Monday Begins On Saturday Part 8

"Modest Matveevich, you are quite right, it is disorderly, but tonight he will sleep at my place."

"That's a different matter; that you are welcome to do," Modest allowed magnanimously. He looked the room over with a proprietary eye, saw the prints on the ceiling, and immediately looked at my feet. Fortunately I was barefooted. "That's how you have to accept it," said he, then straightened the trash on the hanger and left the room.

"D-dumbbell," squeezed out Korneev. "Blockhead." He sat down on the sofa and lowered his head on his hands. "To h.e.l.l with them all. Tonight I'll drag it off again."

"Take it easy," Roman said gently. "Nothing terrible has happened. We just had some bad luck. Did you notice which Ja.n.u.s that was?"

"So?" said Korneev, despondent.

"That was Ja.n.u.s-A."

Korneev raised his head. "And what's the difference?"

"Tremendous!" said Roman and winked. "Because Ja.n.u.s-U has taken a plane to Moscow. And, it's important among other things, in relation to this sofa.

Did you grasp that, pillager of museum treasures?"

"Listen. You are my savior," said Korneev, and for the first time I saw how he smiled.

"You see, Sasha," said Roman, addressing me, "we have an ideal director. He is one director in two individuals.

There is a Ja.n.u.s-A Poluektovich and a Ja.n.u.s-U Poluektovich. Ja.n.u.s-U is an important scientist with international stature. As for Ja.n.u.s-A, he is a rather ordinary administrator."

"Twins?" I inquired cautiously.

"Of course not; it's one and the same man. Only he exists as two persons."

"Obviously," I said, and started to put on my shoes.

"That's all right, Sasha, you'll get to know it all soon," Roman said encouragingly. I raised my head. "Meaning what?"

"We must have a computer man," said Roman with deep sincerity.

"I need one very badly," said Korneev, becoming animated.

"Everybody needs a programmer," I said, returning my attention to the shoes. "And, please, no hypnotism or some charmed environments."

"He's catching on," said Roman.

Korneev was going to say something when voices erupted outside the window.

"That's not our five kopecks!" yelled Modest.

"Whose is it, then?"

"I don't know whose it is! That's not my affair! That's your affair-- to catch the counterfeiters, comrade Sergeant!"

"The five-kopeck piece was extracted from a certain Privalov, who is living here with you in the Iznakurnozh!"

"Aha, from Privalov? I knew right away that he was a thief!"

The reproachful voice of Ja.n.u.s-A broke in: "Tut, tut, Modest Matveevich!"

"No-- excuse me, Ja.n.u.s Poluektovich, it can't be let go at that!

Comrade Sergeant, let's go in! He is inside. . Ja.n.u.s Poluektovich, stand by the window, so he'll not jump out of it. I'll prove it! I'll not allow aspersions to be cast on comrade Gorynitch!"

A nasty, cold sensation began to spread in my stomach. But Roman had already a.s.sessed the situation. He grabbed a greasy cap off the hanger and clapped it down on my ears.

I disappeared.

It was a very strange sensation. Everything remained in place, except myself. But Roman would not permit me to absorb the new sensations.

"It's an invisibility cap," he hissed. "Move off to the side and be quiet."

I ran to the corner on tiptoes and squatted under the mirror. At the same instant, Modest, beside himself, burst into the room, dragging the young Sergeant Kovalev by his sleeve.

"Where is he?" hollered Modest looking about. "There," said Roman, pointing at the sofa. "Don't worry, it's where it should be," added Korneev.

"I am asking-- where is he, that programmer of yours?" "What programmer?"

Roman feigned puzzlement. "Now, you will stop that!" said Modest. "There was a programmer here. He stood there with his pants on and no shoes."

"Oh, so that's what you have in mind," said Roman. "But we were just kidding, Modest Matveevich. There wasn't any programmer here! It was just a-- " He made a gesture with his hands and a man appeared in the middle of the room, dressed in jeans and sport s.h.i.+rt. I saw him from the back, and can't say any more about him, but the young Kovalev shook his head and said, "No, that's not him."

Modest walked around the apparition, mumbling, "Sport s.h.i.+rt . . . pants . . . no shoes. . . . It's him, it's him."

The apparition vanished.

"No, no, that's not the man," said Sergeant Kovalev. "The other was young, without a beard.

"Without a beard?" demanded Modest. He was seriously embarra.s.sed.

"No beard," confirmed Kovalev.

"Mmm-- yes," said Modest "But I was sure he had a beard..."

"I am handing you the notification," said Sergeant Kovalev, and offered Modest an official-looking sheet of paper. "It's up to you to figure out what's what between your Privalov and your Gorynitch..."

"And I am telling you, it's not our five-kopeck piece!" yelled Modest.

"I am not saying a word about Privalov. Maybe Privalov doesn't even exist, as such.... But comrade Gorynitch is a colleague!"

Young Kovalev, pressing his hands to breast, was trying to say something.

"I demand that this be cleared up at once!" yelled Modest. "You stopthat, comrade Sergeant! The notification, as given, casts a shadow on the whole collective! I insist that you make certain!"

"I have my orders-- " Kovalev began, but Modest, with a cry of, "You stop that! I insist," flew at him and dragged him out of the room.

"Off to the museum," said Roman. "Sasha, where are you? Take off the cap; let's go see...."

"Maybe I'd do better not to remove it," I said.

"Take it off, take it off," said Roman. "You are now a phantom. No one believes in you, neither the administration nor the police."

Korneev said, "I am off to get some sleep. Sasha, come on around after dinner. You'll see our collection of machines, and in general.."

I took off the cap.

"You stop that," I said. "I'm on vacation."

"Let's go, let's go," said Roman.

In the hall, Modest was opening the ma.s.sive padlock with one hand and clutching Kovalev with the other. "I'll show you our coin right now!" he yelled. "Everything is registered.. . . Everything is in its place."

"I'm not saying anything at all," Kovalev defended himself weakly. "I'm only saying that there may be more than one coin..

Modest threw open the door and we all went into a s.p.a.cious chamber.

It was quite a proper museum, with stands, diagrams, windows, mock-ups, and moulages. Its general appearance was more reminiscent of a criminology museum than anything else: lots of photographs and unappetizing displays.

Modest immediately dragged Kovalev behind the stands, where they took to booming as in a hollow barrel.

"Here's our coin. ..."

"I didn't say-- "

"Comrade Gorynitch-- "

"I have my orders!"

"You stop that!"

"Be inquisitive, be inquisitive, Sasha," said Roman, making a wide gesture and sitting down in the easy chair by the entrance.

I went along the wall. I was not astonished by anything. I was just immensely interested. Water-of-Life, Effectivity 52%, Permissible Sediment 0.3: (ancient square bottle with water; cork sealed with colored wax); Diagram of Commercial Process for Manufacturing Water of Life; Mock-up of Live-Auto-Conversion Cube; Changeling Salts of Veshkovsk-Traubenbach (a drugstore bottle with poisonous yellow paste); Bad Blood, Ordinary (a soldered ampul with black liquid).

Over this entire stand hung a tablet: ACTIVE CHEMICAL AGENTS. XII-- XVIII CENTURIES. There were many more little bottles, jars, retorts, ampuls, test tubes, working and nonworking models for extraction, distillation, and concentration, but I went on.

Enchanted Sword (very rusty two-handed sword with a wavy blade, shackled with a chain to an iron counter, window meticulously sealed); Right Eyetooth [Working] of Count Dracula (I'm no Cuvier, but judging by that tooth, Count Dracula must have been a most unusual and unpleasant person); Footprint, Normal, and Footprint, Extracted (to my eye, they looked the same, but one had a crack in it); Mortar on Launching pad, IX Century (ma.s.sive construction of porous gray cast iron); Dragon Gorynitch, Skeleton, 1/25 Natural Size (similar to a diplodocus with three heads); Schematic of Fire-breathing Gland, middle Head; Seven-league Boots, Gravitic, Working Model (very large rubber boots); Flying Carpet, Anti-gravitic, Operational Model (a rug, about four by five with a he-Circa.s.sian embracing a young she-Circa.s.sian against a background of piled mountain peaks).

I arrived at the display Development of the Concept of the Philosopher's Stone, when Sergeant Kovalev and Modest Matveevicb reappeared in the aisle. By all indications, they had not been successful in moving off their dead center. "You can stop that," Modest kept saying tiredly.

"I have my orders," replied Kovalev just as wearily.

"Our coin is in its place. . .

"Let the old woman come in and make a deposition. . ."

"So then, according to you, counterfeiters?"

"I didn't say that. .."

"We'll get to the bottom of it..."

Kovalev didn't notice me, but Modest stopped, looked me over dully from head to foot, screwed up his eyes, and lectured aloud drearily, "Ho-mun-culus, laboratory model, general type," and went on.

I started off after them, sensing a bad premonition. Roman was awaiting us by the door.

"How goes it?" he asked.

"It's a disgrace," said Modest in a wilted tone. "Bureaucrats!"

"1 have my orders," Kovalev repeated stubbornly from the entry.

Roman went out. I made to move after him, but Modest stopped me.

"Excuse me," he said. "Where are you going?"

"How do you mean-- where?" I said in a fallen voice.

"To your place, go to your place."

"What place?"

"Well, wherever it is that you stand. You are-- pardon me-- a . . .

ho-munculus? Then be kind enough to stand where you are supposed to stand."

I understood that I was lost. And I probably would have been, because Roman apparently also lost his presence of mind, but just then Naina Kievna lumbered into the entry, stomping and clacking and pulling along a hefty black goat on a rope. At the sight of the policeman, the goat bleated in a sick tone and took off. Naina Kievna fell down. Modest flew to the entry and a horrendous commotion ensued. The empty vat rolled off its stand with a thunderous rumble. Roman grabbed me by the hand, and whispering, "Move, move!" flew into my room. We shut the door and fell against it, breathing heavily. Yells wafted from the entry.

"Present your doc.u.ments!"

"Mercy, governor, what's that for?"

"Why the goat? Why a goat in the house!"

"Now you stop that; this is not a beer hall."

"I don't know about your five-kopeck piece, and it's no business of mine."

"Me-eh-eh!"

"Citizeness, remove the goat!"

"Stop it! The goat is registered!"

"Registered? How?"