The Twelve Chairs / Двенадцать стульев. Книга для чтения на английском языке

Greatly surprised by this fact, the young man carried on and found himself in Lena Massacre Street (formerly Denisov Street). He stopped outside no. 28, a pleasant two-storeyed private house, which bore a sign saying:

USSR RSFSR SECOND SOCIAL SECURITY HOME

OF THE STAR-PROV-INS-AD

and requested a light from the caretaker, who was sitting by the entrance on a stone bench.

В«Tell me, dadВ», said the young man, taking a puff, В«are there any marriageable young girls in this town?

The old caretaker did not show the least surprise.

„For some a mare'd be a bride,“ he answered, readily striking up a conversation.

„I have no more questions,“ said the young man quickly. And he immediately asked one more: „A house like this and no girls in it?“

„It's a long while since there've been any young girls here,“ replied the old man. „This is a state institution-a home for old-age women pensioners“.

„I see. For ones born before historical materialism?“

„That's it.

„And what was here in the house before the days of historical materialism?“

„When was that?“

„In the old days. Under the former regime“.

„Oh, in the old days my master used to live here“.

„A member of the bourgeoisie“)»

В«Bourgeoisie yourself! I told you. He was a marshal of the nobilityВ».

В«You mean he was from the working class?В»

В«Working class yourself! He was a marshal of the nobilityВ».

The conversation with the intelligent caretaker so poorly versed in the class structure of society might have gone on for heaven knows how long had not the young man got down to business.

В«Listen, granddadВ», he said, В«what about a drink?В»

В«All right, buy me one!В»

They were gone an hour. When they returned, the caretaker was the young man's best friend.

В«Right, then, I'll stay the night with youВ», said the newly acquired friend.

В«You're a good man. You can stay here for the rest of your life if you likeВ».

Having achieved his aim, the young man promptly went down into the caretaker's room, took off his orange-coloured boots, and, stretching out on a bench, began thinking out a plan of action for the following day.

The young man's name was Ostap Bender. Of his background he would usually give only one detail. В«My dadВ», he used to say, В«was a Turkish citizenВ». During his life this son of a Turkish citizen had had many occupations.