Free The Fatal Eggs by Mikhail Bulgakov

filling
the foyer of the cosy little Magic Dreams cinema in the town of Yekaterinoslav
with its sweet notes every evening. But the great year of 1917, which broke the
careers of so many, had swept Alexander Semyonovich onto a new path too. He
left the Magic Dreams and the dusty star-spangled satin of its foyer to plunge
into the open sea of war and revolution, exchanging his flute for a
death-dealing Mauser. For a long time he was tossed about on waves which washed
him ashore, now in the Crimea, now in Moscow, now in Turkestan, and even in
Vladivostok. It needed the revolution for Alexander Semyonovich to realise his
full potential. It turned out that here was a truly great man, who should not
be allowed to waste his talents in the foyer of Magic Dreams, of course.
Without going into unnecessary detail, we shall merely say that the year
before, 1927, and the beginning of 1928 had found Alexander Semyonovich in
Turkestan where he first edited a big newspaper and then, as a local member of
the Supreme Economic Commission, became renowned for his remarkable
contribution to the irrigation of Turkestan. In 1928 Feight came to Moscow and
received some well-deserved leave. The Supreme Commission of the organisation,
whose membership card this provincially old-fashioned man carried with honour
in his pocket, appreciated his qualities and appointed him to a quiet and
honorary post. Alas and alack! To the great misfortune of the Republic,
Alexander Semyonovich's seething brain did not quieten down. In Moscow Feight
learned of Persikov's discovery, and in the rooms of
Red Paris in Tverskaya Street Alexander Semyonovich had the brainwave of using
the ray to restore the Republic's poultry in a month. The Animal Husbandry
Commission listened to what he had to say, agreed with him, and Feight took his
warrant to the eccentric scientist.
    The concert over the glassy waters, the grove
and the park was drawing 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