The White Guard - Mikhail Bulgakov [100]
'You're a hero', said Myshlaevsky, 'but I hope that his excellency, the commander-in-chief managed to get away sooner. Just like his highness, the Hetman of the Ukraine . . . the son of a bitch ... I trust that he is in safety. The country needs men like him. Yes - perhaps you can tell me exactly where they are?'
'Why do you want to know?'
'I'll tell you why.' Myshlaevsky clenched his right fist and smashed it into the palm of his left hand. 'If those excellencies and those highnesses fell into my hands I'd take one of them by the left leg and the other by the right, turn them upside down and bang their heads on the ground until I got sick of it. And the rest of your bunch of punks at headquarters ought to be drowned in the lavatory . . .'
Shervinsky turned purple.
'See here - you be more careful what you're saying, if you please', he began. 'Don't forget that the Hetman abandoned his headquarters staff too. He took no more than two personal aides with him, all the rest of us were just left to our fate.'
'Do you realise that at this moment a thousand of our men are cooped up as prisoners in the museum, hungry, guarded by machine-guns . . . And whenever they feel inclined, Petlyura's men will simply squash them like so many bed-bugs. Did you know that Colonel Nai-Turs was killed? He was the only one who . . .'
'Keep your distance!' shouted Shervinsky, now genuinely angry. 'What do you mean by that tone of voice? I'm as much a Russian officer as you are!'
'Now, gentlemen, stop!' Karas wedged himself between Myshlaevsky and Shervinsky. 'This is a completely pointless conversation. He's right, Viktor - you're being too personal. Stop it, this is getting us nowhere . . .'
'Quiet, quiet,' Nikolka whispered miserably, 'he'll hear you . . .'
Embarrassed, Myshlaevsky changed his tune.
'Don't get upset, Mr Opera-singer. I get carried away . . . you know me.'
'Funny way you have . . .'
'Gentlemen, please be quiet . . .' Nikolka gave a warning look and tapped his foot on the floor. They all stopped and listened. Voices were coming from Vasilisa's apartment below. They could just make out the sound of Vasilisa laughing cheerfully, though a shade hysterically. As if in reply, Wanda said something in a confident, ringing voice. Then they quietened down a little, the voices burbling on for a while.
'How extraordinary', said Nikolka thoughtfully. 'Vasilisa has visitors. People to see him. And at a time like this. A real party too, by the sound of it.'
'He's weird all right, is your Vasilisa', grunted Myshlaevsky.
#
It was around midnight that Alexei fell asleep after his injection, and Elena settled down in the armchair by his bedside. Meanwhile, a council of war was taking place in the drawing-room.
It was decided that they should all stay for the night. Firstly, it was pointless to try and go anywhere at night, even with papers that were in order. Secondly, it would be better for Elena if they stayed - they could help in case it was needed. And above all, at a time like this it was better not to be at home, but to be out visiting. An even more pressing reason was that there was no alternative; here at least they could play whist.
'Do you play?' Myshlaevsky asked Lariosik.
Lariosik blushed, looked embarrassed, and said hastily that he did play, but very, very badly . . . that he hoped they wouldn't swear at him in the way his partner, the tax inspector, used to swear at him in Zhitomir . . . that he had been through a terrible crisis, but that here in Elena Vasilievna's house he was regaining his spirits, that Elena Vasilievna was a quite exceptional person and that it was so warm and cosy here, especially the cream-colored blinds on all the windows, which made you feel insulated from the outside world . .. And as for that outside world - you had to agree it was filthy, bloody and senseless.
'Do you write poetry, may