Free The Twelve Chairs by Ilya Ilf Page A

There were very simple ones in the form of an iron rod;
compressed-air ones with cylindrical brass pistons; there were ones with
pulleys that raised and lowered heavy bags of shot. There were springs which
were so complex in design that the local mechanic could only shake his head
in wonder. And all the cylinders, springs and counterweights were very
powerful, slamming doors shut with the swiftness of a mousetrap. Whenever
the mechanisms operated, the whole house shook. With pitiful squeals, the
old women tried to escape the onslaught of the doors, but not always with
success. The doors gave the fugitives a thump in the back, and at the same
time, a counterweight shot past their ears with a dull rasping sound.
     As Bender and the assistant warden walked around the house, the doors
fired a noisy salute.
     But the feudal magnificence had nothing to hide: the chair was not
there. As the search progressed, the fire inspector found himself in the
kitchen. Porridge was cooking in a large copper pot and gave off the smell
that the smooth operator had noticed in the hall. Ostap wrinkled his nose
and said: "What is it cooking in? Lubricating oil?" "It's pure butter, I
swear it," said Alchen, blushing to the roots of his hair. "We buy it from a
farm." He felt very ashamed.
     "Anyway, it's not a fire risk," observed Ostap. The chair was not in
the kitchen, either. There was only a stool, occupied by the cook, wearing a
cap and apron of mouse-grey woollen material.
     "Why is everybody's clothing grey? That cloth isn't even fit to wipe
the windows with!" The shy Alchen was even more embarrassed. "We don't
receive enough funds." He was disgusted with himself.
     Ostap looked at him disbelievingly and said: "That is no concern of the
fire brigade, which I am at present representing." Alchen was alarmed.
     "We've taken all the necessary fire precautions," he declared. "We even
have a fire extinguisher. An Eclair."
     The fire inspector reluctantly proceeded in the direction of the fire
extinguisher, peeping into the lumber rooms as he went. The red-iron nose of
the extinguisher caused the inspector particular annoyance, despite the fact
that it was the only object in the house which had any connection with fire
precautions. "Where did you get it? At the market?" And without waiting for
an answer from the thunderstruck Alexander Yakovlevich, he removed the
Eclair from the rusty nail on which it was hanging, broke the capsule
without warning, and quickly pointed the nose in the air. But instead of the
expected stream of foam, all that came out was a high-pitched hissing which
sounded like the ancient hymn "How Glorious Is Our Lord on Zion".
     "You obviously did get it at the market," said Ostap, his earlier
opinion confirmed. And he put back the fire extinguisher, which was still
hissing, in its place.
     They moved on, accompanied by the hissing.
     Where can it be? wondered Ostap. I don't like the look of things. And
he made up his mind not to leave the place until he had found out the truth.
     While the fire inspector and the assistant warden were crawling about
the attics, considering fire precautions in detail and examining the
chimneys, the Second Home of the Stargorod Social Security Administration
carried on its daily routine.
     Dinner was ready. The smell of burnt porridge had appreciably
increased, and it overpowered all the sourish smells inhabiting the house.
There was a rustling in the corridors. Holding iron bowls full of porridge
in front of them with both hands, the old women cautiously emerged from the
kitchen and sat down at a large table, trying not to look at the refectory
slogans, composed by Alexander Yakolevich and painted by his wife. The
slogans read:
    FOOD IS THE SOURCE OF HEALTH
ONE EGG CONTAINS AS MUCH FAT AS A HALF-POUND OF MEAT
     BY CAREFULLY MASTICATING YOUR FOOD YOU HELP SOCIETY
     MEAT IS BAD FOR YOU

     These sacred words aroused in the old ladies memories of teeth that had
disappeared before the revolution, eggs