"Mikhail Bulgakov. The Fateful Eggs ("Роковые яйца")" - читать интересную книгу автораto 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?" 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. |
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