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seminaristИли вот, не угодно ли - Аркадий Аверченко по-английски
The Yalta police officer Sapogov received an honorable assignment from his superiors, one that required trust in his intellect and tact: to go through his precinct and check on all the Jews - whether each Jew was practicing the craft that they themselves had stated, which gave such a Jew the precious, fragile right to live amidst the wonderful nature of Yalta...
Sapogov was ordered to check on the crafty Semites in the following way: let each Semite make some object according to his craft specialty right there in front of Sapogov's eyes, thus proving that the vigilant authorities had not been misled by any unworthy deception.
"Just keep your ears pricked," the police sergeant warned Sapogov. "Otherwise they'll lead you around by the nose!"
"The Yids? Me? Good Lord."
And Sapogov set off.
***
"Good day!" said Sapogov, entering young Abram Goldin's home. "You there, as they say: practicing your craft?"
"Why wouldn't I practice it?" Abram Goldin wondered. "I earn a modest living. You know - photography, of course, is that kind of work: if you practice it, then you can earn a modest living. Heh heh! To your health..."
"Well then," Sapogov said hesitantly, shifting from foot to foot. "Here's what you'll do, brother... You'll prove it! An inspection from the authorities has come down..."
"Be so kind," Abram Goldin fussed, "we'll take such a photograph of you that you'll fall in love with yourself! Please have a seat... Like that. Tilt your head slightly, make your eyes, please, a little more intelligent... you can close your mouth! Close your mouth! Don't make it look like your teeth hurt. Your nose, if you don't mind, you can leave alone for now. Later, when I'm done, you can touch it, but for now keep your hands on your chest. I ask you now not to move: now you have a re-mark-ab-ly cultured look! Taking it!! Done. Thank you! Now you can do whatever you like with your nose."
Sapogov stood up, luxuriously stretched his mighty limbs, and looked at the camera with interest.
"Well then - take it out!"
"Take...what out?..."
"Whatever came out in there? Show me!..."
"You see...I can't right now! There's nothing yet. I still need to go into the darkroom to develop the negative."
Sapogov wagged his finger at Goldin and smirked.
"Heh heh! An old trick!...No, brother, you show me right now... Anyone could do that otherwise."
"What are you saying?" the photographer cried anxiously. "How can I show you when it's not developed! I need the darkroom, with the red light, I need..."
"Yes, yes..." Sapogov nodded, glancing at Goldin ironically. "Red light, of course... darkroom... Well, aren't you crafty ones, you Yids! Where do you learn this stuff...Or is it just innate? 'Give me,' he says, 'a darkroom'... Ha ha! No...Take it out now!"
"Well, if I take it out, the plate will be completely white!...And it'll be ruined as soon as light hits it!..."
Sapogov was delighted.
"Where do you get this stuff?! What a slick people! 'Darkroom,' he says. Yes. Ha ha! You won't fool me in that room... I know all about it. Take it out!"
"Okay," Goldin sighed, and took a white plate out of the camera. "Look! Here it is."
Sapogov took the plate, looked at it - and a terrible, heavy, bitter resentment ignited in his chest.
"Well then...So this is what I am? You're quite the photographer. I understand!"
"What do you understand?!" Goldin became frightened.
The police officer looked somberly at Goldin...
"That's what. You're a deceitful man. You'll get your marching orders tomorrow. Within 24 hours."
***
Sapogov stood in David Shepelevich's lithography workshop, his suspicious eyes darting around the strange plates and stones haphazardly piled in every corner.
"Bonjour," Shepelevich greeted politely. "How is your health?"
"So so. Are you a craftsman? What kind of craftsman are you?"
"A lithographer. I make various labels, invitations... Calling cards."
"Well then show me that!" said Sapogov with a wink.
"As many as you'd like! We'll print your card right now, your grace. What is your esteemed name? Sapogov? Pavel Maksimovich? One minute! We'll write it directly on the stone!"
"Where are you going?" Sapogov became anxious. "Write it right here in front of me, brother!"
"But I am, right in front of you! On the stone!"
He leaned over the stone, and Sapogov looked over his shoulder.
"What are you writing there? Is that how it's done?"
"It's nothing," said Shepelevich. "I'm writing backwards on the stone, but the imprint on the card will come out correct."
Sapogov snorted and put his hand on the lithographer's shoulder.
"No, don't do that. I don't want that. Do it properly, brother. Write in Russian!"
"But it is in Russian! It just has to be backwards."
Sapogov burst out laughing.
"It has to be, does it? No, brother, it doesn't have to. Write it properly! Left to right!"
"Good Lord! What are you saying! Then the reverse imprint won't work!"
"Write it properly!" Sapogov said sternly. "No need for foolishness."
The lithographer shrugged and leaned over the stone. Ten minutes later, Sapogov was scrutinizing the calling card intently, furrowing his brow as he read:
"Vogopas Chivomiskam Levap."
His heart felt heavy...
"So...This is me then? Vogopas Chivomiskam Levap. I understand! Mocking the authorities - you're quite skilled at that! I understand!! Some craftsman! We'll make a note. Tomorrow within 24 hours."
As he left, his good-natured face had become haggard. The bitterness of undeserved insult was etched upon it.
"Vogopas," the police officer thought with a heavy sigh, "Chivomiskam!"
***
Old Leiba Butskus, sitting in a corner of the park, earned his living by operating a remarkable invention that delighted all the neighborhood boys...It was a strange apparatus with two openings, into one of which you dropped a five kopek coin, and out of the other fell a piece of chocolate in a colorful wrapper. Many boys knew that the same chocolate could be bought at any shop without any apparatus, but the apparatus itself piqued their inquisitive minds...
Sapogov approached old Leiba and laconically asked:
"Hey you! Craftsman...What are you doing?"
The old man raised his red eyes to the police officer and calmly replied:
"Making chocolate."
"How do you make it like that?" Sapogov eyed the strange apparatus suspiciously.
"What do you mean how? Just like this. You drop a nickel in here, and the chocolate comes out there."
"You're lying," said Sapogov. "That can't be!"
"Why not? It can. You'll see right now."
The old man took a nickel from his pocket and dropped it into the opening. When a piece of chocolate shot out of the other opening, Sapogov doubled over laughing and exclaimed in delight:
"How does it do that? Oh Lord. What a clever old man. How does it happen like that?"
His astonished gaze was fixed on the apparatus.
"A machine," the apathetic old man shrugged. "Don't you see?"
"A machine, sure, a machine," Sapogov objected. "But how does it work like that? The nickel is hard metal, but the chocolate is soft and sweet...how can something so tasty come out of a hard metal nickel?"
The old man looked intently at Sapogov with his red eyes and slowly lowered his lids.
"Electricity and acid. The acid softens it, the electricity processes it, and the spring ejects it”.
"Well, well," Sapogov shook his head. "What people come up with. You just keep working, old man. This is great."
"But I am working!" said the old man.
"And keep working. This is something, brother! Not everyone can do it. Farewell!"
And what Sapogov did immediately after saying that word could only be explained by his astonishment and reverence for the mysteries of nature and the depth of human ingenuity: he extended his hand in a friendly gesture to the old chocolate maker.
***
The next day, Shepelevich and Goldin were leaving on the first ship departing from Yalta, along with their families.
Sapogov came as part of his duties to see them off.
"I bear you no ill will," he said, nodding at them good-naturedly. "There are decent Jews who act without deceit, and then there's the other sort - the tricksters. If you do indeed work - with chocolate or whatever - I'll leave you be! But if it's 'Vogopas Chivomiskam Levap' - what's that about then?"
The Yalta police officer Sapogov received an honorable assignment from his superiors, one that required trust in his intellect and tact: to go through his precinct and check on all the Jews - whether each Jew was practicing the craft that they themselves had stated, which gave such a Jew the precious, fragile right to live amidst the wonderful nature of Yalta...
Sapogov was ordered to check on the crafty Semites in the following way: let each Semite make some object according to his craft specialty right there in front of Sapogov's eyes, thus proving that the vigilant authorities had not been misled by any unworthy deception.
"Just keep your ears pricked," the police sergeant warned Sapogov. "Otherwise they'll lead you around by the nose!"
"The Yids? Me? Good Lord."
And Sapogov set off.
***
"Good day!" said Sapogov, entering young Abram Goldin's home. "You there, as they say: practicing your craft?"
"Why wouldn't I practice it?" Abram Goldin wondered. "I earn a modest living. You know - photography, of course, is that kind of work: if you practice it, then you can earn a modest living. Heh heh! To your health..."
"Well then," Sapogov said hesitantly, shifting from foot to foot. "Here's what you'll do, brother... You'll prove it! An inspection from the authorities has come down..."
"Be so kind," Abram Goldin fussed, "we'll take such a photograph of you that you'll fall in love with yourself! Please have a seat... Like that. Tilt your head slightly, make your eyes, please, a little more intelligent... you can close your mouth! Close your mouth! Don't make it look like your teeth hurt. Your nose, if you don't mind, you can leave alone for now. Later, when I'm done, you can touch it, but for now keep your hands on your chest. I ask you now not to move: now you have a re-mark-ab-ly cultured look! Taking it!! Done. Thank you! Now you can do whatever you like with your nose."
Sapogov stood up, luxuriously stretched his mighty limbs, and looked at the camera with interest.
"Well then - take it out!"
"Take...what out?..."
"Whatever came out in there? Show me!..."
"You see...I can't right now! There's nothing yet. I still need to go into the darkroom to develop the negative."
Sapogov wagged his finger at Goldin and smirked.
"Heh heh! An old trick!...No, brother, you show me right now... Anyone could do that otherwise."
"What are you saying?" the photographer cried anxiously. "How can I show you when it's not developed! I need the darkroom, with the red light, I need..."
"Yes, yes..." Sapogov nodded, glancing at Goldin ironically. "Red light, of course... darkroom... Well, aren't you crafty ones, you Yids! Where do you learn this stuff...Or is it just innate? 'Give me,' he says, 'a darkroom'... Ha ha! No...Take it out now!"
"Well, if I take it out, the plate will be completely white!...And it'll be ruined as soon as light hits it!..."
Sapogov was delighted.
"Where do you get this stuff?! What a slick people! 'Darkroom,' he says. Yes. Ha ha! You won't fool me in that room... I know all about it. Take it out!"
"Okay," Goldin sighed, and took a white plate out of the camera. "Look! Here it is."
Sapogov took the plate, looked at it - and a terrible, heavy, bitter resentment ignited in his chest.
"Well then...So this is what I am? You're quite the photographer. I understand!"
"What do you understand?!" Goldin became frightened.
The police officer looked somberly at Goldin...
"That's what. You're a deceitful man. You'll get your marching orders tomorrow. Within 24 hours."
***
Sapogov stood in David Shepelevich's lithography workshop, his suspicious eyes darting around the strange plates and stones haphazardly piled in every corner.
"Bonjour," Shepelevich greeted politely. "How is your health?"
"So so. Are you a craftsman? What kind of craftsman are you?"
"A lithographer. I make various labels, invitations... Calling cards."
"Well then show me that!" said Sapogov with a wink.
"As many as you'd like! We'll print your card right now, your grace. What is your esteemed name? Sapogov? Pavel Maksimovich? One minute! We'll write it directly on the stone!"
"Where are you going?" Sapogov became anxious. "Write it right here in front of me, brother!"
"But I am, right in front of you! On the stone!"
He leaned over the stone, and Sapogov looked over his shoulder.
"What are you writing there? Is that how it's done?"
"It's nothing," said Shepelevich. "I'm writing backwards on the stone, but the imprint on the card will come out correct."
Sapogov snorted and put his hand on the lithographer's shoulder.
"No, don't do that. I don't want that. Do it properly, brother. Write in Russian!"
"But it is in Russian! It just has to be backwards."
Sapogov burst out laughing.
"It has to be, does it? No, brother, it doesn't have to. Write it properly! Left to right!"
"Good Lord! What are you saying! Then the reverse imprint won't work!"
"Write it properly!" Sapogov said sternly. "No need for foolishness."
The lithographer shrugged and leaned over the stone. Ten minutes later, Sapogov was scrutinizing the calling card intently, furrowing his brow as he read:
"Vogopas Chivomiskam Levap."
His heart felt heavy...
"So...This is me then? Vogopas Chivomiskam Levap. I understand! Mocking the authorities - you're quite skilled at that! I understand!! Some craftsman! We'll make a note. Tomorrow within 24 hours."
As he left, his good-natured face had become haggard. The bitterness of undeserved insult was etched upon it.
"Vogopas," the police officer thought with a heavy sigh, "Chivomiskam!"
***
Old Leiba Butskus, sitting in a corner of the park, earned his living by operating a remarkable invention that delighted all the neighborhood boys...It was a strange apparatus with two openings, into one of which you dropped a five kopek coin, and out of the other fell a piece of chocolate in a colorful wrapper. Many boys knew that the same chocolate could be bought at any shop without any apparatus, but the apparatus itself piqued their inquisitive minds...
Sapogov approached old Leiba and laconically asked:
"Hey you! Craftsman...What are you doing?"
The old man raised his red eyes to the police officer and calmly replied:
"Making chocolate."
"How do you make it like that?" Sapogov eyed the strange apparatus suspiciously.
"What do you mean how? Just like this. You drop a nickel in here, and the chocolate comes out there."
"You're lying," said Sapogov. "That can't be!"
"Why not? It can. You'll see right now."
The old man took a nickel from his pocket and dropped it into the opening. When a piece of chocolate shot out of the other opening, Sapogov doubled over laughing and exclaimed in delight:
"How does it do that? Oh Lord. What a clever old man. How does it happen like that?"
His astonished gaze was fixed on the apparatus.
"A machine," the apathetic old man shrugged. "Don't you see?"
"A machine, sure, a machine," Sapogov objected. "But how does it work like that? The nickel is hard metal, but the chocolate is soft and sweet...how can something so tasty come out of a hard metal nickel?"
The old man looked intently at Sapogov with his red eyes and slowly lowered his lids.
"Electricity and acid. The acid softens it, the electricity processes it, and the spring ejects it”.
"Well, well," Sapogov shook his head. "What people come up with. You just keep working, old man. This is great."
"But I am working!" said the old man.
"And keep working. This is something, brother! Not everyone can do it. Farewell!"
And what Sapogov did immediately after saying that word could only be explained by his astonishment and reverence for the mysteries of nature and the depth of human ingenuity: he extended his hand in a friendly gesture to the old chocolate maker.
***
The next day, Shepelevich and Goldin were leaving on the first ship departing from Yalta, along with their families.
Sapogov came as part of his duties to see them off.
"I bear you no ill will," he said, nodding at them good-naturedly. "There are decent Jews who act without deceit, and then there's the other sort - the tricksters. If you do indeed work - with chocolate or whatever - I'll leave you be! But if it's 'Vogopas Chivomiskam Levap' - what's that about then?"
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Date: 2024-05-17 02:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-05-17 07:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-05-17 12:19 pm (UTC)Я помню книжечку Булгакова на английском, вышедшую году в 90-м: "Собачье сердце" и "Роковые яйца". Переводчики были разные – "Яйца" были живее и смешнее, а "Сердце" было похоже на этот перевод.