"Mikhail Bulgakov. The Fateful Eggs ("Роковые яйца")" - читать интересную книгу автора

There was a faint metallic scraping behind Persikov's back, and someone
tugged at his sleeve. Turning round he saw the yellow rotund face of the
owner of the artificial leg. His eyes were glistening with tears and his
lips trembled.
"You wouldn't tell me the results of your remarkable discovery,
Professor," he said sadly with a deep sigh. "So that's farewell to a few
more copecks."
He gazed miserably at the University roof, where the invisible Alfred
raved on in the loudspeaker's black jaws. For some reason Persikov felt
sorry for the fat man.
"I never asked him to sit down!" he growled, catching words from the
sky furiously. "He's an utter scoundrel! You must excuse me, but really when
you're working like that and people come bursting in... I'm not referring to
you, of course..."
"Then perhaps you'd just describe your chamber to me, Professor?" the
man with the artificial leg wheedled mournfully. "It doesn't make any
difference now..."
"In three days half-a-pound of frog-spawn produces more tadpoles than
you could possibly count," the invisible man in the loudspeaker boomed.
"Toot-toot," cried the cars on Mokhovaya.
"Ooo! Ah! Listen to that!" the crowd murmured, staring upwards.
"What a scoundrel! Eh?" hissed Persikov, shaking with anger, to the
artificial man. "How do you like that? I'll lodge an official complaint
against him."
"Disgraceful!" the fat man agreed.
A blinding violet ray dazzled the Professor's eyes, lighting up
everything around-a lamp-post, a section of pavement, a yellow wall and the
avid faces.
"They're photographing you, Professor," the fat man whispered
admiringly and hung on the Professor's arm like a ton weight. Something
clicked in the air.
"To blazes with them!" cried Persikov wretchedly, pushing his way with
the ton weight out of the crowd. "Hey, taxi! Prechistenka Street!"
A battered old jalopy, a 'twenty-four model, chugged to a stop, and the
Professor climbed in, trying to shake off the fat man.
"Let go!" he hissed, shielding his face with his hands to ward off the
violet light.
"Have you read it? What they're shouting? Professor Persikov and his
children've had their throats cut in Malaya Bronnaya!" people were shouting
in the crowd.
"I don't have any children, blast you!" yelled Persikov, suddenly
coming into the focus of a black camera which snapped him in profile with
his mouth wide open and eyes glaring.
"Chu... ug, chu... ug," revved the taxi and barged into the crowd.
The fat man was already sitting in the cab, warming the Professor's
side.


CHAPTER V. The Tale of the Chickens