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

"Very grateful to you, I'm sure," retorted Alexander Semyonovich
heatedly. "What do you think, comrade? Why were you put on guard? To keep an
eye on things. So tell me where they are. They've hatched out, haven't they?
So they must have run away. That means you must have left the door open and
gone off somewhere. Get me those chickens!"
"Where could I have gone? I know my job." The guard took offence.
"Don't you go accusing me unfairly, Comrade Feight!"
"Then where are they?"
"How the blazes should I know!" the guard finally exploded. "I'm not
supposed to guard them, am I? Why was I put on duty? To see that nobody
pinched the chambers, and that's what I've done. Your chambers are safe and
sound. But there's no law that says I must chase after your chickens.
Goodness only knows what they'll be like. Maybe you won't be able to catch
them on a bicycle."
This somewhat deflated Alexander Semyonovich. He muttered something
else, then relapsed into a state of perplexity. It was a strange business
indeed. In the first chamber, which had been switched on before the others,
the two eggs at the very base of the ray had broken open. One of them had
even rolled to one side. The empty shell was lying on the asbestos floor in
the ray.
"The devil only knows," muttered Alexander Semyonovich. "The windows
are closed and they couldn't have flown away over the roof, could they?"
He threw back his head and looked at some big holes in the glass roof.
"Of course, they couldn't, Alexander Semyonovich!" exclaimed Dunya in
surprise. "Chickens can't fly. They must be here somewhere. Chuck, chuck,
chuck," she called, peering into the corners of the conservatory, which were
cluttered with dusty flower pots, bits of boards and other rubbish. But no
chicks answered her call.
The whole staff spent about two hours running round the farmyard,
looking for the runaway chickens and found nothing. The day passed in great
excitement. The duty guard on the chambers was reinforced by the watchman,
who had strict orders to look through the chamber windows every quarter of
an hour and call Alexander Semyonovich if anything happened. The guard sat
huffily by the door, holding his rifle between his knees. What with all the
worry Alexander Semyonovich did not have lunch until nearly two. After lunch
he slept for an hour or so in the cool shade on the former She-remetev
ottoman, had a refreshing drink of the farm's kvass and slipped into the
conservatory to make sure everything was alright. The old watchman was lying
on his stomach on some bast matting and staring through the observation
window of the first chamber. The guard was keeping watch by the door.
But there was a piece of news: the eggs in the third chamber, which had
been switched on last, were making a kind of gulping, hissing sound, as if
something inside them were whimpering.
"They're hatching out alright," said Alexander Semyonovich. "That's for
sure. See?" he said to the watchman.
"Aye, it's most extraordinary," the latter replied in a most ambiguous
tone, shaking his head.
Alexander Semyonovich squatted by the chambers for a while, but nothing
hatched out. So he got up, stretched and announced that he would not leave
the grounds, but was going for a swim in the pond and must be called if