Mikhail Bulgakov. The Fateful Eggs -
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Karmanchikov sang satirical songs composed by the poets Ardo and Arguyev,
Oh, Mama, what shall I do
Without my little eggies two?
accompanied by a tap-dance.
The theatre named after the deceased Vsevolod Meyer-hold who, it will
be remembered, met his end in 1927 during a production of Pushkin's Boris
Godunov, when the trapezes with naked boyars collapsed, sported a running
coloured neon strip announcing a new play by the writer Erendors, entitled
"Fowl Farewell" directed by Kuchterman, a pupil of Meyerhold. Next door, at
the Aquarium Gardens, ablaze with neon advertisements and shining half-naked
women, the revue "Son-of-a-Hen" by the writer Lenivtsev was playing to loud
applause among the foliage of the open-air variety stage. And along
Tverskaya trotted a line of circus donkeys, with lanterns under each ear and
gaudy posters. The Korsh Theatre was reviving Rostand's Chantecler.
Newspaper boys bellowed and yelled among the motor wheels:
"Horrific find in underground cave! Poland preparing for horrific war!
Horrific experiments by Professor Persikov!"
In the circus of the former Nikitin, in a rich brown arena smelling
sweetly of dung, the deathly white clown Born was talking to Bim, all
swollen up with dropsy.
"I know why you're so fed up!"
"Why ith it?" squealed Bim.
"You buried your eggs under a gooseberry bush, and the 15th District
police squad has found them."
"Ha-ha-ha-ha," laughed the circus, so hard that the blood curdled
happily and longingly in their veins and the trapezes and cobwebs stirred
under the old dome.
"Allez-oop!" the clowns shouted loudly, and a well-fed white horse
trotted out bearing a stunningly beautiful woman with shapely legs in a
crimson costume.
Not looking at or taking heed of anyone and ignoring the prostitutes'
nudges and soft, enticing invitations, the inspired and solitary Professor