Anatomically speaking, a man consists of:
A skeleton, or “skellington” as some of our military medics and provincial teachers call it. The skeleton smacks of death. Covered in a sheet, it will frighten you to death; without one, it will frighten you too, but not to death.
A head. Everyone has one, but not everybody needs one. Some believe that heads were given us so we can think, others so we can wear hats. (The second belief is less dangerous.) Sometimes heads contain brain matter. A police supervisor, present at the autopsy of a man who had suddenly dropped dead, on seeing the brain asked the doctor what it was. “That is what people think with,” the doctor replied. The police supervisor grinned contemptuously.
A face. The mirror of the soul (except in the case of lawyers). It has many synonyms: physiognomy, countenance (facies, or continentia as the priesthood might say), visage, mug, ugly puss, etc.
A forehead. Its functions: to touch the floor as one kneels begging for favors, and to bang against the wall when said favors are not accorded. (Consequently, the forehead often reacts to gold.)
The eyes. These are the police commissioners of the head. They see all and make a note of everything. The blind man is like a town abandoned by the authorities. In days of sorrow, eyes weep. But during the happy times in which we live, they only weep with emotion.
The nose. We have been given noses for nasal colds and our sense of smell. It is best not to stick noses into politics. Sniffing has been known to increase the revenues generated by the tobacco tax, which is why the nose can be counted among man’s useful organs. At times a nose is red, but not because it is freethinking (at least, that is what the experts claim).
The tongue. According to Cicero it is the hostis hominum et amicus diaboli feminarumque.12 As denunciations are nowadays written on paper, tongues have been sent packing. In women and snakes, tongues serve to pass the time. The best kind of tongue: boiled.
The nape. Is only of use to the Russian peasantry, for the yoke to rest on.
The ears. Ears are drawn to cracks in doors, open windows, tall grass, and flimsy fences.
The hands. They write satirical pieces, play the violin, seize, apprehend, lead away, confine, beat. For the simple man, hands provide a living; for those not so simple, they serve as a means to distinguish right from left.
The heart. A repository for patriotic and many other sentiments. In women the heart is like an inn: the ventricles are occupied by the military, the atria by civilians, the apex cordis by the husband. The heart looks like the ace of hearts in a deck of cards.
The waist. The Achilles’ heel of ladies who read fashion magazines, nude models, seamstresses, and warrant officers with lofty ideals. A favorite among young bridegrooms and corset sellers. The second target when a young man declares his love. (The first target is a kiss.)
The paunch. This is not a body part one is born with, but a part one acquires. It grows according to the rank of the councilor. A state councilor without a paunch cannot sit in state. (By Jove, the perfect pun!) Ranks below that of the court councilor do not have paunches, but bellies; merchants have guts, and merchants’ wives wombs.
The groin. Has not been sufficiently studied by science. According to house porters it is located somewhere above the knee, while according to field medics it is found somewhere below the chest.
The legs. These grow out of the place nature invented to be struck by the rod. Legs are extensively used by postmen, debtors, reporters, and messengers.
The heels. Where one finds the souls of guilty husbands, men whose tongues have just slipped, and soldiers fleeing the field of battle.
* * *
12 An enemy of man and a friend of the devil and women. [Translator]
A CHILDREN’S PRIMER
INTRODUCTION
Dear little ones,
Only the just and the honest can be truly happy in this world. Bastards and scoundrels can never be happy, and therefore you have to be honest and just. You must not cheat at cards—not because you might get bashed over the head with a candlestick, but because it is dishonest. You must honor your elders—not because you will be given a good hiding, but because it is what fairness demands. For your edification, I have gathered some stories and tales.
Miserliness Does Not Pay
Once upon a time three friends—Ivanov, Petrov, and Smirnov—went to a tavern to have lunch. Ivanov and Petrov were not misers, and ordered a sixty-kopeck lunch. Smirnov, on the other hand, being a miser, refused to order any food. They asked him why.
“I don’t like the cabbage soup they serve in these taverns,” he told them. “And furthermore, all I have left is sixty kopecks. A man has to keep some money for cigarettes. I think I’ll just have an apple!”
Smirnov ordered an apple and began eating it, looking enviously at his friends eating cabbage soup and tasty dishes of poultry. But the thought that he had managed to save some money comforted him. One can imagine his astonishment when the bill came: Two full meals—one ruble and twenty kopecks. One apple—seventy-five kopecks. From that day on he ceased being a miser, and never again bought fruit at taverns.
Taunt Not Thy Neighbor
A five-ruble coin struck up a conversation with a one-ruble plate of food, and began to taunt it.
“My friend!” he said to the one-ruble plate of food. “Take a look at me! I am a lot smaller than you, but worth quite a bit more, not to mention the shine I give off! Though my actual value is set at five rubles and fifteen kopecks, people are already paying a good eight rubles for me!”
The coin continued taunting the one-ruble plate of food for quite a long time. The plate of food listened and listened, but said nothing. A little later the plate of food came across a one-ruble banknote and said to it: “I feel so sorry for you, you poor piece of paper, you! How ridiculous you look! Though my actual value is set at one ruble, people are already paying a ruble and a quarter for me in taverns, while you are now worth even less than your official value! Shame on you!”
“My dear friend,” the one-ruble banknote replied, “you and your friend the five-ruble coin have reached your grandeur on account of my fall. But nevertheless I’m glad to have been of some service to you.”
The one-ruble plate of food blushed with shame.
Blatant Ingratitude
Once upon a time a pious man gathered together in his courtyard on his name day all the lame, blind, crippled, and purulent of the town and gave them food. He offered them watery cabbage soup, peas, and raisin pies.
“Eat and rejoice in the Lord, my brothers and sisters!” he told the beggars. They ate without a hint of gratitude. After the meal, the crippled, lame, blind, and purulent said a hasty prayer and left.
“Well? How was the pious man’s food?” a constable standing near the pious man’s gate said to one of the lame beggars.
The lame man waved dismissively and limped on. The constable asked one of the purulent beggars the same question.
“All he did was spoil our appetite!” the purulent beggar replied indignantly. “They’re burying Yarlikov the merchant today, and we’re all going to his funeral feast.”
A Fitting Retribution
There once was a naughty boy who was in the habit of scribbling indecent words on walls. He scribbled them convinced he would not be punished. But, dear children, all bad deeds are punished. One day the naughty boy walked along a wall, took out a piece of chalk, and wrote for all to see: “Fool! Fool! Fool!” People walked past and read it. A clever man walked by, read the words, and went on his way. A fool walked by, read the words, and took the naughty boy to court for defamation.
“I am not taking him to court because his words have insulted me,” the fool maintained, “but out of principle!”
Excessive Diligence
There once was a newspaper plagued with maggots. The editor in chief called in the m
arsh birds and told them: “Gobble up all those maggots!” The birds began pecking away, and pecked up not only all the maggots but the whole editorial office, along with the editor in chief.
Truth Will Out
As he lay dying, King Darius of Persia called his son Ataxerxes to his side. “My son, I am dying,” he said to him. “After my death you must call together all the wise men of the world and have them solve the riddle I will tell you. Appoint the men who solve the riddle as your ministers.”
Leaning forward, Darius whispered the riddle into his son’s ear.
After his father’s death, Ataxerxes called together all the wise men of the world.
“Wise men!” he proclaimed. “My father ordered me to ask you the following riddle. Whoever solves it will become my minister.
Ataxeres told them the riddle. The wise men were five in number.
“But who will check our answers, Your Majesty?” one of the wise men asked the young king.
“No one will,” Ataxerxes answered. “I trust your word. If you assure me that you have solved the riddle, I will believe you without putting you to the test.”
The wise men sat around a table, and began trying to work out the riddle. That very day, toward evening, one of the wise men appeared before Ataxerxes and said: “I have solved the riddle.”
“Excellent. I herewith appoint you as my minister.”
The following day three more wise men solved the riddle. Only one wise man, Artazostra, remained seated at the table. He could not solve the riddle. A week passed, a month passed, and Artazostra still sat at the table struggling to solve the riddle. A year passed. Two years passed. Pale, thin, and haggard, he sat there filling hundreds of sheets of paper with scribbles, and yet he was nowhere near finding the solution.
“Put him to death, Your Majesty!” the other wise men who had solved the riddle said to the king. “He has tricked you by passing himself off as a wise man!”
Yet Ataxerxes did not put Artazostra to death, but waited patiently. Five years later, Artazostra appeared before the king, fell to his knees, and said: “Your Majesty! This riddle is unsolvable!”
The king helped the wise man to his feet, kissed him, and said: “You are right, wise man! This riddle is in fact unsolvable. With your words you have answered the one question that weighed heavily on my heart: You have proved to me that there are still honest men in the world. And as for you,” he said, turning to his four ministers, “you are nothing but swindlers!”
Perturbed, one of the four ministers asked: “I suppose you want us to leave?”
“No! Stay!” Ataxerxes said to them. “Swindlers though you are, I need you.”
And thank God, they did stay.
For Evil Too Let Us Be Thankful
“O almighty Zeus! Powerful hurler of thunderbolts!” a poet once prayed to Zeus. “Send me a muse to inspire me!”
Ancient history was not one of Zeus’s strong points. So it should come as no surprise that he made a mistake, and instead of sending Melpomene he sent Terpsichore to the poet. Terpsichore appeared before the poet, and the poet, instead of composing ditties that he could sell to magazines, went and enrolled in dance classes. He danced for a hundred days and a hundred nights, and then suddenly thought: “Zeus did not listen to me. He is making fun of me. I prayed for inspiration and he has taught me how to do a jig!”
And the poet impudently wrote a scathing ditty about Zeus. The Olympian god hurled down a thunderbolt at him. The poet died.
Conclusion
And so my dear children, do good and you shall triumph.
SOOTHSAYER AND SOOTHSAYERESS
Nanny is reading the old quartermaster’s fortune.
“I see a road.”
“Where to?
Nanny waves her hand northward. The quartermaster’s face turns white.
“You will be traveling with a money sack on your knees,” the old woman adds.
Bliss floods the quartermaster’s face.
A civil servant is sitting with two lit candles, looking into the mirror. He wants to divine the height, complexion, and temperament of his new superior, whom he has not yet met. He gazes into the mirror for an hour, two, three. Tremors flit over his eyes, little sticks fly past, feathers flutter about—but no superior of any kind. He sees nothing: no superiors, no inferiors. A fourth hour passes, a fifth . . . He has had enough of waiting for the new superior. He stands up, waves his hand dismissively, and sighs.
“I see the position will remain unfilled,” he says. “That is not good at all. Anarchy will reign!”
A young lady is standing by the gate in her yard waiting for someone to walk by. She has decided that the first passerby’s name will be that of her future betrothed.
Someone is approaching.
She quickly opens the gate and calls out, “May I ask your name, sir?”
The answer to her question is a loud moo, and through the half-open gate she sees a large dark head. Upon this head is a pair of horns.
“So that’s what his name will be,” the young lady thinks to herself. “I hope his face will be different, though.”
The editor of a daily newspaper is trying to read the fortune of his offspring in some coffee grounds.
“Give it up,” his deputy editor tells him. “This is pointless. Give it up, I tell you!”
The editor is not listening, and continues to stare into the coffee grounds.
“I see many images,” he says. “The devil knows what they are. I see some gloves! Ah, a hedgehog! And here’s a nose . . . it’s the spitting image of my son Makar’s nose! And here’s a baby calf . . . I have no idea what any of this means.
The doctor’s wife is looking into the future with the help of a mirror and sees . . . coffins.
“That can only mean somebody will die,” she thinks. “Or . . . that my husband’s practice will flourish this year.”
THE VAUDEVILLIAN
Ivan Akimovich Sparrov-Falkonov, a vaudevillian, thrust his hands into the pockets of his wide trousers, turned to face the window, and fixed his languid eyes on the house across the street. Five minutes of silence ensued.
“How tiresome!” Maria Andreyevna, an ingénue, said with a yawn. “Why don’t you say something, Ivan Akimovich? You drop in to see me and keep me from learning my lines, so at least say something! How intolerable you are, I must—”
“Well . . . umm . . . there is something I would like to ask you, but . . . how shall I put it? If I just blurt it out, like some lout, well, you would laugh at me . . . No, I will not speak! I will hold my tongue!”
“I wonder what he wants to ask me?” the ingénue thought. “How agitated he is, and that strange glint in his eye, and how he keeps shuffling from one foot to the other . . . He’s not going to declare his love, is he? Oh, what fools men are! Yesterday the first violin proposed, today the raisonneur spent the whole rehearsal sighing—boredom has driven them all insane!”
The vaudevillian left the window and walked over to the dressing table, where he eyed the nail clippers and jars of rouge.
“Well . . . um . . . you see, I want to ask you something, but I am afraid . . . I feel so awkward. If I blurt it out just like that you will say: ‘The boor! The peasant!’ I know you so well, Maria Andreyevna! No, I will hold my tongue!”
“But what should I say to him if he really does declare his love?” the ingénue pondered. “He’s a good enough man, well-known, talented, but, well, I really don’t like him. He isn’t much to look at, his shoulders droop—and what about those warts on his face? His voice is shrill, and those mannerisms! No! Never!”
The vaudevillian began pacing up and down the room in silence. He slumped heavily into an armchair, and noisily snatched up a newspaper lying on the table. His eyes darted over the pages as if they were looking for something. They stopped on one of the smudged let
ters and sagged.
“If only there were some flies buzzing around!” he grumbled. “That would at least brighten things up a little.”
“If you think about it, his eyes aren’t that bad,” the ingénue mused. “But the best thing about him, I suppose, is his character. After all, the soul and mind of a man are far more important than his looks. Well . . . I could see myself married to him, but living with him without a ring is absolutely out of the question! How he looked at me just now! Obviously his senses are inflamed! But why is he so timid? I simply don’t understand!”
The vaudevillian sighed deeply and smacked his lips. His silence was clearly weighing heavily on him. He turned red as a lobster. His mouth twisted to the side. There was a look of anguish on his face.
“Well, do I really need a ring?” the ingénue mused. “He does earn a good salary, and living with him would be better than living with some roughneck of a sea captain. Fine! I will tell him that I’m prepared to live with him! Why hurt the poor man’s feelings by turning him down? His life is hard enough as it is.”
“No! I must speak!” the vaudevillian spluttered, rising from the armchair and throwing the newspaper aside. “I can’t control my damned nature! I can’t hold back! Beat me, curse me if you will, Maria Andreyevna, but I must speak!”
“Speak! Speak, for heaven’s sake!”
“Maria Andreyevna, my dear, sweet Maria Andreyevna! I beg you . . . I beseech you, I implore you on bended knee . . .”
The vaudevillian’s eyes filled with tears.
“For goodness’ sake! Speak!”
“Tell me, my sweet Maria Andreyevna, could I . . . could I possibly have a glass of vodka, just a tiny little glass? My soul is on fire! After yesterday’s drinking bout my mouth is so oxidized, transoxidized, superoxidized, that no chemist in the world can deoxidize it! I appeal to you from the depths of my soul! I’m at the end of my tether!”