Monday Begins On Saturday Part 9

"It's not a goat! He is our colleague!" - "Then let him present-- "

"Out the window and into the car!" ordered Roman.

I grabbed my jacket and jumped out. Basil scuttled out from under my feet, meowing. Bending low, I ran to the car, threw open the door, and jumped behind the wheel. Roman was already opening the gate. The engine wouldn't start. Torturing the starter, I could see the door to the cottage open and the black goat running out, bounding off with gigantic leaps somewhere around the corner. The engine caught and roared. I swung the car around and lurched out into the street. The oaken gate shut with a crash.

Roman popped out behind the small gate and flung himself on the seat beside me.

"Go!" he said vigorously. "Downtown!"

While we were turning onto the Prospect of Peace, he asked, "So, how do you like it here with us?"

"I like," I said. "Only it's very raucous."

"It's always raucous at Naina's," said Roman. "A contrary old hag. She hasn't taken advantage of you?"

"No," I said. "We had almost no truck with each other." "Wait up," said Roman. "Slow down."

"What's up?"

"There goes Volodia. Remember him?"

I braked. The bearded Volodia climbed into the back seat, and, beaming happily, shook our hands.

"Great!" he said. "I was just on my way to your place."

"That's all we needed there-- you," said Roman.

"How did it all end?"

"No how," said Roman.

"Where are you going now?"

"To the Inst.i.tute," said Roman.

"What for?" I asked.

"To work," said Roman.

"I'm on vacation."

"That's immaterial," said Roman, "Monday begins on Sat.u.r.day and August will begin in July, this time."

"My friends are waiting," I said, pleading.

"We'll take care of that," said Roman. "Your friends will notice absolutely nothing."

"It's enough to drive you insane," I said.

We drove in between retail store No. 2 and dining room No. 11.

"He already knows where to go," noted Volodia.

"Stout fellow," said Roman. "A giant!"

"I took a liking to him right from the start," said VoIodia.

"Obviously you must have a programmer or die," I said. "We need far more than just any programmer," contradicted Roman.

I braked alongside the strange building with the SRITS sign between the windows.

"What does it mean?" I asked. "Could I at least learn where I am being impressed to work?"

"You may," said Roman. "You are now permitted everything. It is The Scientific Research Inst.i.tute for Thaumaturgy and Spellcraft. ... Well, why are you standing? Drive in!"

"Where?" I asked.

"Don't tell me you don't see it!"

And I saw.

But that is altogether a different tale.

* THE SECOND TALE. Vanity of Vanities *

Chapter I.

Among the heroes, one or two stand out; all others are regarded as secondary.

Methodology for Teaching Literature About two o'clock in the afternoon, when the input equipment breaker blew again, the telephone rang. Modest Matveevich Kamnoedov, Deputy Director of Administration and Plant, was on the line.

"Privalov," he said severely, "why are you not at your post again?"

"What do you mean, not at my post?" I said in a hurt tone. "My day turned out to be particularly busy, and I forgot everything else."

"You will be noted down for that," said Modest Matveevich. "You were due here with me for your instruction five minutes ago."

"I'll be switched," I said, and hung up.

I turned off the machine, took off my lab coat and reminded the girls not to forget to turn off the power. The wide corridor was empty; a blizzard blew behind the frosted windows. Putting on my jacket on the run, I hurried to the plant department. Modest Matveevich, in his shiny suit, awaited me regally in his private reception room. Behind him, a small gnome with hairy ears was running his finger through a page of a monstrous ledger, looking both dismal and diligent.

"You, Privalov, you are like some sort of homunculus," p.r.o.nounced Modest. "Never in your place."

Everyone tried to maintain only the nicest of relations with Modest Matveevich, inasmuch as he was a man of power, unbending and monumentally ignorant. Therefore, I barked, "Yes, sir," and clicked my heels.

"Everyone must be at his post," continued Modest. "Always. And there you are with a higher education, wearing gla.s.ses and growing a beard, yet you can't seem to grasp this simple theorem."

"It won't happen again!" I said, bulging my eyes.

"I will hold you to that," said Modest Matveevich, softening. He drew out a sheet of paper from his pocket and looked at it a while. "So then, Privalov," he said finally, "today you will replace the man in charge.

Watching over the Inst.i.tute during a holiday is a responsible duty. There's more to it than pressing push b.u.t.tons. In the first place-- we have the fire precautions. That's number one. No auto-combustion is to be allowed. You will see to it that all the production areas entrusted to you have the power switched off. You will see to it personally, without any of your doublings and triplings. Without any of your facsimiles. At any inkling of combustion factors, you will call extension oh-one at once and take preventive measures yourself. Take this alarm horn for calling the fire brigade for such a contingency. . . ." He handed me a platinum whistle stamped with an inventory number. "Likewise, n.o.body's to be let in. Here is a list of persons allowed the use of the laboratories at night, but they are not to be let in either, on account of it being a holiday. There's not to be a single living soul in the Inst.i.tute. The entry and exit demons are to have a spell cast on them. Do you grasp the situation? Living souls are not to be permitted in, and all others are not to be permitted out. Because there was a precedent. One of the devils escaped and stole the moon. A widely known incident, which was even recorded in the movies." He looked at me meaningfully and suddenly asked for my doc.u.ments.

I obeyed. He looked at my pa.s.s with deep attention, returned it, and p.r.o.nounced, "Everything is in order. Actually, I had a suspicion that you might still be a double. So much for that. Well then, at fifteen hundred-zero-zero, in accordance with labor laws, the working day will end, and everyone will deposit with you the keys to all production areas. After which, you will personally inspect the territory. Thereafter, you will conduct tours every three hours with regard to auto-combustion. You will visit the vivarium not less than twice during the period of your watch. If the supervisor is drinking tea, you will note that down. There have been signs: it's not tea that he is drinking there. Acknowledge the above in all respects. Your post is in the director's reception room. You can rest on the couch. Tomorrow at sixteen hundred-zero-zero, you will be replaced by Pochkin, Volodia, from the laboratory of comrade Oira-Oira. Have you got that?"

"Entirely," I said.

"I will be calling you during the night and tomorrow. Personally. A checkup is also possible by the manager of Industrial Relations."

"I understand," said I, looking through the list.

The first thereon was the director of the Inst.i.tute, Ja.n.u.s Poluektovich Nevstruev, with a penciled note: TWO EX. Next came Modest Matveevich himself. The third was the manager of Industrial Relations, Cerber Roverovich Demm, and then came names that I had never seen before.

"Is something beyond you?" inquired Modest Matveevich, jealously following my perusal.

"Here," I said ponderously, stabbing my finger at the list, "comrades are present in the number of . . . mmm ... twenty-one, not known to mepersonally. I would like to go over these names with you personally." I looked him straight in the eye and added firmly, "Just in case."

"It's all correct," he said condescendingly. "It's just that you are not au courant, Privalov. The persons listed, starting with number four through number twenty-five, last and inclusive, have been admitted to night work posthumously. In recognition of past contributions. Now do you have it?"

I was still a little dazed, as getting used to it all was yet a bit much for me.

"a.s.sume your post," Modest Matveevich said grandiosely. "As for me, and also in the name of the administration, I congratulate you, Privalov, with the coming New Year, and wish you, in that new year, every success both in your work and in your personal life."

I, in turn, wished him corresponding successes and went out into the hall.

Having learned yesterday that I had been designated to stand watch, I was pleased as I intended to finish a computation for Roman Oira-Oira. But now I felt that the matter was not all that simple. The prospect of spending the night at the Inst.i.tute suddenly appeared in an altogether different light. I had already stayed late at work on previous occasions when the economy-minded personnel left in charge had turned off every four out of five lights in the halls and I had to grope my way out past startled, furry shapes. At first, this sort of thing had a heavy impact on me, then I became used to it. Then I became unused to it again the time when, pa.s.sing along the main hall, I heard behind me the measured clack, clack, clack of claws on the parquet floor, and turning, discovered a certain phosph.o.r.escent animal running unequivocally along my tracks. True, when they took me down off the cornice, it developed that it was an ordinary live dog belonging to one of my colleagues. The colleague came to apologize, and Oira-Oira read me a scathing lecture on the evils of superst.i.tion, but nevertheless some sort of unpleasant sediment remained in my soul. First thing, I thought, was to cast the proper spell on the demons.

At the entrance to the director's reception room, I met up with the gloomy Victor Korneev. He nodded at me glumly and started to pa.s.s me by when I caught him by the sleeve.

"Well?" said the rude Korneev, stopping.

"I am on watch, today," I informed him.

"Too bad about you," said Korneev.

"You really are a boor, Victor," I said. "Here is where I part company with you."

He tugged at the turtleneck of his sweater with a finger, and contemplated me with interest.

"Then what will you do?" he asked.

"I'll find something," I said, somewhat taken aback.

Suddenly, he came alive.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Is this your first watch?"

"Yes."

"Aha," said Victor. "And how do you intend to proceed?"

"In accordance with instructions," I replied. "I'll cast the spell on the demons and lie down to sleep. That's with regard to auto-combustion. And where are you off to?"

"Well, there's company coming together over at Vera's," said Victor indefinitely. "And what's this?" He took my list. "Oh, the Dead Souls. ..

"I'll not let anyone in," I said, "neither the live nor the dead."

"A correct decision," said Victor. "The very essence of correctness.

But keep an eye on my laboratory. I'll have a double working there."

"Whose double?"

"Mine, naturally. Who is going to give me his? I locked him in there; here, take the key, since you are on watch."

I took the key. "Listen, Victor. Up to ten o'clock or so, he can carry on, and then I'll switch everything off. That is in accordance with the legislation."

"All right, we'll see about it then. Have you seen Eddie?"

"No, I haven't," I said. "And don't snow me. Ten o'clock-- all the power goes off."

"Did I say anything against it? Power off and welcome. The whole town, for all I care."

At which point the reception-room door opened and Ja.n.u.s Poluektovich came out into the hall.

"So," he enunciated, seeing us.

I bowed respectfully. It was obvious from the expression on his face that he had forgotten my name.

"Please," he said, handing me keys. "You are standing watch, if I am not mistaken. . . . By the way"-- he hesitated-- "Did I talk to you yesterday?"

"Yes," I said. "You came by the Electronics section." - He nodded.

"Yes, yes, indeed . . . we were talking about trainees..."

"No," I contradicted respectfully. "Not quite. It was about your letter to Centracademprov. About the peripheral equipment."

"Oh, so that's it," he said. "Well, all right. . . . I wish you a quiet watch. . . . Victor Pavlovich, may I have your attention a minute?"

He took Victor under the arm and led him off down the hall. I went into the reception room. There the second Ja.n.u.s Poluektovich was locking up the safes. Seeing me, he said, "So," and resumed clicking his keys. This was Ja.n.u.s-A, as I had learned to distinguish somewhat between them. Ja.n.u.s-A looked somewhat younger, was a bit standoffish, always correct, and laconic.

It was said that he worked hard, and the people who knew him had been insisting for a long time that this mediocre administrator was slowly but surely turning into an outstanding scientist. Ja.n.u.s-U, on the other hand, was always gentle, very attentive, and had the strange habit of unfailingly asking, "Were we talking yesterday?" It was hinted that he had begun to slip badly of late, although remaining a scientist of world renown. Nevertheless, Ja.n.u.s-A and Ja.n.u.s-U were one and the same man. That's just the part that wouldn't fit in my head. There seemed something arbitrary about that.