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

to a close, when something happened to cut it short. The dogs in Kontsovka,
who Should have been fast asleep by then, suddenly set up a frenzied
barking, which gradually turned into an excruciating general howl. The howl
swelled up, drifting over the fields, and was answered by a high-pitched
concert from the million frogs on the ponds. All this was so ghastly, that
for a moment the mysterious enchanted night seemed to fade away.
Alexander Semyonovich put down his flute and went onto the veranda.
"Hear that, Manya? It's those blasted dogs... What do you think set
them off like that?"
"How should I know?" she replied, gazing at the moon.
"Hey, Manya, let's go and take a look at the eggs," Alexander
Semyonovich suggested.
"For goodness sake, Alexander Semyonovich. You're darned crazy about
those eggs and chickens. Have a rest for a bit."
"No, Manya, let's go."
A bright light was burning in the conservatory. Dunya came in too with
a burning face and shining eyes. Alexander Semyonovich opened the
observation windows carefully, and they all began peeping into the chambers.
On the white asbestos floor lay neat rows of bright-red eggs with spots on
them. There was total silence in the chambers, except for the hissing of the
15,000 candle-power light overhead.
"I'll hatch those chicks out alright!" exclaimed Alexander Semyonovich
excitedly, looking now through the observation windows at the side, now
through the wide ventilation hatches overhead. "You'll see. Eh? Don't you
think so?"
"You know what, Alexander Semyonovich," said Dunya, smiling. "The men
in Kontsovka think you're the Antichrist. They say your eggs are from the
devil. It's a sin to hatch eggs with machines. They want to kill you."
Alexander Semyonovich shuddered and turned to his wife. His face had
gone yellow.
"Well, how about that? Ignorant lot! What can you do with people like
that? Eh? We'll have to fix up a meeting for them, Manya. I'll phone the
district centre tomorrow for some Party workers. And I'll give 'em a speech
myself. This place needs a bit of working over alright. Stuck away at the
back of beyond..."
"Thick as posts," muttered the guard, who had settled down on his
greatcoat in the conservatory doorway.
The next day was heralded by some strange and inexplicable events. In
the early morning, at the first glint of sunlight, the groves, which usually
greeted the heavenly body with a strong and unceasing twitter of birds, met
it with total silence. This was noticed by absolutely everybody. It was like
the calm before a storm. But no storm followed. Conversations at the state
farm took on a strange and sinister note for Alexander Semyonovich,
especially because according to the well-known Kontsovka trouble-maker and
sage nicknamed Goat Gob, all the birds had gathered in flocks and flown away
northwards from Sheremetevo at dawn, which was quite ridiculous. Alexander
Semyonovich was most upset and spent the whole day putting a phone call
through to the town of Grachevka. Eventually they promised to send him in a
few days' time two speakers on two subjects, the international situation and
the question of Volunteer-Fowl.