The young relative was seized with another fit of satanic laughter.

" If anyone can lay a hand on him, I certainly can, " she answered through her laughter, and again her umbrella was heard, cracking Arkady Apollonovich over the head.

" Police! Arrest her! " shrieked Madame Sempleyarov in such a terrifying voice that it made many people's blood run cold.

And at this point the cat leapt up to the footlights and roared out to the theater in a human voice, The show is over! Maestro! Hack out a march!! "

Block Mafic and lu Exposé 109

The half-crazed conductor, only dimly aware of what he was doing, waved his baton, and the orchestra did not so much start to play, burst out in, or even strike up, but rather, to use the cat's repulsive expression, it hacked out an improbable march, so sloppily played that it did not resemble a march at all.

For a moment it seemed as if the half-clear, semi-distinct, yet provocative words of the march had been heard, once upon a time, in a café -chantant somewhere under southern skies:

His Excellency Had a taste for domestic fowl And was always on the prowl For good-looking chicks!!!

Or maybe those were not the words, and there were other ones to the same music which were also highly indecent. That's not important, what is important is that after this, something like the fall of the Tower of Babel broke out in the Variety Theater. The police rushed to the Sempleyarovs' box, curiosity-seekers climbed onto the railing, hellish bursts of laughter and mad shrieks were heard, which were drowned out by the golden crash of cymbals coming from the orchestra pit.

And the stage was suddenly empty, and both the trickster Fagot and the huge brazen cat Behemoth had melted into thin air and vanished, just as the magician and his faded armchair had vanished before them.

XIII

Enter the Hero

nd so, the stranger pressed a warning finger to his lips and whispered " Shh! " to Ivan. Ivan lowered his feet over the side of the bed and stared. Peering cautiously into the room from the balcony was a clean-shaven, dark-haired man of about thirty-eight; he had anxious eyes, a sharp nose, and a shock of hair hanging over his forehead.

After making certain that Ivan was alone, the mysterious visitor listened intenü y, then mustered his courage and entered the room. Ivan noticed that he was wearing hospital clothes: underwear, slippers on bare feet, and a dark brown robe thrown over his shoulders.

The newcomer winked at Ivan, stuck a bunch of keys in his pocket and asked in a whisper, " May I sit down? " When he received a nod of assent, he settled into the armchair.

" How did you get in here? " said Ivan in a whisper, obeying his guest's warning gesture. " Aren't the window grilles locked? "

" They are locked, " confirmed the guest, " but Praskovya Fyodorovna is an extremely nice, if, alas, absentminded person. I pinched her keys a month ago, which allows me to go out onto the balcony that encircles the entire floor and thus visit a neighbor on occasion."

" But if you can go out onto the balcony, you can get out of here. Or is it too high up? " queried Ivan.

" No, " was the guest's firm reply. " It's not because it's too high that I can't get out, but because there's nowhere for me to get out to." After a pause he added, " So, we're stuck sitting here? "

" Yes, stuck, " replied Ivan, gazing into the newcomer's anxious-looking brown eyes.

" Yes..." —here the guest suddenly became agitated. " I hope you're not violent, are you? Because, you see, I can't tolerate noise, rows, violence, or anything of that sort. And I especially can't stand people screaming, whether in suffering, rage, or for any other reason. Reassure me, tell me—you're not violent, are you? "

Enter the Hero 111

" Yesterday in a restaurant I smashed some guy in the puss, " confessed the transformed poet manfully.

" The reason? " the guest asked sternly.

" None really, I admit, " answered Ivan, becoming embarrassed.

" Disgraceful, " the guest scolded and added, " And besides, why do you say things like 'smash some guy in the puss'? After all, nobody knows exactly what it is that a man has, a face or a puss. Most likely, it's still a face. So, when it comes to fists... No, you should stop doing that sort of thing once and for all."

After giving Ivan this lecture, the guest inquired, " Your profession? "

" Poet, " Ivan acknowledged somewhat unwillingly.