Monday begins on Saturday - a fairy tale for junior researchers. Monday starts on Saturday

“You can,” said Roman. - You can do anything now. This is the Research Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry... Well, what have you become? Drive the car!

- Where? – I asked.

- Well, don’t you see?

And I saw it.

But that's a completely different story.

Story two

VANITY

Chapter first

Among the heroes of the story, one or two main characters stand out, all the rest are considered secondary.

“Methods of teaching literature”

At about two o'clock in the afternoon, when the fuse of the input device in Aldana blew again, the telephone rang. The deputy director for administrative and economic affairs, Modest Matveevich Kamnoedov, called.

“Privalov,” he said sternly, “why are you not in place again?”

- How is this out of place? – I was offended. Today turned out to be a busy day, and I forgot everything.

“You stop this,” said Modest Matveevich. “You should have come to me for instructions five minutes ago.”

“It’s crazy,” I said and hung up.

I turned off the car, took off my robe and told the girls not to forget to turn off the current. The large corridor was empty, and there was a snowstorm outside the half-frozen windows. Putting on my jacket as I walked, I ran to the hardware department.

Modest Matveevich in a shiny suit was waiting majestically for me in his own reception room. Behind him, a small gnome with hairy ears sadly and diligently ran his fingers along the extensive sheet.

“You, Privalov, are like some kind of... ham-munculus,” said Modest. – You are never there.

Everyone tried to maintain only good relations with Modest Matveyevich, since he was a powerful, adamant and fantastically ignorant man. So I barked: “I obey!” – and clicked his heels.

“Everything should be in its place,” continued Modest Matveevich. - Always. You have a higher education, and you’ve grown glasses and a beard, but you can’t understand such a simple theorem.

- Will not happen again! – I said, rolling my eyes.

“You stop this,” said Modest Matveevich, softening. He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and looked at it for a while. “So, Privalov,” he finally said, “today you are taking over as duty officer.” Being on duty at an institution during the holidays is a responsible occupation. This is not for you to press buttons. Firstly, fire safety. This is the first. Do not allow spontaneous combustion. Monitor the lack of power in the production areas entrusted to you. And watch personally, without these tricks of yours with doubling and unraveling. Without these doubles of yours. If a combustion factor is detected, immediately call 01 and begin taking action. In this case, get a signal pipe to call an emergency team... - He handed me a platinum whistle with an inventory number. – And also don’t let anyone in. Here is a list of people who are allowed to use laboratories at night, but still not allowed in because it’s a holiday. Not a single living soul in the entire institute. There are all sorts of other souls there, yes, but not a single living soul. Talk to the demons at the entrance and exit. Do you understand the situation? Living souls should not enter, and all others should not leave. Because there was already a precedent: the devil escaped and stole the moon. A widely known pretentious artist, even featured in films. “He looked at me significantly and suddenly asked for documents.

I obeyed. He carefully examined my pass, returned it and said:

- That's right. And then I had a suspicion that you were still a double. Like this. This means that at fifteen o’clock, in accordance with labor legislation, the working day will end, and everyone will hand over the keys to their production premises to you. After which you will personally inspect the territory. In the future, make rounds every three hours to check for spontaneous combustion. Visit the vivarium at least twice during your duty period. If the warden drinks tea, stop. There were signals: he wasn’t drinking tea there. In this acceptance. Your post is in the director's reception area. You can relax on the sofa. Tomorrow at sixteen zero-zero you will be replaced by Vladimir Pochkin from the laboratory of comrade Oira-Oira. Available?

“Quite,” I said.

– I will call you at night and tomorrow afternoon. Personally. Control is also possible from a fellow personnel manager.

“I understand,” I said and looked through the list.

The first on the list was the director of the institute, Janus Poluektovich Nevstruev, with a pencil note “two copies.” The second was Modest Matveevich personally, the third was fellow human resources manager citizen Demin Kerber Psoevich. And then there were names that I had never met anywhere.

– Is anything unavailable? - asked Modest Matveevich, who was jealously watching me.

“Here,” I said weightily, pointing my finger at the list, “there are comrades in the amount of... mmm... twenty-two copies, personally unknown to me. I would like to personally verify these names with you. “I looked him straight in the eye and added firmly: “To avoid it.”

Modest Matveevich took the list and looked at it at arm's length.

“That’s right,” he said condescendingly. – You, Privalov, just don’t know. Persons named from number four to number twenty-five and last, inclusive, are included in the lists of persons admitted to night work posthumously. In recognition of their past achievements. Is it available to you now?

I was a little stunned, because it was still very difficult to get used to all this.

“Take your post,” Modest Matveevich said majestically. – For my part and on behalf of the administration, I congratulate you, Comrade Privalov, on the upcoming New Year and wish you appropriate success in the new year both in your work and in your personal life.

I also wished him appropriate success and went out into the corridor.

Having learned yesterday that I had been appointed on duty, I was happy: I intended to finish one calculation for Roman Oira-Oira. However, now I felt that things were not so simple. The prospect of spending the night at the institute suddenly presented itself to me in a completely new light. I’ve stayed late at work before, when the people on duty, to save money, had already turned off four of the five lamps in each corridor and had to make my way to the exit past some scurrying, furry shadows. At first, this made a strong impression on me, then I got used to it, and then lost the habit again, when, one day, returning along a large corridor, I heard behind me the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of claws on the parquet floor and, looking back, I discovered some phosphorescent animal running clearly along my following True, when they took me off the ledge, it turned out that it was an ordinary live dog of one of the employees. The employee came to apologize, Oira-Oira gave me a mocking lecture about the dangers of superstitions, but some kind of sediment still remained in my soul. First of all, I’ll speak to the demons, I thought.

At the entrance to the director's reception room I met a gloomy Vitka Korneev. He nodded gloomily and wanted to pass by, but I caught him by the sleeve.

- Well? - said the rude Korneev, stopping.

“I’m on duty today,” I said.

“What a fool,” said Korneev.

“You’re still rude, Vitka,” I said. - I won’t communicate with you anymore.

Vitka pulled the collar of his sweater with his finger and looked at me with interest.

- What will you do? - he asked.

“Yes, I’ll find something,” I said, somewhat at a loss.

Vitka suddenly perked up.

“Wait a minute,” he said. - Is this your first time on duty?

“Yeah,” said Vitka. – And how do you intend to act?

“According to the instructions,” I answered. “I’ll speak to the demons and go to bed.” For spontaneous combustion. Where are you going?

“Yes, there’s a group gathering there,” Vitka said vaguely. - At Verochka's... What do you have? - He took the list from me. - Ah, dead souls...

12 ... said: - That's right. And then I had a suspicion that you were still a double. Like this. This means that at fifteen o’clock, in accordance with labor legislation, the working day will end, and everyone will hand over the keys to their production premises to you. After which you will personally inspect the territory. In the future, make rounds every three hours to check for spontaneous combustion. Visit the vivarium at least twice during your duty period. If the warden drinks tea, stop. There were signals: he wasn’t drinking tea there. In this acceptance. Your post is in the director's reception area. You can relax on the sofa. Tomorrow at sixteen zero-zero you will be relieved by Vladimir Pochkin from the laboratory of comrade Oira-Oira. Available? I’ve stayed late at work before, when the people on duty, to save money, had already turned off four of the five lamps in each corridor, and I had to make my way to the exit past some scurrying, furry shadows. At first, this made a strong impression on me, then I got used to it, and then lost the habit again when, returning one day along a large corridor, I heard from behind the rhythmic clatter of claws on the parquet and, looking back, I discovered some phosphorescent animal running clearly in my tracks. True, when they took me off the ledge, it turned out that it was an ordinary live dog of one of the employees. The employee came to apologize, Oira-Oira gave me a mocking lecture about the dangers of superstitions, but some kind of sediment still remained in my soul. First of all, I’ll speak to the demons, I thought. “Please,” he said, handing me the keys. “You’re the one on duty, if I’m not mistaken... By the way...” he hesitated. - I didn’t talk to you yesterday? In Solovets I again had a lot of troubles until I found my way to NIICHAVO, where I quickly took up the post of head of the department. - He doesn’t tolerate charity! And who asked me for Odikhmantyev? L-lured, p-you understand, such a laboratory assistant... Now put a b-bottle of champagne, n-no less... L-listen, no need for champagne! Amontillado! Do you still have some of the Toledo supplies left?

←

- If the warden drinks tea, stop. There were signals - he was not drinking tea there.

Modest Matveevich Kamnoedov

Well, here we go,” the warden of the Solovetsky vivarium NIICHAVO said to himself and resolutely began to fill the glass from the teapot with what, according to the alarm signals heard by Comrade Kamnoedov, was not tea at all.
However, now the rehabilitated elderly ghoul Alfred sincerely believed that he had the right. No one could see him now; the only company was Briares, who had broken his finger, howling somewhere in the distance. And besides, it’s New Year’s Eve. You can drink for the sake of the holiday - and then, as always, indulge in nostalgia and feel a little sad... What else can an elderly ghoul do?
Alfred snorted. Elderly! He himself did not consider himself old at all. He lived, of course, a long time, but his face, according to all the laws of immortality accepted with the bite, remained young. Perhaps it wasn’t too noticeable now - but why be surprised if you yourself didn’t remember the last time you drank blood? Fellow scientists, the beloved Einsteins, quickly dealt with this after rehabilitation. A couple of formulas here, a couple of spells there, and a slight hint of the abolition of rehabilitation from above - and it doesn’t look like blood for many years. And if you do, you’ll quietly take the glass, it’s bitter, it’s as intoxicating and warming as blood... And it seems to be easier. Only now all sorts of thoughts creep into Alfred’s head. Especially after the second glass, which he just drained with a delicious grunt. He began to envy these smart guys from the institute. Once upon a time he was no worse than them, he showed hope and believed in the future, he was proud that he was working together with a scientific luminary. Oh, how surprised the professor would be if he knew how far science has now come! And he would be no less surprised if he found out who his young assistant became.
Alfred was surprised at this himself. Ah, if only it weren’t for that failed mission in Transylvania! No, at first he didn’t even consider it a failure - after all, the girl he loved was nearby, and for her sake he could do anything. Even become a vampire and spend eternity with her.
And the first one turned out easy, but the second one... Oh, Sarah, Sarah, where are you now? Have you really found yourself a new, irresistible in every sense, blood-sucking aristocrat with a luxurious bathroom? And you don’t remember at all poor Alfred, whom evil fate brought to another country, to people who fought ghouls not with heads of garlic, but who, in general, favored them a little more than Transylvanian peasants.
Alfred winced and tilted the teapot over the glass again. He didn’t like to remember his ordeals before he ended up in Solovets, in NIICHAVO...
To his considerable surprise, he was accepted here and even rehabilitated, forgiving all the blood he had drunk during his immortal existence - they took into account that, firstly, Alfred once belonged to progressive youth, and secondly, he suffered from the bourgeois oppressors. And that was true, by the way. How he suffered! I just didn’t go into details in front of my fellow scientists, it was awkward. Let’s not talk about how the pomaded and cutesy son of the Transylvanian vampire count made obscene hints and tried to bite right in the library!
Yes, you won't tell. As well as the fact that for some reason I remember this much more often than my coexistence with the beautiful Sarah Chagall. And that crazy dance of theirs, when the frightened Alfred accidentally glanced into the mirror and saw only his reflection there. But now he himself is not reflected in the mirror, but there is no one next to him. And hardly anyone will decide to dance with him again.
Alfred sighed, and suddenly heard that some new sound was suddenly added to the painful groans of Briareus.
Alfred perked up, preparing to hide the kettle under the table if the duty officer appeared. But no, these are not human steps, but something completely different. Something you wouldn't expect to hear in a vivarium.
Of course, Alfred had also heard a lot about the bats living on the first floor. The entire institute had long been joking about Modest Matveevich’s fruitless struggle against them. As a result of this struggle, the bats not only did not disappear, but also mutated - they sang, talked... And the institute's projectionist, just yesterday, swore that he saw a bat, like two peas in a pod... Here the testimony became vague - either Stella from Professor Vybegalla’s department, or a fellow production manager, or it’s not clear who at all...
The sound became louder. The glass on the table rattled pitifully. Alfred fidgeted in his chair. Has some kind of singing creature actually flown here? If the boss finds out, it won't be a hassle!
And it’s true - black wings flashed right in front of the stunned Alfred’s face, and the plaintive ringing of a glass that finally broke was drowned in a joyful exclamation:
- Alfreed! Mon sheri! Well, I finally found you!
Alfred dropped the teapot, briefly thinking that the institute projectionist seemed to be very wrong in his guesses about what the mutated bat was similar to. Not that mutated. And even - not such a bat.
- Herbert?!
Looking at Herbert von Krolock standing in front of him and smiling contentedly, Alfred knocked over the teapot with the priceless “blood substitute”. But it didn't matter at all. After all, New Year's Eve seems to have been a success for once.
At least judging by Herbert's look, dancing is guaranteed.

Story two

VANITY

Chapter first

Among the heroes of the story, one or two main characters stand out, all the rest are considered secondary.

“Methods of teaching literature”

At about two o'clock in the afternoon, when the fuse of the input device in Aldana blew again, the telephone rang. The deputy director for administrative and economic affairs, Modest Matveevich Kamnoedov, called.

Privalov,” he said sternly, “why are you not in place again?”

How is this out of place? - I was offended. Today turned out to be a busy day, and I forgot everything.

“You stop this,” said Modest Matveevich. “You should have come to me for instructions five minutes ago.”

“It’s crazy,” I said and hung up.

I turned off the car, took off my robe and told the girls not to forget to turn off the current. The large corridor was empty, and there was a snowstorm outside the half-frozen windows. Putting on my jacket as I walked, I ran to the hardware department.

Modest Matveevich in a shiny suit was waiting majestically for me in his own reception room. Behind him, a small gnome with hairy ears sadly and diligently ran his fingers along the extensive sheet.

You, Privalov, are like some kind of... boor-munculus,” said Modest. - You are never there.

Everyone tried to maintain only good relations with Modest Matveyevich, since he was a powerful, adamant and fantastically ignorant man. So I barked: “I obey!” - and clicked his heels.

“Everything should be in its place,” continued Modest Matveevich. - Always. You have a higher education, and you’ve grown glasses and a beard, but you can’t understand such a simple theorem.

Will not happen again! - I said, rolling my eyes.

“You stop this,” said Modest Matveevich, softening. He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and looked at it for a while. “So, Privalov,” he finally said, “today you are taking over as duty officer.” Being on duty at an institution during the holidays is a responsible occupation. This is not for you to press buttons. Firstly, fire safety. This is the first. Do not allow spontaneous combustion. Monitor the lack of power in the production areas entrusted to you. And watch personally, without these tricks of yours with doubling and unraveling. Without these doubles of yours. If a combustion factor is detected, immediately call 01 and begin taking action. In this case, get a signal pipe to call an emergency team... - He handed me a platinum whistle with an inventory number. - And also don’t let anyone in. Here is a list of people who are allowed to use laboratories at night, but still not allowed in because it’s a holiday. Not a single living soul in the entire institute. There are all sorts of other souls there, yes, but not a single living soul. Talk to the demons at the entrance and exit. Do you understand the situation? Living souls should not enter, and all others should not leave. Because there was already a precedent: the devil escaped and stole the moon. A widely known pretentious artist, even featured in films. “He looked at me significantly and suddenly asked for documents.

I obeyed. He carefully examined my pass, returned it and said:

That's right. And then I had a suspicion that you were still a double. Like this. This means that at fifteen o’clock, in accordance with labor legislation, the working day will end, and everyone will hand over the keys to their production premises to you. After which you will personally inspect the territory. In the future, make rounds every three hours to check for spontaneous combustion. Visit the vivarium at least twice during your duty period. If the warden drinks tea, stop. There were signals: he wasn’t drinking tea there. In this acceptance. Your post is in the director's reception area. You can relax on the sofa. Tomorrow at sixteen zero-zero you will be replaced by Vladimir Pochkin from the laboratory of comrade Oira-Oira. Available?

Quite, I said.

I will call you at night and tomorrow afternoon. Personally. Control is also possible from a fellow personnel manager.

I understand,” I said and looked through the list.

The first on the list was the director of the institute, Janus Poluektovich Nevstruev, with a pencil note “two copies.” The second was Modest Matveevich personally, the third was fellow human resources manager citizen Demin Kerber Psoevich. And then there were names that I had never met anywhere.

Anything unavailable? - asked Modest Matveevich, who was jealously watching me.

“Here,” I said weightily, pointing my finger at the list, “there are comrades in the amount of... mmm... twenty-two copies, personally unknown to me. I would like to personally verify these names with you. - I looked him straight in the eye and added firmly: - To avoid it.

Modest Matveevich took the list and looked at it at arm's length.

“That’s right,” he said condescendingly. - You, Privalov, just don’t know. Persons named from number four to number twenty-five and last, inclusive, are included in the lists of persons admitted to night work posthumously. In recognition of their past achievements. Is it available to you now?

I was a little stunned, because it was still very difficult to get used to all this.

Take your post,” Modest Matveevich said majestically. - For my part and on behalf of the administration, I congratulate you, Comrade Privalov, on the upcoming New Year and wish you appropriate success in the new year both in your work and in your personal life.

I also wished him appropriate success and went out into the corridor.

Having learned yesterday that I had been appointed on duty, I was happy: I intended to finish one calculation for Roman Oira-Oira. However, now I felt that things were not so simple. The prospect of spending the night at the institute suddenly presented itself to me in a completely new light. I’ve stayed late at work before, when the people on duty, to save money, had already turned off four of the five lamps in each corridor and had to make my way to the exit past some scurrying, furry shadows. At first, this made a strong impression on me, then I got used to it, and then lost the habit again, when, one day, returning along a large corridor, I heard behind me the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of claws on the parquet floor and, looking back, I discovered some phosphorescent animal running clearly along my following True, when they took me off the ledge, it turned out that it was an ordinary live dog of one of the employees. The employee came to apologize, Oira-Oira gave me a mocking lecture about the dangers of superstitions, but some kind of sediment still remained in my soul. First of all, I’ll speak to the demons, I thought.

At the entrance to the director's reception room I met a gloomy Vitka Korneev. He nodded gloomily and wanted to pass by, but I caught him by the sleeve.

Well? - said the rude Korneev, stopping.

“I’m on duty today,” I said.

What a fool,” said Korneev.

You’re still rude, Vitka,” I said. - I won’t communicate with you anymore.

Vitka pulled the collar of his sweater with his finger and looked at me with interest.

What will you do? - he asked.

“Yes, I’ll find something,” I said, somewhat confused.

Vitka suddenly perked up.

Wait a minute,” he said. - Is this your first time on duty?

“Yeah,” said Vitka. - And how do you intend to act?

According to the instructions,” I answered. - I’ll speak to the demons and go to bed. For spontaneous combustion. Where are you going?

“Yes, there’s a group gathering there,” Vitka said vaguely. - At Verochka’s... And what do you have? - He took the list from me. - Ah, dead souls...

“I won’t let anyone in,” I said. - Neither living nor dead.

The right decision,” said Vitka. - Archive. Just take a look in my laboratory. There I will have a double working there.

Whose double?

My take, of course. Who will give me his? I locked him there, here, take the key since you are on duty.

I took the key.

Listen, Vitka, let him work until ten o’clock, but then I’ll cut off the power to everything. In accordance with the law.

Okay, we'll see. Have you met Edik?

“I haven’t,” I said. - And don’t fill up my tanks. At ten o'clock I will turn off the power to everything.

Am I really against it? Turn off the power, please. Even the whole city.

Then the door to the reception room opened, and Janus Poluektovich came out into the corridor.

“Yes,” he said when he saw us.

I bowed respectfully. It was clear from Janus Poluektovich’s face that he had forgotten my name.

Please,” he said, handing me the keys. “You’re the one on duty, if I’m not mistaken... By the way...” He hesitated. - I didn’t talk to you yesterday?

Yes, I said, you went into the electronic room.

He nodded.

Yes, yes, indeed... We were talking about trainees...

No,” I objected respectfully, “not quite like that.” This is about our letter to Tsentrakademsnab. About the electronic set-top box.

“Oh, that’s how it is,” he said. - Well, okay, I wish you a quiet watch... Viktor Pavlovich, can I see you for a minute?

He took Vitka by the arm and led him down the corridor, and I entered the reception area. In the second reception area, Janus Poluektovich was locking the safes. When he saw me, he said, “Okay,” and started jingling the keys again. It was A-Janus, I have already learned a little to distinguish between them. A-Janus looked somewhat younger, was unfriendly, always correct and not talkative. It was said that he worked hard, and people who had known him for a long time claimed that this mediocre administrator was slowly but surely turning into an outstanding scientist. Janus, on the contrary, was always affectionate, very attentive and had a strange habit of asking: “Didn’t I talk to you yesterday?” It was rumored that he had suffered greatly recently, although he remained a world-famous scientist. And yet A-Janus and U-Janus were one and the same person. This just didn’t fit in my head. There was some kind of convention in this. I even suspected that this was just a metaphor.

A-Janus closed the last lock, handed me some of the keys and, saying a cold goodbye, left. I sat down at the assistant’s desk, put the list in front of me and called my electronic room. No one responded - apparently the girls had already left. It was fourteen hours and thirty minutes.

At fourteen hours and thirty-one minutes, the famous Fyodor Simeonovich Kivrin, a great magician and magician, head of the Department of Linear Happiness, burst into the reception room, puffing noisily and cracking the parquet floor. Fyodor Simeonovich was famous for his incorrigible optimism and faith in a wonderful future. He had a very turbulent past. Under Ivan Vasilyevich - Tsar Grozny, the guardsmen of the then Minister of State Security Malyuta Skuratov, with jokes and jokes, burned him on the denunciation of a neighbor-deacon in a wooden bathhouse as a sorcerer; under Alexei Mikhailovich - Tsar Quiet, they beat him mercilessly with batogs and burned a complete handwritten collection of his works on his bare back; under Peter Alekseevich - Tsar the Great, he first rose to prominence as an expert in chemistry and ore mining, but did not please Prince Caesar Romodanovsky in any way, ended up in hard labor at the Tula arms factory, fled from there to India, traveled for a long time, was bitten by poisonous snakes and crocodiles , insensitively surpassed yoga, returned to Russia again at the height of Pugachevism, was accused as a healer of rebels, was deprived of his life and exiled to Solovets forever. In Solovets, I again had a lot of all sorts of troubles, until I found my way to NIICHAVO, where I quickly took the post of head of the department and recently worked a lot on the problems of human happiness, selflessly fighting with those colleagues who believed contentment to be the basis of happiness.

Greetings! - he said in a deep voice, placing the keys to his laboratories in front of me. - Poor thing, w-how did you do this? Y-you need to have fun on a night like this, I'll c-call Modest, what kind of g-nonsense, I'll be on duty myself...

It was clear that this thought had just occurred to him, and he was terribly excited about it.

Come on, where's his t-phone? D-damn, I n-never r-remember t-telephones... One-p-fifteen or p-five-eleven...

What are you, Fedor Simeonovich, thank you! - I cried. - No need! I was just about to work here!

Oh, w-work! This is d-another thing! This “h-good, this” is great, you’re m-well done! old stuff, hocus-pocus with p-psychofields, p-primitive... D-old-fashioned p-tricks...

He immediately, without leaving his spot, created two large Antonovkas, handed one to me, and immediately bit off half of the second and began to crunch juicily.

C-damn, I did something wormy again... How are you - s-good? That's good... I'll come back to see you, Sasha, l-later, otherwise I d-don't quite p-understand the system of k-commands... I'll just drink some vodka and s-come by... T-twenty d -The ninth k-team is in your m-machine... Is the machine lying, or I d-don’t understand... D-I’ll f-bring you a detective, G-gardner. Y-you read English, right? -okay, scoundrel, he writes, w-great! some... Az-zimova there, or B-Bradbury...

He went to the window and said admiringly:

B-blizzard, damn it, l-love it!..

Thin and graceful Cristobal Josevich Junta entered, wrapped in a mink coat. Fyodor Simeonovich turned around.

Ah, K-Christo! - he exclaimed. - Look, this k-fool Kamnoedov put the m-young guy on duty for the New Year. L-let's let him go, we'll stay together, reminisce about old times, d-have a drink, huh? Why is he going to suffer here?.. He needs to d-dance with g-girls...

Junta put the keys on the table and said casually:

Communication with girls is a pleasure only in those cases when it is achieved through overcoming obstacles...

Well, well! - Fyodor Simeonovich thundered. - M-a lot of blood, a lot of p-songs are being poured for the p-lovely ladies... H-how is it with you?

Exactly,” said Junta. - And then - I don’t tolerate charity.

B-charity he does not tolerate! And who asked me for Odikhmantyev? L-lured, p-you understand, such a laboratory assistant... Now put a b-bottle of champagne, n-no less... L-listen, no need for champagne! Amontillado! Do you still have some of the Toledo supplies left?

They’re waiting for us, Theodore,” Junta reminded.

Y-yes, that’s right... We also need to find a t-tie... and felt boots, you can’t f-get a taxi... We’ll go, Sasha, d-don’t be bored here.

On New Year’s Eve at the institute, the officers on duty are not bored,” Junta said quietly. - Especially beginners.

They went to the door. The junta let Fyodor Simeonovich go ahead and, before leaving, looked askance at me and quickly drew the Solomon Star on the wall with his finger. The star flared up and began to slowly fade, like the trace of a beam of electrons on the screen of an oscilloscope. I spat three times over my left shoulder.

Cristobal Josevich Junta, head of the department of the Meaning of Life, was a wonderful man, but, apparently, completely heartless. Once, in his early youth, he was the Grand Inquisitor for a long time, but then fell into heresy, although to this day he retained the manners of that time, which, however, were very useful to him, according to rumors, during the fight against the fifth column in Spain. He carried out almost all his incomprehensible experiments either on himself or on his employees, and this was already discussed indignantly in front of me at the general trade union meeting. He was studying the meaning of life, but had not yet progressed very far, although he obtained interesting results, proving, for example, theoretically that death is by no means an indispensable attribute of life. There was also indignation about this latest discovery - at a philosophical seminar. He didn’t let almost anyone into his office, and vague rumors circulated around the institute that there were a lot of interesting things there. They said that in the corner of the office there was a superbly crafted effigy of an old acquaintance of Cristobal Josevich, an SS Standartenführer, in full dress uniform, with a monocle, dirk, iron cross, oak leaves and other paraphernalia. Junta was an excellent taxidermist. Standartenführer, according to Cristobal Josevich, too. But Cristobal Josevich managed to do it earlier. He loved to be on time before - always and in everything. He was also no stranger to some skepticism. In one of his laboratories there hung a huge poster: “Do we need us?” A very extraordinary person.

At exactly three o'clock, in accordance with labor legislation, Doctor of Sciences Ambrosy Ambruazovich Vibegallo brought the keys. He was wearing felt boots lined with leather, a smelly cab driver's sheepskin coat, and a grayish, unclean beard sticking out from his raised collar. He cut his hair into a bowl, so no one ever saw his ears.

This... - he said, approaching. - Maybe someone will hatch there today. In the laboratory, that is. I should take a look at this one. I gave him some supplies there, this one, five loaves of bread, well, there’s steamed bran, two buckets of milk. Well, this one will eat and start throwing around, that means. So you, mon cher, blurt out to me, dear.

He put a bunch of barn keys in front of me and opened his mouth in some difficulty, staring at me. His eyes were transparent, and there was millet sticking out of his beard.

I didn't like him very much. He was a cynic, and he was a fool. The work he did for three hundred and fifty rubles a month could easily be called eugenics, but no one called it that - they were afraid to get involved. This Vibegallo declared that all troubles, this one, stem from displeasure, and if, therefore, you give a person everything - bread, that is, steamed bran - then he will not be a man, but an angel. He pushed through this simple idea in every possible way, waving volumes of classics, from which, with indescribable innocence, he tore out quotes with blood, mercilessly omitting and erasing everything that did not suit him. At one time, the Academic Council trembled under the onslaught of this uncontrollable, even primitive demagoguery, and the topic of Vibegalla was included in the plan. Acting strictly according to this plan, diligently measuring his achievements in percentage of completion and never forgetting about the economy regime, increasing the turnover of working capital, as well as the connection with life, Vybegallo laid down three experimental models: the model of a Man who is completely dissatisfied, the model of a Man who is dissatisfied with gastrointestinal tract. , and the model of a Man who is completely satisfied. The completely dissatisfied anthropoid was the first to ripen - he hatched two weeks ago. This pitiful creature, covered with sores, like Job, half-decomposed, tormented by all known and unknown diseases, incredibly hungry, suffering from cold and heat at the same time, fell into the corridor, filled the institute with a series of inarticulate complaints and died. Vybegallo was triumphant. Now it could be considered proven that if a person is not fed, watered, or treated, then he, this one, will be unhappy and may even die. How this one died. The Scientific Council was horrified. Vibegalla’s idea turned out to have a creepy side. A commission was created to check the work of Vibegalla. But he, without being confused, presented two certificates, from which it followed, firstly, that three laboratory assistants from his laboratory annually go to work on a sponsored state farm, and, secondly, that he, Vibegallo, was once a prisoner of tsarism, and now regularly reads popular lectures in the city lecture hall and in the periphery. And while the stunned commission was trying to understand the logic of what was happening, he leisurely removed from the sponsored fish factory (in connection with production) four truckloads of herring heads for the maturing anthropoid, who was dissatisfied with his gastrointestinal tract. The commission wrote a report, and the institute waited in fear for further events. Vibegalla’s neighbors on the floor took vacations at their own expense.

Where should I blurt out? - I asked.

Blunt it? And home, where else on New Year’s Day? There must be morals, honey. We need to celebrate the New Year at home. So it turns out our way, no?

I know I'm home. What phone number?

And you, this one, look at the book. Literate? So look at the little book. We have no secrets, not like others. An mass.

Okay, I said. - I’ll blurt it out.

Blank, mon cher, blab. And if he starts to bite, don’t be shy. C'est la vie.

I plucked up my courage and muttered:

But you and I didn’t drink during brotherhood.

“Nothing, it’s just me,” I said.

For some time he looked at me with his transparent eyes, in which nothing was expressed, then he said:

But nothing, it’s good that it’s nothing. Happy holiday to you. Stay healthy. Arivoire, that is.

He put on his earflaps and left. I hastily opened the window. Roman Oira-Oira flew in in a green coat with a lambskin collar, wiggled his humped nose and inquired:

Did you run out?

“It’s running,” I said.

“No,” he said. - This is a herring. Keep the keys. Do you know where he dumped one truck? Under the windows of Gian Giacomo. Right under the office. New Year's gift. I'll smoke a cigarette here with you.

He fell into a huge leather chair, unbuttoned his coat and lit a cigarette.

“Come on, get busy,” he said. - Given: the smell of herring brine, the intensity of sixteen microaxes, the cubic capacity... - He looked around the room. - Well, you’ll figure it out for yourself, the year is at a turning point, Saturn is in the constellation Libra... Remove!

I scratched behind my ear.

Saturn... What do you mean about Saturn... And what is the vector magistatum?

Well, brother,” said Oira-Oira, “it’s up to you...

I scratched behind my other ear, figured out a vector in my mind and, stuttering, performed an acoustic effect (cast a spell). Oira-Oira held his nose. I tore out two hairs from my eyebrow (terribly painful and stupid) and polarized the vector. The smell intensified again.

“It’s bad,” Oira-Oira said reproachfully. - What are you doing, sorcerer's apprentice? Don't you see that the window is open?

“Oh,” I said, “that’s right.” - I took into account the divergence and the rotor, tried to solve the Stokes equation in my mind, got confused, pulled out, breathing through my mouth, two more hairs, sniffed, muttered Auers' spell and was just about to pull out another hair, but then it turned out that the waiting room had been ventilated naturally, and Roman advised me to save my eyebrows and close the window.

Mediocre,” he said. - Let's do materialization.

We were engaged in materialization for some time. I created pears, and Roman demanded that I eat them. I would refuse to eat, and then he would force me to create again. “You will work until you get something edible,” he said. - And you will give this to Modest. We have him Kamnoedov.” In the end, I created a real pear - large, yellow, soft like butter, and bitter like quinine. I ate it, and Roman allowed me to rest.

Then Bachelor of Black Magic Magnus Fedorovich Redkin brought the keys, fat, preoccupied and offended as always. He received his bachelor's degree three hundred years ago for the invention of invisible trousers. Since then, he has been improving and improving these trousers. His invisible trousers first turned into invisible culottes, then into invisible trousers, and finally, quite recently, they began to be referred to as invisible trousers. And he couldn’t debug them in any way. At the last meeting of the seminar on black magic, when he gave his next report “On some new properties of Redkin’s invisible trousers,” he failed again. During the demonstration of the modernized model, something stuck in the button-pull-up mechanism, and the trousers, instead of making the inventor invisible, suddenly with a resounding click they themselves became invisible. It turned out very awkward. However, Magnus Fedorovich mainly worked on a dissertation, the topic of which was: “Materialization and linear naturalization of the White Thesis as an argument for a rather arbitrary sigma function of not entirely imaginable human happiness.”

Here he achieved significant and important results, from which it followed that humanity would literally bathe in not quite imaginable happiness, if only it was possible to find the White Thesis itself, and most importantly, to understand what it is and where to look for it.

Mention of the White Thesis was found only in the diaries of Ben Bezalel. Ben Bezalel allegedly isolated the White Thesis as a by-product of some alchemical reaction and, not having time to deal with such a trifle, installed it as an auxiliary element in some of his devices. In one of his last memoirs, written in prison, Ben Bezalel reported: “And can you imagine? That White Thesis did not live up to my hopes, it did not justify it. And when I realized what benefit it could have - I’m talking about happiness for all people, no matter how many of them there are - I already forgot where I installed it.” The institute owned seven instruments that once belonged to Ben Bezalel. Redkin disassembled six of them down to the screws and found nothing special. The seventh device was a sofa-translator. But Vitka Korneev laid his hand on the sofa, and the darkest suspicions crept into Redkin’s simple soul. He began to follow Vitka. Vitka immediately went wild. They quarreled and became sworn enemies, and remained so to this day. Magnus Fedorovich treated me favorably as a representative of the exact sciences, although he condemned my friendship with “this plagiarist.” In general, Redkin was a good person, very hardworking, very persistent, and completely devoid of self-interest. He did a tremendous job, collecting a gigantic collection of various definitions of happiness. There were the simplest negative definitions (“Money does not buy happiness”), the simplest positive definitions (“Highest satisfaction, complete contentment, success, luck”), casuistic definitions (“Happiness is the absence of unhappiness”) and paradoxical (“The happiest of all are jesters and fools , they are stupid and careless, because they do not know the reproaches of conscience, they are not afraid of ghosts and other undead things, they are not tormented by the fear of future disasters, they are not deluded by the hope of future blessings”).

Magnus Fedorovich put the box with the key on the table and, looking at us from under his brows in disbelief, said:

I found another definition.

Which? - I asked.

Something like poetry. Only there is no rhyme. Want to?

Of course we want to,” said Roman.

Magnus Fedorovich took out his notebook and, hesitatingly, read:

You are asking:
What do I think
Am I the greatest happiness on earth?
Two things:
Change your state of mind in the same way,
How would I exchange a penny for a shilling,
AND
young girl
Hear singing
Out of my way, but after
How did you find out my way?

“I didn’t understand anything,” said Roman. - Let me read it with my eyes.

Redkin gave him the notebook and explained:

This is Christopher Logue. From English.

“Excellent poetry,” said Roman.

Magnus Fedorovich sighed.

Some say one thing, others say another.

“It’s hard,” I said sympathetically.

Is it true? Well, how do you tie it all together? Girls can hear singing... And it’s not just any kind of singing, but the girl should be young and out of his way, and only after she asks him for directions... Is that really possible? Are such things algorithmized?

“Hardly,” I said. - I wouldn't take it.

You see! - Magnus Fedorovich picked up. - And you are the head of our computer center! Who then?

Or maybe it doesn’t exist at all? - Roman said in the voice of a film provocateur.

Happiness.

Magnus Fedorovich was immediately offended.

“How is it not there,” he said with dignity, “when I myself have experienced it more than once?”

By exchanging a penny for a shilling? - asked Roman.

Magnus Fedorovich was even more offended and snatched the notebook from him.

You are still young...” he began.

But then there was a roar, a crash, a flash of flame and a smell of sulfur. Merlin appeared in the middle of the reception area. Magnus Fedorovich, who jumped in surprise towards the window, said: “Fuck you!” - and ran out.

Good God! - said Oira-Oira, rubbing his powdery eyes. “Can’t thou not come in by the usual way as decent people do?.. Sir,” he added.

“Beg thy pardon,” Merlin said smugly and looked at me with satisfaction. I was probably pale because I was so scared of spontaneous combustion.

Merlin straightened his moth-eaten robe, threw a bunch of keys on the table and said:

Have you noticed, sirs, what the weather is like?

Predicted,” said Roman.

Exactly, Sir Oira-Oira! Exactly what was predicted!

A useful thing is a radio,” Roman said.

“I don’t listen to the radio,” said Merlin. - I have my own methods.

He shook the hem of his robe and rose a meter above the floor.

Chandelier, I said, be careful.

Merlin looked at the chandelier and out of nowhere began:

Oh, you, imbued with the spirit of Western materialism, low mercantilism and utilitarianism, whose spiritual squalor is not able to rise above the darkness and chaos of petty gloomy worries... I can’t help but remember, dear sirs, how last year sir, the chairman of the district council, Comrade Pereyaslavlsky, and I...

Oira-Oira yawned heartbreakingly, I also felt sad. Merlin would probably be even worse than Vibegallo if he were not so archaic and arrogant. Due to someone's absent-mindedness, he managed to advance to the head of the Department of Predictions and Prophecies, because in all the questionnaires he wrote about his irreconcilable struggle against Yankee imperialism back in the early Middle Ages, attaching notarized typewritten copies of the relevant pages from Mark Twain to the questionnaires. Subsequently, due to changes in the internal situation and warming of the international climate, he was again transferred to his place as head of the weather bureau and now, like a thousand years ago, he was engaged in predicting atmospheric phenomena - both using magical means and based on the behavior of tarantulas, increased rheumatic pain and the desire of Solovetsky pigs to lie down in the mud or get out of it. However, the main supplier of his forecasts was the most vulgar radio interception, carried out by a detector receiver, rumored to have been stolen back in the twenties from the Solovetsky exhibition of young technicians. He was kept at the institute out of respect for his old age. He was in great friendship with Naina Kievna Gorynych and together with her he was engaged in collecting and spreading rumors about the appearance of a giant hairy woman in the forests and about the capture of one student by a snowman from Elbrus. They also said that from time to time he takes part in night vigils on the republican Bald Mountain with Ha Em Viy, Khoma Brut and other hooligans.

Roman and I were silent and waited for him to disappear. But he, having wrapped himself in a robe, sat comfortably under the chandelier and began a long, long-feared story about how he, Merlin, and the chairman of the Solovetsky district council, Comrade Pereyaslavlsky, made an inspector’s voyage around the region. This whole story was a complete lie, a mediocre and opportunistic adaptation of Mark Twain. He spoke about himself in the third person, and sometimes, confusedly, called the chairman King Arthur.

So, the chairman of the district council and Merlin hit the road and came to the beekeeper, Hero of Labor Sir Otshelnichenko, who was a good knight and a noble honey collector. And Sir Otshelnichenko reported on his labor successes and treated Sir Arthur for radiculitis with bee venom. And Sir Chairman lived there for three days, and his sciatica calmed down, and they set off, and on the way Sir Ar... the Chairman said: “I have no sword.” “It doesn’t matter,” Merlin told him, “I’ll get you a sword.” And they reached a large lake, and Arthur saw: a hand rose from the lake, calloused and his own, and in that hand was a sickle and a hammer. And Merlin said: “This is the sword I told you about...”

Then the phone rang, and I happily grabbed the receiver.

Hello,” I said. - Hello, they are listening to you.

They were muttering something in the receiver, and Merlin drawled nasally: “...And near Lezhnev they met Sir Pellinore, but Merlin made sure that Pellinore did not notice the chairman...”

Sir Citizen Merlin, I said. - Can't you be a little quieter? I hear nothing.

Merlin fell silent with the air of a man ready to continue at any moment.

Hello,” I said into the phone again.

Who's at the device?

Who do you need? - I said out of old habit.

Stop this for me. You are not in a booth, Privalov.

I'm sorry, Modest Matveevich. Duty officer Privalov listens.

Like this. Report.

What to report?

Listen, Privalov. You're acting like I don't know who again. Who were you talking to there? Why are there strangers at the post? Why, in violation of labor laws, are people at the institute after the end of the working day?

This is Merlin, I said.

Kick him in the neck!

“With pleasure,” I said. (Merlin, undoubtedly eavesdropping, became covered in spots, said: “Gr-rubiyan!” - and melted into thin air.)

With pleasure or without pleasure, it doesn’t concern me. And then a signal came that you were dumping the keys entrusted to you in a heap on the table, instead of locking them in a drawer.

Vybegallo told me, I thought.

Why are you silent?

Will be done.

In such acceptance,” said Modest Matveevich. - Vigilance must be at its best. Available?

Available.

Modest Matveevich said: “I have everything,” and hung up.

“Okay,” said Oira-Oira, buttoning his green coat. - I’ll go open cans and uncork bottles. Be healthy, Sasha, I’ll come back later.