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

Liver of Fowls Attacked by Plague".
Persikov worked without great enthusiasm in the fowl field, and
understandably so since his head was full of something quite different, the
main and most important thing, from which the fowl catastrophe had diverted
him, i.e., the red ray. Undermining his already overtaxed health by stealing
time from sleeping and eating, sometimes not returning to Prechistenka but
dozing on the oilskin divan in his room at the Institute, Persikov spent
night after night working with the chamber and the microscope.
By the end of July the commotion had abated somewhat The renamed
commission began to work along normal lines, .and Persikov resumed his
interrupted studies. The microscopes were loaded with new specimens, and
fish- and frog-spawn matured in the chamber at incredible speed. Specially
ordered lenses were delivered from Konigsberg by aeroplane, and in the last
few days of July, under Ivanov's supervision, mechanics installed two big
new chambers, in which the beam was as broad as a cigarette packet at its
base and a whole metre wide at the other end. Persikov rubbed his hands
happily and began to prepare some mysterious and complex experiments. First
of all, he came to some agreement with the People's Commissar of Education
by phone, and the receiver promised him the most willing assistance of all
kinds, then Persikov had a word with Comrade Ptakha-Porosyuk, head of the
Supreme Commission's Animal Husbandry Department. Persikov met with the most
cordial attention form Ptakha-Porosyuk with respect to a large order from
abroad for Professor Persikov. Ptakha-Porosyuk said on the phone that he
would cable Berlin and New York rightaway. After that there was a call from
the Kremlin to enquire how Persikov was getting on, and an
important-sounding voice asked affectionately if he would like a motor-car.
"No, thank you. I prefer to travel by tram," Persikov replied.
"But why?" the mysterious voice asked, with an indulgent laugh.
Actually everyone spoke to Persikov either with respect and awe, or
with an affectionate laugh, as if addressing a silly, although very
important child.
"It goes faster," Persikov said, after which the resonant bass on the
telephone said:
"Well, as you like."
Another week passed, during which Persikov withdrew increasingly from
the subsiding fowl problems to immerse himself entirely in the study of the
ray. His head became light, somehow transparent and weightless, from the
sleepless nights and exhaustion. The red rims never left his eyes now, and
almost every night was spent at the Institute. Once he abandoned his
zoological refuge to read a paper on his ray and its action on the ovule in
the huge hall of the Central Commission for Improving the Living Conditions
of Scientists in Prechistenka. This was a great triumph for the eccentric
zoologist. The applause in the hall made the plaster flake off the ceiling,
while the hissing arc lamps lit up the black dinner jackets of club-members
and the white dresses of their ladies. On the stage, next to the rostrum, a
clammy grey frog the size of a cat sat breathing heavily in a dish on a
glass table. Notes were thrown onto the stage. They included seven love
letters, which Persikov tore up. The club president had great difficulty
persuading him onto the platform. Persikov bowed angrily. His hands were wet
with sweat and his black tie was somewhere behind his left ear, instead of