll scoop it up with jugs.'

аааа While the doorbell rang ceaselessly,а Bormenthal stood up to his ankles

in water.

аааа 'When is the operation?' said an insistentа voice asа it tried to force

its way through the crack of the door.

аааа 'A pipe's burst . . .'

аааа 'But I've come in galoshes . . .'

аааа Bluish silhouettes appeared outside the door.

аааа 'I'm sorry, it's impossible, please come tomorrow.'

аааа 'But I have an appointment.'

аааа 'Tomorrow. There's been a disaster in the water supply.'

аааа Fyodor splashed about in the lake, scooping it upа with a jug,а but the

battle-scared Sharikov had thought up a new method. He rolled up an enormous

cloth, lay on his stomach in the water and pushed it backwards from the hall

towards the lavatory.

аааа 'What d'you thinkа you're doing,а youа fool, slopping it all roundа the

flat?' fumed Darya Petrovna. 'Pour it into the sink.'

аааа 'How canа I?'а replied Sharikov,а scooping upа the murky water with his

hands. 'Ifа I don't push it back intoа theа flatа it'll run out of the front

door.'

аааа Aа benchа wasа pushedа creakingа outа ofаа theа corridor,а withа Philip

Philipovich riding unsteadily on it in his blue striped socks.

аааа 'Stop answering the door, Ivan Amoldovich. Go into the bedroom, you can

borrow a pair of my slippers.'

аааа 'Don't bother, Philip Philipovich, I'm all right.'

аааа 'You're wearing nothing but a pair of galoshes.'

аааа 'I don't mind. My feet are wet anyway.'

аааа 'Oh, my God!' Philip Philipovich was exhausted and depressed.

аааа 'Destructive animal!' Sharikov suddenly burst out as he squatted on the

floor, clutching a soup tureen.

аааа Bormenthal slammed theа door, unable toа contain himself any longer and

burst intoа laughter.а Philip Philipovichа blewа outа his nostrilsа andа his

spectacles glittered.

аааа 'What areа you talking about?' he asked Sharikov fromа the eminenceа of

his bench.

аааа 'Iа wasа talking about theа cat. Filthy swine,' answeredа Sharikov, his

eyes swivelling guiltily.

аааа 'Look here,а Sharikov,'а retortedа Philipа Philipovich, takingа aа deep

breath. 'I swear I have never seen a more impudent creature than you.'

аааа Bormenthal giggled.

аааа 'You,' went on Philipа Philipovich, 'are nothing but a lout.а Howа dare

you sayа that? You causedа the whole thing and you have theа gallа . . . No,

really! It's too much!'

аааа 'Tell me, Sharikov,' said Bormenthal, 'how much longer are you going to

chase cats? Youа ought to be ashamed of yourself. It's disgraceful! You're a

savage!'

аааа 'Me - a savage?' snarledа Sharikov. 'I'm noа savage.а I won't stand for

that cat inа this flat. Itа onlyа comesа here to findа what it can pinch. It

stole Darya's mincemeat. I wanted to teach it a lesson.'

аааа 'You should teach yourself a lesson!' replied Philip Philipovich. 'Just

take a look at your face in the mirror.'

аааа 'Nearly scratched my eyes out,' said Sharikov gloomily,а wiping a dirty

hand across his eyes.

аааа Byа the time that the water-blackenedа parquetа had dried out a little,

all the mirrors were covered in a veil ofа condensed vapour and the doorbell

had stopped ringing. Philip Philipovich in red morocco slippers was standing

in the hall.

аааа 'There you are, Fyodor. Thank you.'

аааа 'Thank you very much, sir.'

аааа 'Mind youа change your clothes straight away. No, wait -have a glass of

Darya Petrovna's vodka before you go.'

аааа 'Thank you, sir,' Fyodor squirmed awkwardly, then said:

аааа 'There is one more thing, Philipа Philipovich. I'm sorry, I hardly like

toа mentionа it,а but it's theа matter of the window-paneа inа No 7. Citizen

Sharikov threw some stones at it, you see . . .'

аааа 'Did he throw them at a cat?' asked Philip Philipovich, frowning like a

thundercloud.

аааа 'Well,а no,а heа wasа throwingа themа at the ownerа ofа the flat.а He's

threatening to sue.'

аааа 'Oh, lord!'

аааа 'Sharikov tried to kiss their cook and theyа threwа him out. They had a

bit of a fight, it seems.'

аааа 'For God's sake, do youа haveа toа tell me all these disasters at once?

How much?'

аааа 'One rouble and 50 kopecks.'

аааа Philip Philipovichа took out three shining 50-kopeck piecesа and handed

them to Fyodor.

аааа 'And onа top of itа all you have to pay 1 rouble and 50 kopecks because

ofа that damned cat,'а grumbled a voiceа fromа the doorway. 'It wasа all the

cat's fault . . .'

аааа Philip Philipovichа turnedа round, bit hisа lipа andа gripped Sharikov.

Without aа wordа heа pushedа him into the waiting-roomа and locked the door.

Sharik immediately started to hammer on the door with his fists.

аааа 'Shutа up!'а shoutedа Philip Philipovichа inа aа voiceа that was nearly

deranged.

аааа 'This is the limit,'а saidа Fyodor meaningfully.а 'I've never seen such

impudence in my life.'

аааа Bormenthal seemed to materialise out of the floor.

аааа 'Please, Philip Philipovich, don't upset yourself.'

аааа The doctor thrust open the door into the waiting-room.

аааа He could be heard saying: 'Where d'you think you are? In some dive?'

аааа 'That's it,' said Fyodor approvingly. 'Serve him right . . .a punchа on

the ear's what he needs . . .'

аааа 'No,а not that,а Fyodor,' growledа Philip Philipovichа sadly.а 'I think

you've just about had all you can take, Philip Philipovich.'

 

 

Six

 

 

 

аааа 'No, no, no!' insisted Bormenthal. 'You must tuck in vour napkin.'

аааа 'Why the hell should I,' grumbled Sharikov.

а ааа'Thank you, doctor,'а saidа Philipа Philipovich gratefully.а 'Iа simply

haven't the energy to reprimand him any longer.'

аааа 'I shan't allow you to start eating until you put on your napkin. Zina,

take the mayonnaise away from Sharikov.'

аааа 'Hey, don'tа doа that,'а saidа Sharikov plaintively. 'I'llа putа itа on

straight away.'

аааа Pushing away theа dishа fromа Zina withа hisа left hand andа stuffing a

napkinа downа hisа collar withа the right hand,а he lookedа exactlyа likeа a

customer in a barber's shop.

аааа 'And eat with your fork, please,' added Bormenthal.

аааа Sighing long and heavily Sharikov chased slices of sturgeon around in a

thick sauce.

аааа 'Can't I have some vodka?' he asked.

аааа 'Will you kindly keepа quiet?'а said Bormenthal.а 'You've beenа atа the

vodka too often lately.'

аааа 'Do youа grudge me it?' asked Sharikov, glowering sullenlyа acrossа the

table.

аааа 'Stop talking such damn nonsense . .а .'а Philipа Philipovichа broke in

harshly, but Bormenthal interrupted him.

аааа 'Don't worry, Philip Philipovich, leaveа it toа me. You,а Sharikovа are

talkingа nonsense and the most disturbing thing of all is that youа talkа it

withа suchа completeа confidence.а Of courseа Iа don't grudge you the vodka,

especially as it's not mine but belongsа to Philip Philipovich. It'sа simply

thatа it's harmful.а That's for a start; secondlyа you behaveа badlyа enough

without vodka.' Bormenthalа pointedа to whereа the sideboard had been broken

and glued together.

аааа 'Zina, dear, give me a little more fish please,' said the professor.

аааа Meanwhile Sharikov had stretched out his hand towards the decanter and,

with a sideways glance at Bormenthal, poured himself out a glassful.

аааа 'You should offer it toа the others first,' said Bormenthal. 'Like this

- first to Philip Philipovich, then to me, then yourself.'

аааа A faint, sarcastic grin nickeredа across Sharikov's mouth and he poured

out glasses of vodka all round.

аааа 'You act just as if you were on parade here,' he said. 'Put your napkin

here, your tieа there, "please",а "thank you",а "excuse me" -whyа can'tа you

behave naturally? Honestly,а you stuffed shirts actа as if it was stillа the

days oftsarism.'

аааа 'What do you mean by "behave naturally"?'

аааа Sharikov did not answer Philip Philipovich's question,а but raisedа his

glass and said: 'Here's how . . .'

аааа 'And you too,' echoed Bormenthal with a tinge of irony.

аааа Sharikov tossedа the glassful down his throat, blinked, lifted aа piece

of breadа to his nose, sniffed it, then swallowed it as his eyes filled with

tears.

аааа 'Phase,' Philip Philipovich suddenly blurted out, as if preoccupied.

аааа Bormenthal gave him an astonished look. 'I'm sorry? . . .'

аааа 'It'sа a phase,'а repeatedа Philipа Philipovichа andа noddedа bitterly.

'There's nothing we can do about it. Klim.'

аааа Deeply interested, Bormenthal glanced sharply into Philip Philipovich's

eyes: 'Doа youа supposeа so, Philipа Philipovich?'а 'Iа don'tа suppose;а I'm

convinced.'

аааа 'Can it be that . . .' began Bormenthal, then stopped after a glance at

Sharikov,а whoа wasа frowningа suspiciously.а 'Spdterа .а .а .' saidа Philip

Philipovich softly. 'Gut,' replied his assistant.

аааа Zina brought inа the turkey.а Bormenthal pouredа out some red wineа for

Philip Philipovich, then offered some to Sharikov.

аааа 'Notа for me,а Iа prefer vodka.' His faceа hadа grownа puffy, sweat was

breakingа outа onа hisа foreheadа andа heа wasа distinctlyа merrier.а Philip

Philipovich also cheered up slightly after drinking some wine. His eyes grew

clearer andа he looked rather more approvingly at Sharikov, whose black head

above his white napkin now shone like a fly in a pool of cream.

аааа Bormenthal however, when fortified, seemed to want activity.

аааа 'Well now,а whatа are you andа Iа going toа do this evening?'а he asked

Sharikov.

аааа Sharikovа winked and replied:а 'Let's goа toа theа circus. Iа like that

best.'

аааа 'Why go toа theа circus every day?'а remarkedа Philip Philipovichа in a

good-humoured voice. 'It sounds so boring to me. If I were you I'd go to the

theatre.'

аааа 'I won'tа go to the theatre,' answered Sharikovа nonchalantly andа made

the sign of the cross over his mouth.

аааа 'Hiccupingа atаа tableа takesа otherа people'sа appetitesа away,'а said

Bormenthalаа automatically.а 'Ifаа youа don'tа mindаа myа mentioningаа it...

Incidentally, why don't you like the theatre?' Sharikov held his empty glass

up to his eye and looked through it as though it were an operaа glass. After

some thought he pouted and said:

аааа 'Hell, it's just rot . . . talk, talk. Pure counter-revolution.'

аааа Philip Philipovich leaned against his high, carved gothic chairback and

laughedа so hardа thatа heа displayedа whatа lookedа like twoа rows ofа gold

fence-posts. Bormenthal merely shook his head.

аааа 'You should do some reading,' he suggested, 'and then, perhaps . . .'

аааа 'But I read a lot . . .' answered Sharikov, quickly and surreptitiously

pouring himself half a glass of vodka.

аааа 'Zina!' cried Philipа Philipovich anxiously.а 'Clear away the vodka, my

dear. We don't need it any more . . . What have you been reading?'

аааа He suddenlyа had a mental picture of a desert island, palm trees, and a

manа dressedа in goatskins.а 'I'll betа heа saysа Robinson Crusoeа .а . .'he

thought.

аааа 'That guy . . . what's his name . . . Engels' correspondence with . . .

hell, what d'you call him ... oh - Kautsky.'

аааа Bormenthal'sа forkfulа ofа turkey meatа stoppedа inа mid-air and Philip

Philipovich choked on his wine. Sharikov seized this moment to gulp down his

vodka.

аааа Philip Philipovich put his elbows onа the table, stared at Sharikov and

asked:

аааа 'What comment can you make on what you've read?'

аааа Sharikov shrugged. 'I don't agree.'

аааа 'With whom - Engels or Kautsky?'

аа аа'With neither of 'em,' replied Sharikov.

аааа 'That is mostа remarkable. Anybody who says that . . . Well, what would

you suggest instead?'

аааа 'Suggest? I dunno . . . They just write and write allа that rot ... all

about someа congressа andа someа Germans .а .а . makesа myа head reel.а Take

everything away from the bosses, then divide it up . . .'

аааа 'Justа asа Iа thought!'а exclaimedа Philipа Philipovich,а slappingа the

tablecloth with his palm. 'Just as I thought.'

аааа 'And how is this to be done?' asked Bormenthal with interest.

аааа 'Howа toа doа it?'а Sharikov,а grown loquaciousа withа wine,а explained

garrulously:

аааа 'Easy. Fr'instance - here's one guy with seven rooms and forty pairs of

trousers and there's another guy who has to eat out of dustbins.'

аааа 'I suppose that remark about the seven rooms is a hint about me?' asked

Philip Philipovich with a haughty raise of the eyebrows.

аааа Sharikovа hunched hisа shoulders andа saidа noа more. 'Allа right, I've

nothing against fair shares. Howа many patients did you turn away yesterday,

doctor?'а 'Thirty-nine,'а was Bormenthal's immediate reply. 'H'mа .а . . 390

roubles,а sharedа between usа three. I won'tа count Zina and Darya Petrovna.

Right, Sharikovа -а thatа means yourа shareа is 130а roubles. Kindly hand it

over.'

аааа 'Hey, waitа aа minute,' saidа Sharikov, beginning to be scared. 'What's

the idea? What d'you mean?'

аааа 'Iа mean theа catа and the tap,'а Philipа Philipovichа suddenly roared,

droppingа hisа maskа ofаа ironicа imperturbability.а 'Philipаа Philipovich!'

exclaimed Bormenthal anxiously. 'Don'tа interrupt.а Theа sceneа youа created

yesterdayа wasа intolerable, andа thanksа to you I hadа to turnа away all my

patients. You were leaping around inа the bathroom likeа a savage,а smashing

everything and jamming the taps. Who killed Madame Polasukher's cat? Who . .

.'

аааа 'Theа dayа beforeа yesterday, Sharikov,а you bit a ladyа you met on the

staircase,' put in Bormenthal.

аааа 'You ought to be . . .' roared Philip Philipovich.

аааа 'But sheа slapped meа acrossа the mouth,' whined Sharikov 'She can't go

doing that to me!'

аааа 'Sheа slappedа youа because youа pinchedа herа on theа bosom,'а shouted

Bormenthal, knocking over a glass. 'You stand there and . . .'

аааа 'You belongа toа theа lowestа possibleа stageа of development,'а Philip

Philipovich shouted him down. 'You are still in the formative stage. You are

intellectuallyа weak,а all your actions are purelyа bestial. Yetа youа allow

yourselfа inа theа presence of twoа university-educated men to offer advice,

withа quite intolerable familiarity, onа a cosmic scaleа and of quite cosmic

stupidity, on the redistribution ofа wealth . .а . and at the same timeа you

eat toothpaste . . .'

аааа 'The day before yesterday,' added Bormenthal.

аааа 'And now,' thundered Philip Philipovich, 'that you have nearly got your

nose scratched off - incidentally, why have you wiped the zinc ointmentа off

it? - you can just shut upа and listen to what you're told. You are going to

leam toа behave and try to become a marginally acceptable member of society.

By the way, who was fool enough to lend you that book?'

аааа 'Thereа you goа againа -а calling everybodyа fools,'а repliedа Sharikov

nervously, deafened by the attack on him from both sides.

аааа 'Let me guess,' exclaimed Philip Philipovich, turning red with fury.

аааа 'Well, Shvonder gave it to me ... soа what? He's notа a fool ... it was

so I could get educated.'

аааа 'Iа can see which way your educationа is goingа after reading Kautsky,'

shouted Philipа Philipovich, hoarse and turning faintly yellow. With this he

gave the bell a furious jab. 'Today's incident shows it better than anything

else. Zina!'

аааа 'Zina!' shouted Bormenthal.

аааа 'Zina!' cried the terrified Sharikov.

аааа Looking pale, Zina ran into the room.

аааа 'Zina,а there'sа aа bookа inа theа waiting-roomаа ...а Itа isа inаа the

waiting-room, isn't it?'

аааа 'Yes, it is,' saidа Sharikov obediently. 'Green, theа colourа of copper

sulphate.'

аааа 'A green book . . .'

аааа 'Bum it ifа youа like,'а criedа Sharikov in desperation. 'It'sа onlyа a

public library book.'

аааа 'It's called Correspondence . .а . between,а er, Engelsа and that other

man, what's his name . . . Anyway, throw it into the stove!'

аааа Zina flew out.

аааа 'I'd like toа hang that Shvonder,а on my wordа of honour, onа the first

tree,' saidа Philipа Philipovich, with aа furiousа lunge atа aа turkey-wing.

'There's aа gangа of poisonousа peopleа inа thisа house - it's just likeа an

abscess. To say nothing of his idiotic newspapers . . .'

аааа Sharikov gaveа theа professorа aа lookа ofа maliciousа sarcasm.а Philip

Philipovich in his turn shot him a sideways glance and said no more.

аааа 'Oh,а dear,а itа looksа asа ifа nothing'sа goingа toа goа right,'а came

Bormenthal's sudden and prophetic thought.

аааа Zina brought in a layer cake on a dish and a coffee pot.

аааа 'I'm not eating any of that,' Sharikov growled threateningly.

аааа 'Noа one has offeredа youа any.а Behaveа yourself.а Pleaseа haveа some,

doctor.'

аааа Dinner ended in silence.

аааа Sharikov pulled a crumpled cigarette outа ofа hisа pocket andа litа it.

Having drunk his coffee, Philip Philipovich looked atа the clock. He pressed

hisа repeater and it gentlyа struckа a quarter past eight.а As was his habit

Philip Philipovich leanedа againstа his gothic chairback andа turnedа to the

newspaper on a side-table.

аааа 'Would you like to go to the circus with him tonight,а doctor?а Only do

check the programme in advance and make sure there are no cats in it.'

аааа 'I don't know how they let such filthyа beasts into the circus at all,'

said Sharikov sullenly, shaking his head.

аааа 'Well never mind what filthyа beasts they letа into the circus forа the

moment,' said Philip Philipovich ambiguously. 'What's on tonight?'

аааа 'At Solomon's,' Bormenthal began to read out, 'there's something called

the Four. . . . the Four Yooshems and the Human Ball-Bearing.'

аааа 'What are Yooshems?' enquired Philip Philipovich suspiciously.

аааа 'God knows. First time I've ever come across the word.'

аааа 'Well in that case you'd better look at Nikita's. We must be absolutely

sure about what we're going to see.'

аааа 'Nikita's . .а . Nikita's . . . h'm . . . elephants and the Ultimate in

Human Dexterity.'

аааа 'I see. What is your attitude to elephants, my dear Sharikov?' enquired

Philip Philipovich mistrustfully. Sharikov was immediately offended.

аааа 'Hellа - I don'tа know. Cats are a specialа case. Elephants areа useful

animals,' replied Sharikov.

аааа 'Excellent.а As longа as you think they're useful youа can go and watch

them. Do as Ivan Arnoldovich tellsа you. Andа don't get talking to anyone in

the bar! I beg you, Ivan Arnoldovich, not to offer Sharikov beer to drink.'

аааа Tenа minutes laterа Ivanа Arnoldovich and Sharikov, dressed in a peaked

capа andа a raglan overcoat with turned-upа collar, setа off for the circus.

Silence descendedа onа the flat. Philip Philipovich wentа into his study. He

switchedа on the lamp underа its heavyа green shade,а which gave the study a

great sense of calm, and began to pace the room. The tip of his cigar glowed

long and hard with its pale green fire. The professor put his hands into his

pockets and deep thoughts racked his balding, learned brow. Now and again he

smackedа his lips,а hummedа 'toа the banks of the sacredа Nileа .а . .'а and

muttered something. Finally he put his cigar into the ashtray, went overа to

the glass cabinet andа lit up the entire study with the three powerful lamps

in the ceiling. From theа thirdа glassа shelf Philip Philipovich tookа out a

narrow jar and began, frowning, to examine it by the lamplight. Suspended in

a transparent, viscousа liquid there swam a little white blob that hadа been

extracted from the depthsа of Sharik's brain. With a shrug of his shoulders,

twisting his lips and murmuringа to himself, Philipа Philipovich devoured it

with his eyes as though the floating white blobа might unravel the secret of

theа curious eventsа which hadа turnedа lifeа upsideа downа in that flatа on

Prechistenka.

аааа It couldа beа that thisа mostа learned manа did succeed in divining the

secret. Atа any rate,а having gazed his fullа at this cerebral appendageа he

returned theа jar to the cabinet, locked it, put the key into hisа waistcoat

pocket andа collapsed,а head pressed down betweenа hisа shoulders andа hands

thrustа deep into his jacket pockets,а onа toа the leather-covered couch. He

puffedа longа andа hardа at another cigar,а chewingа itsа end toа fragments.

Finally, lookingа like aа greyingа Faust in theа green-tingedа lamplight, he

exclaimed aloud:

аааа 'Yes, by God, I will.'

аааа Thereа wasа no oneа to reply.а Every sound inа the flat wasа hushed. By

eleven o'clock the trafficа inа Obukhovа Street always diedа down. Theа rare

footfall of a belated walker echoed inа the distance,а ringing out somewhere

beyondа the lowered blinds, thenа dying away. Inа Philip Philipovich's study

his repeater chimed gently beneath his fingers in his waistcoat pocket . . .

Impatiently theа professorа waited forа Doctor Bormenthalа andа Sharikovа to

return from the circus.

 

Seven

 

 

 

аааа We doа not knowа whatа Philip Philipovichа hadа decidedа toа do. He did

nothing in particular during the subsequent week andа perhaps as a result of

this things began happening fast.

аааа About six days after the affairа withа the bath-waterа and the cat, the

young person from the house committee who had turned out toа be a woman came

to Sharikov andа handed him some papers. Sharikov putа themа into his pocket

and immediately called Doctor Bormenthal.

аааа 'Bormenthal!'

аааа 'Kindly address me by my name and patronymic!' retorted Bormenthal, his

expressionа clouding.а I should mention thatа in the past six days the great

surgeon had managedа toа quarrel eight times with hisа ward Sharikov and the

atmosphere in the flat was tense.

аааа 'Allа right, then youа can call meа byа myа name andа patronymicа too!'

replied Sharikov with complete justification.

аааа 'No!'а thunderedа Philip Philipovich from the doorway. 'I forbid you to

utter such an idiotic nameа in my flat. If you wantа usа to stop calling you

Sharikov, Doctor Bormenthal and I will call you "Mister Sharikov".'

аааа 'I'm not mister - all the "misters" are in Paris!' barked Sharikov.

аааа 'I see Shvonder's beenа atа work on you!'а shoutedа Philip Philipovich.

'Well, I'll fix that rascal. There will only be "misters" in my flat as long

as I'mа living in it! Otherwise either I orа you will get out, and it's more

likely to be you. I'mа puttingа a "room wanted" advertisement in theа papers

today and believe me I intend to find you a room.'

аааа 'Youа don't thinkа I'mа such aа foolа as to leaveа here,а doа you?' was

Sharikov's crisp retort.

аааа 'What?'аа criedа Philipа Philipovich.а Suchа aа changeа cameа overа his

expression that Bormenthal rushed anxiously to his sideа and gently took him

by the sleeve.

аааа 'Don't youа beа soа impertinent,а Monsieurа Sharikov!' said Bormenthal,

raising his voice. Sharikovа stepped back and pulledа three piecesа of paper

outа of his pocket -а one green, one yellow and oneа white, andа saidа as he

tapped them with his fingers:

аааа 'There. I'm now a member of this residential association and the tenant

in charge of flat No.а 5, Preobrazhensky, has got to giveа me my entitlement

of thirty-seven square feet .а . .' Sharikovа thought for aа moment and then

addedа aа wordа whichа Bormenthal's mind automaticallyа recordedа asа newа -

'please'.

аааа Philip Philipovich bit his lip and said rashly:

аааа 'I swear I'll shoot that Shvonder one of these days.'

аааа It was obviousа fromа theа lookа in Sharikov'sа eyesа that he had taken

careful note of the remark.

аааа 'Vorsicht, Philip Philipovich . . .' warned Bormenthal.

аааа 'Well,а what do you expect? The gallа ofа itа .а .а .!' shoutedа Philip

Philipovich in Russian.

аааа 'Look here, Sharikovа ... Misterа Sharikov ...а Ifа you commit one more

pieceа of impudence I shall depriveа you of your dinner, in fact of all your

food. Thirty-seven square feet mayа be all very well, but there's nothing on

that stinking little bit of paper which says that I have to feed you!'

аааа Frightened, Sharikov opened his mouth.

аааа 'I can't go without food,' he mumbled. 'Where would I eat?'

аааа 'Then behave yourself!' cried both doctors in chorus. Sharikov relapsed

intoа meaningful silence andа didа noа harmа to anybody thatа dayа withа the

exception of himself - taking advantage of Bormenthal's brief absence he got

hold of theа doctor's razor and cutа hisа cheek-boneа so badlyа thatа Philip

Philipovich and Doctor Bormenthal had toа bandage the cut with muchа wailing

and weeping on Sharikov's part.

аааа Next evening two men sat in the green twilight of the professor's study

-а Philip Philipovichа and the faithful, devoted Bormenthal. Theа houseа was

asleep.а Philip Philipovich was wearing his sky-blue dressing gownа andа red

slippers, whileа Bormenthal wasа in his shirt and blue braces. Onа the round

table between the doctors, beside a thick album, stood a bottle of brandy, a

plate of sliced lemon and a box of cigars.а Throughа the smoke-laden air the

two scientists were heatedlyа discussingа theа latestа event:а thatа evening

Sharikov hadа stolenа twoа 10-roubleа notesа whichа had been lyingа underа a

paperweight in Philip Philipovich's study, had disappeared from the flat and

then returned laterа completely drunk. But thatа was notа all. With himа had

come two unknown characters whoа had created a great dealа ofа noise onа the

front staircase and expressed a desire to spend the night with Sharikov. The

individuals in question wereа only removed afterа Fyodor,а appearingа on the

sceneа withа a coatа thrownа over hisа underwear,а had telephonedа theа 45th

Precinctа policeа station. Theа individualsа vanished instantly asа soonа as

Fyodorа had replaced the receiver. After they hadа gone it wasа found that a

malachite ashtray had mysteriously vanished from a console in the hall, also

Philipа Philipovich'sа beaverа hatа and his walking-stick with aа goldа band

inscribed: 'From the grateful hospital staff to Philip Philipovich in memory

of "X"-day with affection and respect/

аааа 'Who wereа they?' said Philipа Philipovich aggressively, clenchingа his

fists. Staggering andа clutching the fur-coats,а Sharikov muttered something

aboutа not knowingа who theyа were,а that they were a couple of bastards but

good chaps.

аааа 'The strangest thing of all was that they were both drunk . . . How did

they manageа to layа theirа hands on the stuff?' saidа Philip Philipovich in

astonishment, glancing at the place where his presentation walking-stick had

stood until recently.

аааа 'They're experts,' explained Fyodor as heа returned homeа to bed with a

rouble in his pocket.

аааа Sharikovа categoricallyа denied having stolen the 20а roubles, mumbling

something indistinct about himself not being the only person in the flat.

аааа 'Aha, Iа see - I supposeа Doctor Bormenthalа stole the money?' enquired

Philipа Philipovichа inа a voiceа thatа wasа quietа butа terrifyingа inа its

intonation.

аааа Sharikov staggered, opened his bleary eyes and offered the suggestion:

аааа 'Maybe Zina took it . . .*

аааа 'What?'а screamedа Zina,а appearingа inа theа doorway likeа aа spectre,

clutching an unbuttoned cardigan across her bosom.

аааа 'How could he . . .'

аааа Philip Philipovich's neck flushed red.

аааа 'Calm down, Zina,' he said, stretching outа his armа to her, 'don't get

upset, we'll fix this.'

аааа Zina immediately burst into tears, herа mouthа fell wideа openа and her

hand dropped from her bosom.

аааа 'Zinaа -а aren't youа ashamed? Who could imagine you taking it? Whatа a

disgraceful exhibition!' said Bormenthal in deep embarrassment.

аааа 'You silly girl, Zina, God forgive you . . .' began Philip Philipovich.

аааа But at that moment Zina stopped crying and the others froze in horror -

Sharikovа was feeling unwell.а Banging hisа headа against theа wall, heа was

emitting a moan that was pitchedа somewhere between the vowels 'i' and 'o' -

a sort of 'eeuuhh'. His face turned pale and his jaw twitched convulsively.

аааа 'Look out - get the swine that bucket from the consulting-room!'

аааа Everybody rushed to helpа the ailingа Sharikov. As he staggeredа off to

bedа supportedа byа Bormenthal heа sworeа gently and melodiously,а despite a

certain difficulty in enunciation.

аааа The whole affair had occurred aroundа 1 am and now it was Sam, butа the

two menа in the study talkedа on, fortified by brandy and lemon. The tobacco

smoke in the room was so dense that it moved about in slow, flat,а unruffled

swathes.

аааа Doctor Bormenthal, pale but determined, raised his thin-stemmed glass.

аааа 'Philip Philipovich,'а he exclaimed with great feeling, 'Iа shall never

forget howа as a half-starved student I came to you andа you tookа meа under

your wing.а Believeа me,а Philip Philipovich, you are much more to me than a

professor, a teacher . . . My respect for you is boundless . . . Allow me to

embrace you, dear Philip Philipovich . . .'

аааа 'Yes,а yes,а myа dearа fellowа .а . .'а gruntedа Philip Philipovichа in

embarrassment and roseа to meetа him. Bormenthal embraced him and kissed him

on his bushy, nicotine-stained moustaches.

аааа 'Honestly, Philip Phili . . .'

аааа 'Veryа touching,а veryаа touchingа .а .а .а Thankа you,'а saidаа Philip

Philipovich. 'I'm afraid I sometimes bawl at you during operations. You must

forgive an old man's testiness.а The fact isа I'mа really so lonelyа ..."...

from Granada to Seville . . ." '

аааа 'How canа you say that, Philip Philipovich?'а exclaimed Bormenthal with

greatа sincerity.а 'Kindly don't talkа likeа thatа againа unless you want to

offend me . . .'

ааа а'Thank you, thank you ..."... to the banks ofа the sacredа Nile ..."...

thank you ... I liked you because you were such a competent doctor.'

аааа 'Iа tellа you,а Philipа Philipovich, it'sа theа onlyа wayа . . .' cried

Bormenthal passionately. Leaping up from hisа place he firmly shut theа door

leadingа intoа the corridor, came backа and went on in a whisper: 'Don't you

see, it'sа the only wayа out? Naturally I wouldn't dare to offer you advice,

butа lookа at yourself, Philipа Philipovichа - you're completelyа wornа out,

you're in no fit state to go on working!'

аааа 'You're quite right,' agreed Philip Philipovich with a sigh.

аааа 'Very well, then, you agree this can't go on,' whispered Bormenthal.

аааа 'Last time you said you were afraid for me and I wish you knew, my dear

professor,а how thatа touched me. But I'm notа a child eitherа and I can see

only tooа wellа whatа aа terribleа affairа this couldа be.а Butа I am deeply

convinced that there is no other solution.'

аааа Philip Philipovich stood up, waved his arms at him and cried:

аааа 'Don't tempt me. Don'tа even mention it.' The professorа walkedа up and

down theа room, disturbing the grey swathes. 'I won'tа hear of it. Don't you

realiseа what would happen ifа theyа found usа out? Because ofа ourа "social

origins"а youа and Iа would never get away with it, despite theа fact ofа it

being ourа first offence. I don't suppose your "origins" are any better than

mine, are they?'

аааа 'I suppose not. My father was a plain-clothes policeman in Vilno,' said

Bormenthal as he drained his brandy glass.

аааа 'There you are, just as I thought.а From theа Bolshevik's point of view

you couldn'tа have come from a moreа unsuitable background.а Still,а mine is

even worse. My fatherа was dean of a cathedral. Perfect. ". . . from Granada

to Seville ... in the silent shades of night. . ." So there we are.'

аааа 'Butа Philipа Philipovich, you're a celebrity, a figureа ofа world-wide

importance, and just because of some, forgive the expression, bastardа . . .

Surely they can't touch you!'

аааа 'Allаа theаа same,а Iа refuseа toа doа it,'а saidа Philipаа Philipovich

thoughtfully.

аааа He stopped and stared at the glass-fronted cabinet. 'But why?'

аааа 'Because you are not a figure of world importance.' 'But what . . .'

аааа 'Come now, you don't think I could let you take the rap while I shelter

behindа myа world-wide reputation,а doа you?а Reallyа . .а .а I'mа aа Moscow

University graduate, not a Sharikov.'

аааа Philip Philipovichа proudly squaredа hisа shoulders and looked likeа an

ancient king of France.

аааа 'Well, then,а Philip Philipovich,'а sighedа Bormenthal. 'What'sа toа be

done?а Areа youа just going toа wait until that hooligan turns intoа a human

being?'

аааа Philip Philipovich stopped him with a gesture, poured himself a brandy,

sipped it, sucked a slice of lemon and said:

аааа 'Ivan Arnoldovich. Do you think I understand a little about the anatomy

and physiology of, shall we say, the human brain? What's your opinion?'

аааа 'Philip Philipovich -а whatа a question!'а replied Bormenthal with deep

feeling and spread his hands.

аааа 'Very well.а No need, therefore, for any falseа modesty. I also believe

that I am perhaps not entirely unknown in this field in Moscow.'

аааа 'Iа believe there's no one to touchа you,а notа only in Moscowа butа in

London and Oxford too!' Bormenthal interrupted furiously.

аааа 'Good. So be it. Now listen to me,а professor-to-be-Bor-menthal: no one

couldа ever pull it off. It's obvious. No need toа ask. If anybody asks you,

tell them that Preobrazhensky said so. Finite. Klim!'а -а Philip Philipovich

suddenlyа cried triumphantlyа and the glassа cabinetа vibratedа in response.

'Klim,' he repeated. 'Now, Bormenthal, you are the firstа pupil of my school

and apartа from that my friend, as I was able to convince myself today. So I

willа tell you asа a friend, in secret - because of courseа I know thatа you

wouldn't expose me - that this old ass Preobrazhensky bungled that operation

like a third-year medical student. It's true that it resulted in a discovery

- andа youа knowа yourself just whatа sort of a discovery thatа was' -а here

Philip Philipovich pointedа sadly with both hands towardsа the window-blind,

obviously pointingа toа Moscowа - 'but just remember, Ivan Arnoldovich, that

the sole result of that discovery will be that from now on we shall all have

that creature Sharik hangingа round our necks' - here Preobrazhensky slapped

himself on his bent and slightlyа sclerotic neck - 'of that you may be sure!

If someone,'а went on Philip Philipovich with relish, 'were to knock me down

and skewer me right now, I'd give him 50 roubles reward! ". . . from Granada

toа Seville ..."... Dammit, I spent five yearsа doing nothing but extracting

cerebral appendages . . . You know how much work Iа did on the subject -а an

unbelievable amount. And now comes the crucial question -а what for? So that

oneа fine day aа niceа litdeа dogа couldа beа transformed into a specimen of

so-called humanity so revolting that he makes one's hair stand on end.'

аааа 'Well, at least it is a unique achievement.'

аааа 'Iа quiteа agreeа withа you.а This,а doctor, isа whatа happensа whenа a

researcher, instead ofа keeping in step with nature, tries to force the pace

and lift the veil. Result - Sharikov. We have madeа our bed andа now we must

lie on it.'

аааа 'Supposing the brain had been Spinoza's, Philip Philipovich?'

аааа 'Yes!'а bellowedа Philip Philipovich. 'Yes! Provided theа wretchedа dog

didn't die under theа knife -а and you saw howа tricky the operation was. In

short - I, Philip Preobrazhensky would perform the most difficult feat of my

whole careerа by transplanting Spinoza's, orа anyoneа else'sа pituitaryа and

turningа a dog intoа a highlyа intelligent being. But whatа in heaven's name

for? That's the point. Will you kindlyа tell meа why one hasа to manufacture

artificial Spinozas whenа some peasant woman mayа produce a real one any day

ofа the week? After all, the great Lomonosovа was the son of a peasant woman

from Kholmogory. Mankind, doctor, takes careа of that. Everyа year evolution

ruthlesslyа casts aside the massа of dross andа creates aа fewа dozen men of

genius who become an ornament to the whole world. Now I hopeа you understand

whyа I condemnedа theа deductions youа made from Sharikov's case history. My

discovery,а which youа are so concerned about, isа worth about as muchа as a

bent penny . . . No, don't argue,а Ivan Arnoldovich, I have given it careful

thought. I don't give my views lightly, as you well know. Theoreticallyа the

experimentа wasа interesting. Fine.а Theа physiologistsа will beа delighted.

Moscow will go madа ...а Butа what isа itsа practical value?а Whatа isа this

creature?'а Preobrazhensky pointed toward the consulting-room where Sharikov

was asleep.

аааа 'An unmitigated scoundrel.'

аааа 'But whatа was Klim . . .а Klim,'а cried theа professor. 'What was Klim

Chugunkin?' (Bormenthal opened his mouth.) 'I'll tell you:а two convictions,

an alcoholic,а "takeа away all property and divide it up", my beaver hat and

20а roubles gone' - (At this pointа Philipа Philipovichа also remembered his

presentation walking-stick and turnedа purple.) - 'the swine! ...а I'llа get

that stick back somehowа ... In short theа pituitary isа aа magic boxа which

determines the individual human image.а Yes,а individual ..."... from Granda

to Seville . . ." ' shouted Philip Philipovich,а his eyes rolling furiously,

'but not the universal human image. It's the brain itselfа in miniature. And

it's ofа no use to me at all -а toа hellа withа it.а I wasа concernedа about

somethingа quiteа different, about eugenics,а about theа improvement ofа the

human race. And now I've ended up by specialising in rejuvenation. You don't

think I do these rejuvenation operations because of the money, do you? Iа am

a scientist.'

аааа 'And a great scientist!'а said Bormenthal, gulping down his brandy. His

eyes grew bloodshot.

аааа 'I wantedа to do aа little experiment as a follow-up to myа success two

years ago in extracting sex hormone from the pituitary. Instead of that what

has happened? My God!а What use wereа thoseа hormones in the pituitary . . .

Doctor, I am faced by despair. I confess I am utterly perplexed.'

ааа аSuddenly Bormenthal rolled up hisа sleevesа and said, squintingа at the

tip of his nose:

аааа 'Right then, professor, if you don't want to, I willа take theа risk of

dosingа himа withа arsenicа myself.а Iаа don'tа careа ifа myа fatherа wasа a

plain-clothes policeman under the old regime. When all'sа said and done this

creature is yours - your own experimental creation.'

аааа Philipа Philipovich, limpа and exhausted, collapsedа into his chair and

said:

аааа 'No, my dear boy, Iа won't let you do it. I'm sixty, old enough to give

you advice. Never do anything criminal, no matter for what reason. Keep your

hands clean all your life.'

аааа 'But just think,а Philip Philipovich,а what heа mayа turnа into if that

character Shvonderа keeps on at him! I'm only just beginning to realise what

Sharikov may become, by God!'

аааа 'Aha, so you realise now, do you? Well I realised it ten days after the

operation. My only comfort is that Shvonder is theа biggest fool of all.а He

doesn't realise that Sharikov is much more of aа threat to him than he is to

me.а At theа moment he's doing all he canа to turn Sharikovа against me, not

realisingа thatа ifа someone in their turnа setsа Sharikov againstа Shvonder

himself, there'llа soonа be nothing left of Shvonder but the bonesа andа the

beak.'

аааа 'You're right. Just thinkа of the way he goes for cats. He's a man with

the heart of a dog.'

аааа 'Oh, no, no,' drawled Philip Philipovich in reply. 'You're making a big

mistake, doctor. For heaven's sakeа don't insultа the dog. Hisа reactionа to

cats is purely temporary . . . It's a question of discipline, which could be

dealt with in two orа three weeks, Iа assure you.а Anotherа monthа or so and

he'll stop chasing them.'

аааа 'But why hasn't he stopped by now?' 'Elementary, Ivan Arnoldovich . . .

thinkа what you'reа saying. After all, the pituitaryа isа not suspended in a

vacuum. It is, after all, grafted on to a canine brain, you mustа allow time

for it to take root. Sharikov now only shows traces of canineа behaviour and

you must remember this - chasing after cats is the least objectionable thing

he does! The whole horror of the situation is that he now has a human heart,

not a dog's heart. And about the rottenest heart in all creation!'

аааа Bormenthal,а wroughtа toа aа stateа ofа extreme anxiety,а clenchedа his

powerful sinewy hands, shrugged and said firmly:

аааа 'Very well, I shall kill him!'

аааа 'I forbid it!' answered Philip Philipovich categorically.

аааа 'But...'

аааа Philip Philipovich was suddenly on the alert. He raised his finger.

аааа 'Wait ... I heard footsteps.'

аааа Both listened intently, but there was silence in the corridor.

аааа 'I thought.а . .'а said Philip Philipovichа andа began speaking German,

several times using the Russian word 'crime'.

аааа 'Just a minute,' Bormenthal suddenly warnedа him and strode over to the

door.

аааа Footsteps could be clearly heard approaching the study, and there was a

mumbleа ofа voices. Bormenthalа flungа open theа doorа and startedа backа in

amazement. Appalled, Philip Philipovich froze in his armchair. In the bright

rectangle of the doorway stood Darya Petrovna in nothing but her nightdress,

her faceа hotа and furious.а Both doctor andа professor wereа dazzled by the

amplitude of her powerful body, which theirа shockа caused themа toа seeа as

naked. Darya Petrovna was dragging something along in her enormous hands and

as that 'something' cameа to a halt itа slid down and sat on its bottom. Its

short legs, coveredа inа blackа down, foldedа up onа the parquetа floor. The

'something',а ofа course,а wasа Sharikov, confused,а stillа slightlyа drunk,

dishevelled and wearing only a shirt.

аааа Daryaа Petrovna, naked and magnificent, shook Sharikov likeа aа sack of

potatoes and said:

аааа 'Just look atа our precious lodger Telegraph Telegraphovich. I'veа been

married, but Zina's an innocent girl. It was a good thing I woke up.'

аааа Having saidа her piece, Darya Petrovna wasа overcome byа shame,а gave a

scream, covered her bosom with her arms and vanished.

аааа 'Darya Petrovna, pleaseа forgive us,' the red-facedа Philip Philipovich

shouted after her as soon as he had regained his senses.

аааа Bormenthalа rolled up his shirtsleeves higherа stillа and bore downа on

Sharikov. Philip Philipovich caughtа the look in his eye and said in horror:

'Doctor! I forbid you . . .'

аааа With his right hand Bormenthal picked up Sharikov byа the scruff of his

neck and shook him so violently that the material of his shirt tore.

ааа аPhilipа Philipovichа threw himselfа between them and began to dragа the

puny Sharikov free from Bormenthal's powerful surgeon's hands.

аааа 'You haven'tа any right to beat me,' said Sharikov inа a stifledа moan,

rapidlyа sobering asа heа slumped toа theа ground. 'Doctor!' shrieked Philip

Philipovich.а Bormenthal pulledа himself together slightlyа and let Sharikov

go. He at once began to whimper.

аааа 'Right,' hissed Bormenthal, 'just wait till tomorrow. I'll fix a little

demonstration for him when he sobers up.'а Withа thisа heа grabbedа Sharikov

under theа armpit and dragged him to his bed in theа waiting-room.а Sharikov

tried to kick, but his legs refused to obey him.

аааа Philip Philipovich spread his legs wide, sending the skirts of his robe

flapping,а raised his armsа andа his eyes towards theа lamp inа the corridor

ceiling and sighed.

 

Eight

 

 

аааа The 'little demonstration' which Bormenthal had promisedа to lay on for

Sharikovа didа not,а however,а takeа placeа theа following morning,а because

Poligraph Poligraphovich had disappeared from the house. Bormenthal gave way

to despair, cursing himself for a fool for not having hiddenа the key of the

frontа door.а Shoutingа that thisа wasа unforgivable,а he endedа byа wishing

Sharikov would fall under a bus. Philip Philipovich, who wasа sitting in his

study running his fingers through his hair, said:

аааа 'I can just imagine what he must be up to on the street. . . I can just

imagine .. . "from Granada to Seville .. ." My God.'

аааа 'He mayа be withа the houseа committee,' said Bormenthal furiously, and

dashed off.

аааа At the house committee he swore at the chairman, Shvonder, so violently

that Shvonder sat downа and wrote aа complaintа to the local People's Court,

shoutingа asа heа didа soа that heа wasn't Sharikov'sа bodyguard.а Poligraph

Poligraphovichа was not very popular at the house committee either, asа only

yesterday he had taken 7 roubles from the funds, with the excuse that he was

going to buy text books at the co-operative store.

аааа For aа reward of 3 roublesа Fyodor searched the whole house from top to

bottom. Nowhere was there a trace to be found of Sharikov.

аааа Only one thing was clear - that Poligraph had left at dawn wearing cap,

scarf and overcoat, taking with him a bottleа of rowanberry brandyа from the

sideboard.а Doctorа Bormenthal's gloves,а and all his ownа documents.а Darya

Petrovnaа and Zinaа openly expressedа their delightа and hoped that Sharikov

wouldа never come back again. Sharikovа hadа borrowed а50 roubles from Darya

Petrovna only the day before.

аааа 'Serve you right!' roaredа Philip Philipovich,а shakingа his fists. The

telephone rang all that day and all the next day. The doctors saw an unusual

number ofа patients and byа theа third day the twoа men wereа faced with the

question ofа what to tellа the police, whoа would have to start lookingа for

Sharikov in the Moscow underworld.

аааа Hardly had the word 'police' beenа mentioned than the reverentа hush of

Obukhov Street was broken by the roar of a lorryа and all the windows in the

house shook. Then with a confident ring at the bell Poligraph Poligraphovich

appeared and enteredа with an air of unusual dignity. In absolute silence he

took offа hisа cap and hungа hisа coatа on theа hook.а Heа looked completely

different. He had on aа second-hand leather tunic, worn leather breeches and

longа English riding-boots laced up to theа knee. An incredible odour of cat

immediatelyа permeated the whole hall.а Asа thoughа at anа unspokenа word of

commandа Preobrazhensky andа Bormenthalа simultaneously crossed theirа arms,

leaned against the doorpost and waited for Poligraphа Poligraphovich to make

hisа first remark. He smoothedа down his rough hair and cleared hisа throat,

obviously wanting to hide his embarrassment by a nonchalant air.

аааа At last he spoke. 'I've taken a job, Philip Philipovich.'

аааа Both doctors uttered aа vagueа dryа noise inа theа throatа andа stirred

slightly.а Preobrazhensky was the first to collect his wits. Stretchingа out

his hand he said: 'Papers.'

аааа The typewrittenа sheet read: 'It is herebyа certified that theа bearer,

comrade Poligraph Poligraphovich Sharikov,а isа appointed inа chargeа of the

sub-departmentа ofа theаа Moscowа Cleansingаа Departmentаа responsibleаа for

eliminating vagrant quadrupeds (cats, etc.)'

аааа 'I see,' said Philip Philipovich gravely. 'Whoа fixed this for you? No,

don't tell me - I can guess.'

аааа 'Yes, well, it was Shvonder.'

аааа 'Forgive my asking, but why are you giving off such a revolting smell?'

аааа Sharikov anxiously sniffed at his tunic.

аааа 'Well,а it mayа smell aа bit -а that'sа because of my job. I spentа all

yesterday strangling cats . . .'

аааа Philipа Philipovichа shuddered and lookedа atа Bormenthal,а whoseа eyes

reminded him of two black gun-barrels aimedа straight atа Sharikov.а Without

theа slightest warning he stepped up to Sharikovа and took himа in aа light,

practised grip around the throat.

аааа 'Help!' squeaked Sharikov, turning pale.

аааа 'Doctor!'

аааа 'Don'tа worry, Philipа Philipovich,а Iа shan'tа doа anythingа violent,'

answered Bormenthal in an iron voice and roared:

аааа 'Zina and Darya Petrovna!'

аааа The two women appeared in the lobby.

аааа 'Now,' saidа Bormenthal, givingа Sharikov's throat aа very slightа push

towardа theа fur-coat hanging upа onа aа nearby hook, 'repeatа after me:а "I

apologise .а . ." ' 'All right,а I'll repeat it . . .'а replied the defeated

Sharikov in a husky

аааа voice.

аааа Suddenly he took a deep breath, twisted, and tried to shout 'help', but

no sound came out and his head was pushed right into the fur-coat.

аааа 'Doctor, please . . .' Sharikov nodded as a sign that he submittedа and

would

аааа repeat what he had to do.

аааа '. . . I apologise, dear Darya Petrovna and Zinaida? . . .'

аааа "Prokofievna,' whispered Zina nervously.

аааа 'Ow . . . Prokofievna . . . that I allowed myself. . .'

аааа '.а .а .toа behaveа soа disgustinglyа theа otherа night inа a stateа of

intoxication.'

аааа 'Intoxication . . .'

аааа 'I shall never do it again . . .'

аааа 'Do it again . . .'

аааа 'Letа himа go, Ivanа Arnoldovich,'а begged both women at once.а 'You're

throttling him. '

аааа Bormenthal released Sharikov and said:

аааа 'Is that lorry waiting for you?'

аааа 'It just brought me here,' replied Poligraph submissively.

аааа 'Zina, tell theа driver he can go. Now tell me -а have you come back to

Philip Philipovich's flat to stay?'

аааа 'Whereа elseа canа I go?' askedа Sharikovа timidly, hisа eyes nickering

around the room.

аааа 'Veryа well.а You will beа as goodа as gold and asа quiet asа aа mouse.

Otherwiseа youа willа haveа toа reckonа withа meа eachа time youа misbehave.

Understand?'

аааа 'I understand,' replied Sharikov.

аааа Throughout Bormenthal's attackа on Sharikov Philip Philipovich had kept

silent. He had leaned against the doorpost with a miserable look, chewed his

nails and staredа at the floor.а Then he suddenly looked upа at Sharikov and

asked in a toneless, husky voice:

аааа 'What do youа do with them ... the dead cats,а I mean?' 'Theyа go toа a

laboratory,' repliedа Sharikov,а 'where they make them into proteinа for the

workers.'

аааа After this silenceа fell on the flat and lasted for two days. Poligraph

Poligraphovich went to work in the morning by truck, returned in the evening

and dined quietly with Philip Philipovich and Bormenthal.

аааа Althoughа Bormenthalа andа Sharikovа sleptа inа theа sameа roomа -а the

waiting-room - they did not talk toа each other, which Bormenthal soon found

boring.

аааа Two days later, however, there appeared aа thin girl wearing eye shadow

and pale fawn stockings, very embarrassed byа the magnificence ofа the flat.

Inа herа shabbyа little coatа she trottedа in behind Sharikovа andа metа the

professor in the hall.

аааа Dumbfounded, the professor frowned and asked:

аааа 'Who is this?'

аааа 'Me and her's getting married.а She's our typist.а She's coming to live

with me. Bormenthalа will have to move out of the waiting-room. He's got his

own flat,' said Sharikov in a sullen and very off-hand voice.

аааа Philipа Philipovich blinked,а reflected for aа moment as he watched the

girlа turn crimson, thenа invitedа her withа great courtesy to step into his

study for a moment.

аааа 'And I'm going with her,' put in Sharikov quickly and suspiciously.

аааа At that moment Bormenthal materialised from the floor.

аааа 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'the professor wants toа talk to the lady and you

and I are going to stay here.'

аааа 'Iа won't,'а retortedаа Sharikovа angrily,аа tryingа toа followа Philip

Philipovich and the girl. Her face burned with shame.

аааа 'No, I'm sorry,' Bormenthal took Sharikov by the wrist and led him into

the consulting-room.

аааа For about five minutesа nothing was heard from the study, then suddenly

came the sound of the girl's muffled sobbing.

аааа Philip Philipovich stood beside his desk as the girlа wept into a dirty

little lace handkerchief.

аааа 'He told me he'dа been woundedа inа theа war,'а sobbed theа girl. 'He's

lying,'а replied Philipа Philipovichа inexorably. He shook his head and went

on. 'I'mа genuinely sorry for you, but you can't justа go off andа live with

the firstа person youа happenа toа meet atа workа . . . my dear child,а it's

scandalous. Here . . .' He opened a desk drawer and took out three 10-rouble

notes.

аааа 'I'd killа myself,' wept the girl.а 'Nothing but salt beef every day in

theа canteen . . . and he threatened meа . . .а then he said he'd been a Red

Armyа officerа and he'dа take me to liveа inа a posh flat . .а . kept making

passes at me . . . says he's kind-hearted really,а he only hates cats ... He

took my ring as a memento . . .'

аааа 'Well, well... so he's kind-hearted ..."... from Granada to Seville . .

.".' muttered Philip Philipovich. 'You'll get over it, my dear. You're still

young.'

аааа 'Did you really find him in a doorway?'

аааа 'Look, I'm offering toа lend you this money -а take it,' grunted Philip

Philipovich.

аааа The door was thenа solemnlyа thrown openа and atа Philipа Philipovich's

request Bormenthal led in Sharikov, who glanced shiftily around. The hair on

his head stood up like a scrubbing-brush.

аааа 'You beast,' said the girl, her eyes flashing, her mascara running past

her streakily powdered nose.

аааа 'Where did you get that scarа on your forehead? Tryа and explain to the

lady,' said Philip Philipovich softly.

ааа аSharikov staked his all on one preposterous card:

аааа 'I was wounded at the front fighting against Kolchak,' he barked.

аааа The girl stood up and went out, weeping noisily.

аааа 'Stop crying!' Philip Philipovichа shouted after her. 'Justа a minute -

the ring, please,' he said, turningа to Sharikov,а whoа obediently removed a

large emerald ring from his finger.

аааа 'I'llа getа you,'а heа suddenly said with malice.а 'You'll remember me.

Tomorrow I'll make sure they cut your salary.'

аааа 'Don'tа be afraid of him,' Bormenthal shoutedа after the girl. *I won't

let him do you any harm.' He turned round and gave Sharikov such a look that

he stumbled backwards and hit his head on the glass cabinet.

аааа 'What'sа herа surname?'а asked Bormenthal.а 'Herа surname!' heа roared,

suddenly terrible.

аааа 'Basnetsova,' replied Sharikov, looking round for a way of escape.

аааа 'Every day,' said Bormenthal, grasping the lapels of Sharikov'sа tunic,

'I shall personally make enquiries at the Cityа Cleansing Department to make

sure thatа you haven't been interfering with citizeness Basnetsova's salary.

And if I find out that you have . . . then I will shoot you down with my own

hands. Take care, Sharikov - I mean what I say.' Transfixed, Sharikov stared

atа Bormenthal's nose.а 'You'reа notа theа onlyа one withа a revolver . . .'

muttered Poligraph quietly.

аааа Suddenly he dodged andа spurted for the door. 'Take care!' Bormenthal's

shout pursued him as he fled.а That night and theа following morning were as

tenseа asа theа atmosphere before a thunderstorm. Nobody spoke. The next day

Poligraph Poligraphovich went gloomily off to work by lorry, after waking up

with an uneasyа presentiment, while Professorа Preobrazhensky sawа aа former

patient, a tall, strapping man in uniform, at a quite abnormal hour. The man

insisted on a consultation andа was admitted. As he walked into the study he

politely clicked his heels to the professor.

аааа 'Have your pains come back?' asked Philip Philipovich pursing his lips.

'Please sit down.'

аааа 'Thank you. No, professor,'а replied his visitor, putting down hisа cap

on theа edge of theа desk. 'I'm veryа gratefulа to you ... No ... I've come,

h'm, on another matter, Philip Philipovich ... in view ofа the great respect

I feel .а .а . I've come to ...а er,а warn you. It's obviously nonsense,а of

course. He's simply a scoundrel.' The patient searched inа his briefcase and

took outа a piece of paper. 'It's aа good thing Iа was told about this right

away . . .'

аааа Philip Philipovich slipped a pince-nez over his spectacles and began to

read.а For aа long time he mumbled half-aloud, his expression changing every

moment.а '. .а . alsoа threateningа to murderа theа chairmanа ofа theа house

committee, comrade Shvonder, whichа shows that he must be keeping a firearm.

Andа he makesа counter-revolutionary speeches, and even ordered his domestic

worker,а Zinaida Prokofievna Bunina, to burn Engelsа in the stove. Heа is an

obvious Menshevik and so is his assistant Ivan Arnoldovich Bormenthal who is

living secretly in his flat without being registered. Signed: P. P. Sharikov

аааа Sub-Dept. Controller City Cleansing Dept. Countersigned: Shvonder

аааа Chairman, House Committee. Pestrukhin Secretary, House Committee.

аааа 'Mayа I keep this?'а askedа Philipа Philipovich,а his face blotchy. 'Or

perhaps you need it so that legal proceedings can be made?'

аааа 'Really, professor.' The patient wasа mostа offendedа and blew outа his

nostrils.а 'You seem to regard usа with contempt.а I . . .' Andа he began to

puff himself up like a turkeycock.

аааа 'Please forgiveа me, my dearа fellow!' mumbledа Philipа Philipovich. 'I

reallyа didn't mean to offend you. Please don't be angry.а You can't believe

what this creature has done to my nerves . . .'

аааа 'Soа I canа imagine,' saidа theа patient, quiteа mollified. 'But what a

swine! I'd be curious to have a look at him. Moscow is full of stories about

you . . .'

аааа Philip Philipovich could onlyа gesture in despair. It was then that the

patientа noticed how hunched the professor was looking and that he seemed to

have recently grown much greyer.

 

Nine

 

 

аааа The crime ripened, then fell like a stone, as usually happens.а With an

uncomfortable feeling round his heart Poligraph Poligraphovich returned that

eveningаа byа lorry.аа Philipа Philipovich'sа voiceа invitedа himа intoа the

consulting-room.а Surprised,а Sharikovа entered andа lookedа first,а vaguely

frightened, at Bormenthal's steely face, then at Philip Philipovich. A cloud

ofа smoke surrounded theа doctor's headа andа his leftа hand, trembling very

slightly, held a cigarette and rested on the shiny handle of the obstetrical

chair.

аааа With ominous calm Philip Philipovich said:

аааа 'Goа and collect your things at once - trousers,а coat, everythingа you

need - then get out of this flat!'

аааа 'What is all this?' Sharikov was genuinely astonished. 'Get out of this

flatа - and today,'а repeatedа Philipа Philipovich,а frowningа downа atа his

fingernails.

аааа An evilа spiritа was atа work inside Poligraph Poligraphovich.а Itа was

obvious that his end was in sight andа hisа timeа nearly up, butа heа hurled

himself towards the inevitable and barked in an angry staccato:

аааа 'Like hellа Iа will!а You gotа toа give meа my rights. I've aа right to

thirty-seven square feet and I'm staying right here.'

аааа 'Get out ofа thisа flat,' whispered Philipа Philipovich in aа strangled

voice.

аааа It was Sharikov himself who invitedа his own death.а He raised his left

hand,а which stankа mostа horribly of cats,а and cocked aа snookа atа Philip

Philipovich. Then withа his rightа hand heа drewа a revolverа on Bormenthal.

Bormenthal's cigarette fell like a shooting star. A few seconds later Philip

Philipovich was hoppingа about on broken glass and runningа from the cabinet

to the couch.а Onа it,а spreadeagledа andа croaking,а layа aа sub-department

controller ofа the Cityа Cleansing Department;а Bormenthalа the surgeonа was

sitting astride his chest and suffocating him with a small white pad.

аааа After some minutes Bormenthal, with a most unfamiliarа look, walked out

on to the landing and stuck a notice beside the doorbell:

аааа The Professor regrets that owing to indisposition heа will be unable to

hold consulting hoursа today. Please do not disturb the Professor by ringing

the bell.

аааа With aа gleamingа penknifeа he then cutа the bell-cable,а inspected his

scratchedа andа bleedingа faceа inа theа mirror and his lacerated,а slightly

tremblingа hands. Then he went into the kitchen and said to the anxious Zina

and Darya Petrovna:

аааа 'The professor says you mustn't leave the fiat on any account.'

аааа 'No, we won't,' they replied timidly.

аааа 'Nowа I mustа lock the backа doorа and keep the key,'а said Bormenthal,

sidling round the roomа and covering hisа faceа withа hisа hand.а 'It's only

temporary, not because we don't trust you. But if anybody came you might not

be able to keep them out and we mustn't be disturbed. We're busy.'

аааа 'All right,' replied the two women, turning pale. Bormenthal locked the

back door, locked the front door, locked the door from the corridor into the

hall and his footsteps faded away into the consulting-room.

аааа Silenceа filled the flat, flooding into every comer. Twilight crept in,

dank and sinister and gloomy. Afterwards the neighbours across the courtyard

said that every light burned that evening in the windows of Preobrazhensky's

consulting-room and that they even saw the professor's white skullcap ... It

isа hard to beа sure. When itа wasа all over Zina did say, though, that when

Bormenthal and the professor emerged from the consulting-room, there, by the

study fireplace, Ivan Amoldovichа had frightened her toа death. It seemsа he

was squatting downа inа frontа of the fire and burning one of the blue-bound

notebooks which contained the medical notes on the professor's patients. The

doctor's face, apparently, was quiteа green and completely - yes, completely

- scratched to pieces.а And that eveningа Philipа Philipovich hadа been most

peculiar. And then there wasа another thingа -а but maybe that innocent girl

from the flat in Prechistenka Street was talking rubbish . . .

аааа Oneа thing, though, wasа certain:а there wasа silence in the flatа that

evening - total, frightening silence.

 

Epilogue

 

 

аааа One night, exactly ten days to the day afterа the struggle in Professor

Preobrazhensky's consulting-room in his flat on Obukhovа Street, there was a

sharp ring of the doorbell.

аааа 'Criminal police. Open up, please.'

аааа Footstepsа approached, people knocked and entered untilа a considerable

crowdа filled theа brightly-lit waiting-room withа its newly-glazed cabinet.

Thereа were two in police uniform, one in a blackа overcoatа and carryingа a

brief-case; there wasа chairman Shvonder, pale andа gloating,а and the youth

who had turned out toа be a woman; there was Fyodorа the porter, Zina, Darya

Petrovna and Bormenthal, half dressed andа embarrassed as he triedа to cover

up his tieless neck.

ааа аThe door from the study opened to admit Philip Philipovich. He appeared

in his familiarа blue dressing gown and everybodyа couldа tellа at once that

overа the pastа week Philip Philipovich had begun toа look very much better.

The oldа Philip Philipovich, аmasterful, energeticа and dignified, now faced

his nocturnal visitors and apologised for appearing in his dressing gown.

аааа 'Itа doesn't matter, professor,'а said the man in civilianа clothes, in

great embarrassment. He faltered and then said:

аааа 'I'm sorry to say we have a warrant toа searchа your flat and' -the men

staredа uneasilyа at Philip Philipovich's moustachesа andа ended: 'to arrest

you, depending on the results of our search.'

аааа Philip Philipovich frowned and asked:

аааа 'What, may I ask, is the charge, and who is being charged?'

аааа The man scratched hisа cheekа and beganа reading from a pieceа of paper

from his briefcase.

аааа 'Preobrazhensky,а Bormenthal,а Zinaidaа Buninaа andа Daryaа Ivanova are

chargedаа withаа theаа murderаа ofаа Poligraphаа Poligraph-ovichаа Sharikov,

sub-department controller. City of Moscow Cleansing Department.'

аааа The end of his speech was drowned byа Zina'sа sobs.а There wasа general

movement.

аааа 'I don't understand,' replied Philip Philipovichа withа a regalа shrug.

'Whoа is thisа Sharikov?а Oh, ofа course, you mean myа dog . . . theа oneа I

operated on?'

аааа 'I'm sorry, professor,а not aа dog. This happenedа whenа heа was a man.

That's the trouble.'

аааа 'Because he talked?' askedа Philip Philipovich.а 'That doesn't meanа he

was a man. Anyhow, it's irrelevant. Sharik is aliveа at thisа moment andа no

one has killed him.'

аааа 'Really,а professor?'а saidа theа manа in black,а deeply astonished and

raised his eyebrows. 'In that case you must produce him. It'sа ten daysа now

sinceа he disappeared and the evidence, if you'll forgive my sayingа so,а is

most disquieting.'

аааа 'Doctor Bormenthal, will you please produce Sharik for theа detective,'

ordered Philip Philipovich, pocketing the charge-sheet. Bormenthal went out,

smiling enigmatically.

аааа As heа returned heа gave a whistleа and fromа the door intoа theа study

appeared a dog of the most extraordinary appearance. In patches he was bald,

while in other patches his coat had grown.а He entered like a trained circus

dog walking on his hind legs, then dropped on to all fours and looked round.

The waiting-room froze into a sepulchralа silence as tangible as jelly.а The

nightmarish-looking dog with the crimson scar on the forehead stood up again

on his hind legs, grinned and sat down in an armchair.

аааа The second policeman suddenly crossedа himself with a sweepingа gesture

and in stepping back knocked Zina's legs from under her.

аааа The man in black, his mouth still wide open, said:

аааа 'What's been going on? ... He worked in the City Cleansing Department .

. .'

аааа 'Iа didn'tа sendа himа there,' answeredа Philipа Philipovich.а 'Heа was

recommended for the job by Mr Shvonder, if I'm not mistaken.'

аааа 'I don't get it,' said the man in black, obviously confused, and turned

to the first policeman. 'Is that him?'

аааа 'Yes,' whispered the policeman, 'it's him all right.'

аааа 'That's him,' came Fyodor's voice, 'except the little devil's got a bit

fatter.'

аааа 'But he talked . . .' the man in black giggled nervously.

аааа 'Andа he still talks, though lessа and less, so if you want to hear him

talk now's the time, before he stops altogether'.

аааа 'But why?' asked the man in black quietly.

аааа Philip Philipovich shrugged his shoulders.

аааа 'Science hasа not yet found the means of turning animals into people. I

tried,а butа unsuccessfully, as you can see. He talked and then he beganа to

revert back to his primitive state. Atavism.'

аааа 'Don't swearа at me,' the dog suddenly barked fromа his chair and stood

up.

аааа The man in black turned instantly pale, dropped his briefcase and began

to fall sideways.а A policeman caught him onа oneа side and Fyodor supported

himа from behind. Thereа wasа aа suddenа turmoil, clearly piercedа byа three

sentences:

аааа Philip Philipovich: 'Give him valerian. He's fainted.'

аааа Doctor Bormenthal: 'I shall personally throw Shvonder downstairsа if he

ever appears in Professor Preobrazhensky's flat again.'

аааа And Shvonder said: 'Please enter that remark in the report.'

аааа Theа grey accordion-shaped radiators hissed gently. The blinds shut out

the thick Prechistenka Street night sky withа itsа lone star. The great, the

powerful benefactorа of dogs sat in his chair while Sharik lay stretched out

on the carpet beside the leather couch. In theа mornings theа March fog made

the dog's head ache, especially aroundа the circular scar on hisа skull, but

by evening the warmth banished the pain. Now itа was easing all the time and

warm, comfortable thoughts flowed through the dog's mind.

аааа I'veа been very, very lucky, he thought sleepily. Incredibly lucky. I'm

really settled in this flat. Though I'mа notа so sure now about my pedigree.

Not a drop of labrador blood. She wasа just a tart, my old grandmother.а God

rest her soul. Certainly theyа cut my head around a bit, but who cares. None

of my business, really.

аааа From theа distance came a tinkle of glass. Bormenthalа was tidyingа the

shelves of the cabinet in the consulting-room.

аааа The grey-haired magician sat and hummed: 'а ". . .а to the banks of the

sacred Nile . . ." '

аааа That evening the dog saw terribleа things. He saw the great roan plunge

hisа slippery, rubber-gloved hands intoа aа jarа toа fish out aа brain; then

relentlessly,а persistentlyа theа greatа manа pursuedа hisа search. Slicing,

examining, he frowned and sang:

аааа ' "To the banks of the sacred Nile . . ." '