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Булгаков, Михаил - Булгаков - The Fateful EggsПроза и поэзия >> Русская современная проза >> См. также >> Булгаков, Михаил Читать целиком Mikhail Bulgakov. The Fateful Eggs
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"пНЙНБШЕ ЪИЖЮ"
Translated by Kathleen Gook-Horujy
OCR: http://home.freeuk.net/russica2/
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Mikhail Bulgakov (1891-1940) was born in Kiev into the family of a
teacher at a religious academy, endured the hardships of wars and
revolutions, starved, became a playwright for the country's finest theatre,
knew fame, persecution, public ovations and forced muteness. His best works,
including the famous The Master and Margarita, were not published until
after his death. His dramas were struck off the repertoire-The Days of the
Turbins at the Moscow Arts Theatre and his plays about Moliere and Pushkin.
During his lifetime, not a single major anthology of his short stories was
ever published
Bulgakov's works have since been recognised as classics; his books have
been published in all the languages of the civilised world, studies of him
have reached the four-figure mark and the number is still rising; editions
of his books in the USSR have run into millions. He has won the highest
praise from Gabriel Garcia Marquez of Columbia and Kendzaburo Oe of Japan.
Kirghiz writer Chinghiz Aitmatov looks on Bulgakov as his teacher. Mikhail
Bulgakov's books have at last come into their own with their wild fantasy
and their prophetic ideas about man and humanity. Our collection includes
one of his most vivid stories, "The Fateful Eggs".
CHAPTER I. Professor Persikov's Curriculum Vitae
On the evening of 16 April, 1928, the Zoology Professor of the Fourth
State University and Director of the Moscow Zoological Institute, Persikov,
went into his laboratory at the Zoological Institute in Herzen Street. The
Professor switched on the frosted ceiling light and looked around him.
This ill-fated evening must be regarded as marking the beginning of the
appalling catastrophe, just as Professor Vladimir Ipatievich Persikov must
be seen as the prime cause of the said catastrophe.
He was fifty-eight years old. With a splendid bald head, like a pestle,
and tufts of yellowish hair sticking out at the sides. His face was
clean-shaven, with a slightly protruding lower lip which gave it a slightly
cantankerous expression. Tall and round-shouldered, he had small bright eyes
and tiny old-fashioned spectacles in silver frames on a red nose. He spoke
in a grating, high, croaking voice and one of his many idiosyncrasies was to
crook the index finger of his right hand and screw up his eyes, whenever he
was saying something weighty and authoritative. And since he always spoke
authoritatively, because his knowledge in his field was quite phenomenal,
the crooked finger was frequently pointed at those with whom the Professor
was conversing. Outside his field, that is, zoology, embriology, anatomy,
botany and geography, however, Professor Persikov said almost nothing at
all.
Professor Persikov did not read the newspapers or go to the theatre.
His wife had run away with a tenor from the Zimin opera in 1913, leaving him
a note which read as follows:
"Your frogs make me shudder with intolerable loathing. I shall be
unhappy all my life because of them."
The Professor did not marry again and had no children. He was
short-tempered, but did not bear grudges, liked cloudberry tea and lived in
Prechistenka Street in a flat with five rooms, one of which was occupied by
the old housekeeper, Maria Stepanovna, who looked after the Professor like a
nanny.
In 1919 three of the Professor's five rooms were taken away. Whereupon
he announced to Maria Stepanovna:
"If they don't stop this outrageous behaviour, I shall leave the
country, Maria Stepanovna."
Had the Professor carried out this plan, he would have experienced no
difficulty in obtaining a place in the zoology department of any university
in the world, for he was a really first-class scholar, and in the particular
field which deals with amphibians had no equal, with the exception of
professors William Weckle in Cambridge and Giacomo Bartolomeo Beccari in
Rome. The Professor could read four languages, as Mvell as Russian, and
spoke French and German like a native. Persikov did not carry out his
intention of going abroad, and 1920 was even worse than 1919. All sorts of
things happened, one after the other. Bolshaya Nikitskaya was renamed Herzen
Street. Then the clock on the wall of the corner building in Herzen Street
and Mokhovaya stopped at a quarter past eleven and, finally, unable to
endure the perturbations of this remarkable year, eight magnificent
specimens of tree-frogs died in the Institute's terrariums, followed by
fifteen ordinary toads and an exceptional specimen of the Surinam toad.
Immediately after the demise of the toads which devastated that first
order of amphibians rightly called tailless, old Vlas, the Institute's
caretaker of many years' standing, who did not belong to any order of
amphibians, also passed on to a better world. The cause of his death,
incidentally, was the same as that of the unfortunate amphibians, and
Persikov diagnosed it at once:
"Undernourishment!"
The scientist was perfectly right. Vlas should have been fed with flour
and the toads with flour weevils, but the disappearance of the former
determined that of the latter likewise, and Persikov tried to shift the
twenty surviving specimens of tree-frogs onto a diet of cockroaches, but
then the cockroaches disappeared too, thereby demonstrating their hostile
attitude to war communism. Consequently, these last remaining specimens also
had to be thrown into the rubbish pits in the Institute yard.
The effect of these deaths on Persikov, particularly that of the
Surinam toad, is quite indescribable. For some reason he blamed them
entirely on the People's Commissar for Education.
Standing in his fur cap and galoshes in the corridor of the freezing
Institute, Persikov said to his assistant Ivanov, an elegant gentleman with
a fair pointed beard:
"Hanging's too good for him, Pyotr Stepanovich! What do they think
they're doing! They'll ruin the whole Institute! Eh? An exceptionally rare
male specimen of Pipa americana, thirteen centimetres long..."
Things went from bad to worse. When Vlas died the Institute windows
froze so hard that there were icy scrolls on the inside of the panes. The
rabbits, foxes, wolves and fish died, as well as every single grass-snake.
Persikov brooded silently for days on end, then caught pneumonia, but did
not die. When he recovered, he started coming to the Institute twice a week
and in the round hall, where for some reason it was always five degrees
below freezing point irrespective of the temperature outside, he delivered a
cycle of lectures on "The Reptiles of the Torrid Zone" in galoshes, a fur
cap with ear-flaps and a scarf, breathing out white steam, to an audience of
eight. The rest of the time he lay under a rug on the divan in Prechistenka,
in a room with books piled up to the ceiling, coughing, gazing into the jaws
of the fiery stove which Maria Stepanov-na stoked with gilt chairs, and
remembering the Surinam toad.
But all things come to an end. So it was with 'twenty and 'twenty-one,
and in 'twenty-two a kind of reverse process began. Firstly, in place of the
dear departed Vlas there appeared Pankrat, a young, but most promising
zoological caretaker, and the Institute began to be heated again a little.
Then in the summer with Pankrat's help Persikov caught fourteen common
toads. The terrariums came to life again... In 'twenty-three Persikov gave
eight lectures a week, three at the Institute and five at the University, in
'twenty-four thirteen a week, not including the ones at workers' schools,
and in the spring of 'twenty-five distinguished himself by failing no less
than seventy-six students, all on amphibians.
"What, you don't know the difference between amphibians and reptilia?"
Persikov asked. "That's quite ridiculous, young man. Amphibia have no
kidneys. None at all. So there. You should be ashamed of yourself. I expect
you're a Marxist, aren't you?"
"Yes," replied the devastated student, faintly.
"Well, kindly retake the exam in the autumn," Persikov said politely
and shouted cheerfully to Pankrat: "Send in the next one!"
Just as amphibians come to life after a long drought, with the first
heavy shower of rain, so Professor Persikov revived in 1926 when a joint
Americano-Russian company built fifteen fifteen-storey apartment blocks in
the centre of Moscow, beginning at the corner of Gazetny Lane and Tverskaya,
and 300 workers' cottages on the outskirts, each with eight apartments,
thereby putting an- end once and for all to the terrible and ridiculous
accommodation shortage which made life such a misery for Muscovites from
1919 to 1925.
In fact, it was a marvellous summer in Persikov's life, and
occasionally he would rub his hands with' a quiet, satisfied giggle,
remembering how he and Maria Stepanovna had been cooped up in two rooms. Now
the Professor had received all five back, spread himself, arranged his
two-and-a-half thousand books, stuffed animals, diagrams and specimens, and
lit the green lamp on the desk in his study.
You would not have recognised the Institute either. They painted it
cream, equipped the amphibian room with a special water supply system,
replaced all the plate glass with mirrors and donated five new microscopes,
glass laboratory tables, some 2,000-amp. arc lights, reflectors and museum
cases.
Persikov came to life again, and the whole world suddenly learnt of
this when a brochure appeared in December 1926 entitled "More About the
Reproduction of Polyplacophora or Chitons", 126 pp, Proceedings of the
Fourth University.
And in the autumn of 1927 he published a definitive work of 350 pages,
subsequently translated into six languages, including Japanese. It was
entitled "The Embryology of Pipae, Spadefoots and Frogs", price 3 roubles.
State Publishing House.
But in the summer of 1928 something quite appalling happened...
CHAPTER II. A Coloured Tendril
So, the Professor switched on the light and looked around. Then he
turned on the reflector on the long experimental table, donned his white
coat, and fingered some instruments on the table...
Of the thirty thousand mechanical carriages that raced" around Moscow
in 'twenty-eight many whizzed down Herzen Street, swishing over the smooth
paving-stones, and every few minutes a 16,22, 48 or 53 tram would career
round the corner from Herzen Street to Mokhovaya with much grinding and
clanging. A pale and misty crescent moon cast reflections of coloured lights
through the laboratory windows and was visible far away and high up beside
the dark and heavy dome of the Church of Christ the Saviour.
But neither the moon nor the Moscow spring bustle were of the slightest
concern to the Professor. He sat on his three-legged revolving stool turning
with tobacco-stained fingers the knob of a splendid Zeiss microscope, in
which there was an ordinary unstained specimen of fresh amoebas. At the very
moment when Persikov was changing the magnification from five to ten
thousand, the door opened slightly, a pointed beard and leather bib
appeared, and his assistant called:
"I've set up the mesentery, Vladimir Ipatych. Would you care to take a
look?"
Persikov slid quickly down from the stool, letting go of the knob
midway, and went into his assistant's room, twirling a cigarette slowly in
his fingers. There, on the glass table, a half-suffocated frog stiff with
fright and pain lay crucified on a cork mat, its transparent micaceous
intestines pulled out of the bleeding abdomen under the microscope.
"Very good," said Persikov, peering down the eye-piece of the
microscope.
He could obviously detect something very interesting in the frog's
mesentery, where live drops of blood were racing merrily along the vessels
as clear as daylight. Persikov quite forgot about his amoebas. He and Ivanov
spent the next hour-and-a-half taking turns at the microscope and exchanging
animated remarks, quite incomprehensible to ordinary mortals.
At last Persikov dragged himself away, announcing:
"The blood's coagulating, it can't be helped."
The frog's head twitched painfully and its dimming eyes said clearly:
"Bastards, that's what you are..."
Stretching his stiff legs, Persikov got up, returned to his laboratory,
yawned, rubbed his permanently inflamed eyelids, sat down on the stool and
looked into the microscope, his fingers about to move the knob. But move it
he did not. With his right eye Persikov saw the cloudy white plate and
blurred pale amoebas on it, but in the middle of the plate sat a coloured
tendril, like a female curl. Persikov himself and hundreds of his students
had seen this tendril many times before but taken no interest in it, and
rightly so. The coloured streak of light merely got in the way and indicated
that the specimen was out of focus. For this reason it was ruthlessly
eliminated with a single turn of the knob, which spread an even white light
over the plate. The zoologist's long fingers had already tightened on the
knob, when suddenly they trembled and let go. The reason for this was
Persikov's right eye. It tensed, stared in amazement and filled with alarm.
No mediocre mind to burden the Republic sat by the microscope. No, this was
Professor Persikov! All his mental powers were now concentrated in his right
eye. For five minutes or so in petrified silence the higher being observed
the lower one, peering hard at the out-of-focus specimen. There was complete
silence all around. Pankrat had gone to sleep in his cubby-hole in thes
vestibule, and only once there came a far-off gentle and musical tinkling of
glass in cupboards-that was Ivanov going out and locking his laboratory. The
entrance door groaned behind him. Then came the Professor's voice. To whom
his question was addressed no one knows.
"What on earth is that? I don't understand..."
A late lorry rumbled down Herzen Street, making the old walls of the
Institute shake. The shallow glass bowl with pipettes tinkled on the table.
The Professor turned pale and put his hands over the microscope, like a
mother whose child is threatened by danger. There could now be no question
of Persikov turning the knob. Oh no, now he was afraid that some external
force might push what he had seen out of his field of vision.
It was a full white morning with a strip of gold which cut across the
Institute's cream porch when the Professor left the microscope and walked
over to the window on stiff legs. With trembling fingers he pressed a
button, dense black shutters blotted out the morning and a wise scholarly
night descended on the room. Sallow and inspired, Persikov placed his feet
apart, staring at the parquet floor with his watering eyes, and exclaimed:
"But how can it be? It's monstrous! Quite monstrous, gentlemen," he
repeated, addressing the toads in the terrarium, who were asleep and made no
reply.
He paused, then went over to the button, raised the shutters, turned
out all the lights and looked into the microscope. His face grew tense and
he raised his bushy yellow eyebrows.
"Aha, aha," he muttered. "It's gone. I see. I understand," he drawled,
staring with crazed and inspired eyes at the extinguished light overhead.
"It's simple."
Again he let down the hissing shutters and put on the light. Then
looked into the microscope and grinned happily, almost greedily.
"I'll catch it," he said solemnly and gravely, crooking his finger.
"I'll catch it. Perhaps the sun will do it too."
The shutters shot up once more. Now you could see the sun. It was
shining on the walls of the Institute and slanting down onto the pavements
of Herzen Street. The Professor looked through the window, working out where
the sun would be in the afternoon. He kept stepping back and forwards, doing
a little dance, and eventually lay stomach down on the window-sill.
After that he got down to some important and mysterious work. He
covered the microscope with a bell glass. Then he melted a piece of
sealing-wax in the bluish flame of the Bun-sen burner, sealed the edge of
the glass to the table and made a thumb print on the blobs of wax. Finally
he turned off the gas and went out, locking the laboratory door firmly
behind him.
There was semi-darkness in the Institute corridors.
The Professor reached Pankrat's door and knocked for a long time to no
effect. At last something inside growled like a watchdog, coughed and
snorted and Pankrat appeared in the lighted doorway wearing long striped
underpants tied at the ankles. His eyes glared wildly at the scientist and
he whimpered softly with sleep.
"I must apologise for waking you up, Pankrat," said the
Professor, peering at him over his spectacles. "But please don't go
into my laboratory this morning, dear chap. I've left some work there that
must on no account be moved. Understand?"
"Grrr, yessir," Pankrat replied, not understanding a thing.
He staggered a bit and growled.
"Now listen here, Pankrat, you just wake up," the zoologist ordered,
prodding him lightly in the ribs, which produced a look of fright on
Pankrat's face and a glimmer of comprehension in his eyes. "I've locked the
laboratory," Persikov went on, "so you need not clean it until I come back.
Understand?"
"Yessir," Pankrat croaked.
"That's fine then, go back to bed."
Pankrat turned round, disappeared inside and collapsed onto the bed.
The Professor went into the vestibule. Putting on his grey summer coat and
soft hat, he remembered what he had observed in the microscope and stared at
his galoshes for a few seconds, as if seeing them for the first time. Then
he put on the left galosh and tried to put the right one over it, but it
wouldn't go on.
"What an incredible coincidence that he called me away," said the
scientist. "Otherwise I would never have noticed it. But what does it mean?
The devil only knows!.."
The Professor smiled, squinted at his galoshes, took off the left one
and put on the right. "Good heavens! One can't even imagine all the
consequences..." The Professor prodded off the left galosh, which had
irritated him by not going on top of the right, and walked to the front door
wearing one galosh only. He also lost his handkerchief and went out,
slamming the heavy door. On the porch he searched in his pockets for some
matches, patting his sides, found them eventually and set off down the
street with an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
The scientist did not meet a soul all the way to the church. There he
threw back his head and stared at the golden dome. The sun was licking it
avidly on one side.
"Why didn't I notice it before? What a coincidence! Well, I never!
Silly ass!" The Professor looked down and stared pensively at his strangely
shod feet. "Hm, what shall I do? Go back to Pankrat? No, there's no waking
him. It's a pity to throw the wretched thing away. I'll have to carry it."
He removed the galosh and set off carrying it distastefully.
An old car drove out of Prechistenka with three passengers. Two men,
slightly tipsy, with a garishly made-up woman in those baggy silk trousers
that were all the rage in 1928 sitting on their lap.
"Hey, Dad!" she shouted in a low husky voice. "Did you sell the other
galosh for booze?"
"The old boy got sozzled at the Alcazar," howled the man on the left,
while the one on the right leaned out of the car and shouted:
"Is the night-club in Volkhonka still open, Dad? That's where we're
making for!"
The Professor looked at them sternly over the top of his glasses, let
the cigarette fall out of his mouth and then immediately forgot they
existed. A beam was cutting its way through Prechistensky Boulevard, and the
dome of Christ the Saviour had begun to burn. The sun had come out.
CHAPTER III. Persikov Catches It
What had happened was this. When the Professor put his discerning eye
to the microscope, he noticed for the first time in his life that one
particular ray in the coloured tendril stood out more vividly and boldly
than the others. This ray was bright red and stuck out of the tendril like
the tiny point of a needle, say.
Thus, as ill luck would have it, this ray attracted the attention of
the great man's experienced eye for several seconds.
In it, the ray, the Professor detected something a thousand
times more significant and important than the ray itself, that
precarious offspring accidentally engendered by the movement of a microscope
mirror and lens. Due to the assistant calling the Professor away, some
amoebas had been subject to the action of the ray for an hour-and-a-half and
this is what had happened: whereas the blobs of amoebas on the plate outside
the ray simply lay there limp and helpless, some very strange phenomena were
taking place on the spot over which the sharp red sword was poised. This
strip of red was teeming with life. The old amoebas were forming pseudopodia
in a desperate effort to reach the red strip, and when they did they came to
life, as if by magic. Some force seemed to breathe life into them. They
flocked there, fighting one another for a place in the ray, where the most
frantic (there was no other word for it) reproduction was taking place. In
defiance of all the laws which Persikov knew like the back of his hand, they
gemmated before his eyes with lightning speed. They split into two in the
ray, and each of the parts became a new, fresh organism in a couple of
seconds. In another second or two these organisms grew to maturity and
produced a new generation in their turn. There was soon no room at all in
the red strip or on the plate, and inevitably a bitter struggle broke out.
The newly born amoebas tore one another to pieces and gobbled the pieces up.
Among the newly born lay the corpses of those who had perished in the fight
for survival. It was the best and strongest who won. And they were
terrifying. Firstly, they were about twice the size of ordinary amoebas and,
secondly, they were far more active and aggressive. Their movements were
rapid, their pseudopodia much longer than normal, and it would be no
exaggeration to say that they used them like an octopus's tentacles.
On the second evening the Professor, pale and haggard, his only
sustenance the thick cigarettes he rolled himself, studied the new
generation of amoebas. And on the third day he turned to the primary source,
i.e., the red ray.
The gas hissed faintly in the Bunsen burner, the traffic clattered
along the street outside, and the Professor, poisoned by a hundred
cigarettes, eyes half-closed, leaned back in his revolving chair.
"I see it all now. The ray brought them to life. It's a new ray, never
studied or even discovered by anyone before. The first thing is to find out
whether it is produced only by electricity, or by the sun as well," Persikov
muttered to himself.
The next night provided the answer to this question. Persikov caught
three rays in three microscopes from the arc light, but nothing from the
sun, and summed this up as follows:
"We must assume that it is not found in the solar spectrum... Hm, well,
in short we must assume it can only be obtained from electric light." He
gazed fondly at the frosted ball overhead, thought for a moment and invited
Ivanov into the laboratory, where he told him all and showed him the
amoebas.
Decent Ivanov was amazed, quite flabbergasted. Why on earth hadn't a
simple thing as this tiny arrow been noticed before? By anyone, or even by
him, Ivanov. It was really appalling! Just look...
"Look, Vladimir Ipatych!" Ivanov said, his eye glued to the microscope.
"Look what's happening! They're growing be" fore my eyes... You must take a
look..."
"I've been observing them for three days," Persikov replied animatedly.
Then a conversation took place between the two scientists, the gist of
which was as follows. Decent Ivanov undertook with the help of lenses and
mirrors to make a chamber in which they could obtain the ray in magnified
form without a microscope. Ivanov hoped, was even convinced, that this would
be extremely simple. He would obtain the ray, Vladimir Ipatych need have no
doubts on that score. There was a slight pause.
"When I publish a paper, I shall mention that the chamber was built by
you, Pyotr Stepanovich," Persikov interspersed, feeling that the pause
should be ended.
"Oh, that doesn't matter... However, if you insist..."
And the pause ended. After that the ray devoured Ivanov as well. While
Persikov, emaciated and hungry, spent all day and half the night at his
microscope, Ivanov got busy in the brightly-lit physics laboratory, working
out a combination of lenses and mirrors. He was assisted by the mechanic.
Following a request made to the Commissariat of Education, Persikov
received three parcels from Germany containing mirrors, convexo-convex,
concavo-concave and even some convexo-concave polished lenses. The upshot of
all this was that Ivanov not only built his chamber, but actually caught the
red ray in it. And quite brilliantly, it must be said. The ray was a thick
one, about four centimetres in diameter, sharp and strong.
On June 1st the chamber was set up in Persikov's laboratory, and he
began experimenting avidly by putting frog spawn in the ray. These
experiments produced amazing results. In the course of forty-eight hours
thousands of tadpoles hatched out from the spawn. But that was not all.
Within another twenty-four hours the tadpoles grew fantastically into such
vicious, greedy frogs that half of them were devoured by the other half. The
survivors then began to spawn rapidly and two days later, without the
assistance of the ray, a new generation appeared too numerous to count. Then
all hell was let loose in the Professor's laboratory. The tadpoles slithered
out all over the Institute. Lusty choirs croaked loudly in the terrariums
and all the nooks and crannies, as in marshes. Pankrat, who was scared stiff
of Persikov as it was, now went in mortal terror of him. After a week the
scientist himself felt he was going mad. The Institute reeked of ether and
potassium cyanide, which nearly finished off Pankrat when he removed his
mask too soon. This expanding marshland generation was eventually
exterminated with poison and the laboratories aired.
"You know, Pyotr Stepanovich," Persikov said to Ivanov, "the effect of
the ray on deuteroplasm and on the ovule in general is quite extraordinary."
Ivanov, a cold and reserved gentleman, interrupted the Professor in an
unusual voice:
"Why talk of such minor details as deuteroplasm, Vladimir Ipatych?
Let's not beat about the bush. You have discovered something unheard-of..."
With a great effort Ivanov managed to force the words out. "You have
discovered the ray of life, Professor Persikov!"
A faint flush appeared on Persikov's pale, unshaven cheekbones.
"Well, well," he mumbled.
"You," Ivanov went on, "you will win such renown... It makes my head go
round. Do you understand, Vladimir Ipatych," he continued excitedly, "H. G.
Wells's heroes are nothing compared to you... And I thought that was all
make-believe... Remember his Food for the Gods'!"
"Ah, that's a novel," Persikov replied.
"Yes, of course, but it's famous!"
"I've forgotten it," Persikov said. "I remember reading it, but I've
forgotten it."
"How can you have? Just look at that!" Ivanov picked up an incredibly
large frog with a swollen belly from the glass table by its leg. Even after
death its face had a vicious expression. "It's monstrous!"
CHAPTER IV. Drozdova, the Priest's Widow
Goodness only knows why, perhaps Ivanov was to blame or perhaps the
sensational news just travelled through the air on its own, but in the huge
seething city of Moscow people suddenly started talking about the ray and
Professor Persikov. True, only in passing and vaguely. The news about the
miraculous discovery hopped like a wounded bird round the shining capital,
disappearing from time to time, then popping up again, until the middle of
July when a short item about the ray appeared in the Science and Technology
News section on page 20 of the newspaper Izvestia. It announced briefly that
a well-known professor at the Fourth University had invented a ray capable
of increasing the activity of lower organisms to an incredible degree, and
that the phenomenon would have to be checked. There was a mistake in the
name, of course, which was given as "Pepsikov".
Ivanov brought the newspaper and showed Persikov the article.
... ... ... Продолжение "The Fateful Eggs" Вы можете прочитать здесь Читать целиком |
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- Рабинович, у всех кризис, а вы, судя по яхтам и островам, стали одним
из богатейших людей мира? Откуда???
- Да это не я. Это мой прадедушка в 1909 году в Иллинойсе, в
букмекерской конторе, на последние 10 центов, купил билетик
1:100000000000000, что негр, в ближайшие 100 лет, станет Президентом
США. |
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