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drank water and milk. While her husband drank vodka and wine, but didn't
drink milk. Though, in fact, his wife, to tell the truth, also drank vodka
but kept it quiet. But her husband was quite shameless and didn't keep it
quiet.
-- I don't drink milk, I drink vodka! -- he always said. While his wife
on the quiet, from under her apron, pulled out a jar and -- glug! -- she was
drinking away.
Her husband, the prince, says: -- You could have given me some.
But his wife, the princess, says: -- No, there's little enough for me.
Shoo!
-- As for you, -- says the prince -- call yourself a lady! -- And with
these words, wallop, and his wife's on the floor! The wife, her whole kisser
smashed in, lies on the floor crying. And the prince wrapped himself in his
cloak and went to his quarters in the tower, where his cages stood. He bred
fowls there, you see. And so the prince arrived in the tower and there the
chickens were squawking, wanting food. one chicken even began to neigh.
-- As for you -- said the prince -- you chauntecleer! Shut up, before
you get your teeth bashed in! -- The chicken doesn't understand a word and
just carries on neighing. So, in the end then, we've got a chicken making a
racket in the tower, and tile prince, then, offing and blinding and his
wife, then, downstairs lying on the floor -- in a word, a complete Sodom.
That's the sort of story Andrey Andreyevich would think up. Even just
from this story you can tell that Andrey Andreyevich is a major talent.
Andrey Andreyevich is a very clever man. Very clever and very fine!
1938
--------
They call me the Capuchin. For that I'll tear the ears off whomsoever
it may be necessary, but meanwhile I get no peace from the fame of
Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Why did he have to know everything? How to swaddle
infants and how to give young girls in marriage I would also like to know
everything. In fact I do know everything, except that I am not so sure of my
theories. About infants, I certainly know that they should not be swaddled
at all -- they should be obliterated. For this I would establish a central
pit in the city and would throw the infants into it. And so that the stench
of decomposition should not come from the pit, it could be flooded every
week with quicklime. Into the same pit I would also stick all Alsatian dogs.
Now, about giving young girls in marriage. That, in my view, is even
simpler: I would establish a public hall where, say, once a month all the
youth would assemble. All of them between seventeen and thirty-five would
have to strip naked and parade up and down the hall. If anyone fancied
someone, then that pail would go off into a corner and there examine each
other in detail. I forgot to say that they would all have to have a card
hanging from the neck with their name, surname and address. Then, a letter
could be sent to whomever was to someone's taste, to set up a more intimate
acquaintance. Should any old man or woman intervene in these matters, I
would propose killing them with an axe and dragging them off to the same
place as the infants -- to the central pit.
I would have written more of the knowledge within me, but unfortunately
I have to go to the shop for tobacco. When walking on the street, I always
take with me a thick knotty stick. I take it with me in order to batter any
infants who may get under my feet. That must be why they called me the
Capuchin. But just you wait, you swine, I'll skin your ears yet!
1938
--------
Serov, an artist, went to the Obvodny Canal. Why did he go there? To
buy some india rubber. What did he want india rubber for? To make himself a
rubber band. And what did he want a rubber band for? In order to stretch it.
That's what for. And what else? This is what else: the artist Serov had
broken his clock. The clock had been going well, but he picked it up and
broke it. What else? Nothing else. Nothing, this is it, in a nutshell! Keep
your filthy snout out when it's not needed! And may the lord have mercy on
us!
Once there lived an old woman. She lived and lived, until she got burnt
up in her stove. Served her right, too! The artist Serov, at least, was of
that opinion...
Huh! I would write some more, but the ink-pot has suddenly gone and
disappeared.
1938
--------
I had raised dust. Children were running after me, tearing their
clothing. Old men and old women fell from roofs. I whistled, I roared, my
teeth chattered and I clattered like an iron bar. Lacerated children raced
after me and, falling behind, broke their thin legs in their awful haste.
Old men and old women were skipping around me. I rushed on! Filthy, rachitic
children, looking like toadstools, got tangled under my feet. Running was
hard going. I kept remembering things and once I even almost fell into the
soft mush of old men and women floundering on the ground. I jumped, snapped
a few heads off toadstools and trod on the belly of a thin old woman, who at
this emitted a loud crunch and softly muttered: -- They've worn me out. --
Not looking back, I ran on further. Now under my feet was a clean and smooth
pavement. Occasional streetlamps lit my way. I ran up to the bath-house. The
welcoming bath-house flickered in front of me and the cosy but stifling
bathhouse steam was already in my nostrils, ears and mouth. Without
undressing, I ran straight through the changing-room, then past the taps,
the tubs and the planks, to the shelf. A hot white cloud surrounds me, I
hear a weak but insistent sound. I seem to be lying down.
And at this point, a mighty relaxation stopped my heart.
1939
--------
A shortish gent with a pebble in his eye went up to the door of a
tobacconist's shop and stopped. His black polished shoes gleamed on the
stone step leading up to the tobacconist's. The toe-caps of his shoes were
directed at the inside of the shop. Two more steps and the gentleman would
have disappeared through the door. But for some reason he dilly-dallied, as
though purposely to position his head under the brick which was falling from
the roof. The gentleman had even taken off his hat, baring his bald skull,
and thus the brick struck the gentleman right on his bare head, broke the
cranium and embedded itself in his brain. The gentleman didn't fall. No, he
merely staggered a bit from the terrible blow, pulled a handkerchief from
his pocket, used it to wipe his face, which was all gooey from blood and
brains, and, turning towards the crowd, which had instantly gathered around
the gentleman, he said: -- Don't worry, ladies and gents: I've already had
the vaccination. You can see -- I've got a protruding pebble in my right
eye. That was also once quite an incident. I've already got used to that.
Now everything's just fine and dandy!
And with these words the gentleman replaced his hat and went off
somewhere into the margins, leaving the troubled crowd in complete
bewilderment.
1939-40
--------
There was a house, full of old women. The old women lounged around the
house all day and swatted flies with paper bags. There were in all
thirty-six old women in this house. The most vigourous old woman, by surname
Yufleva, ordered the other old women about. She would nib any disobedient
old woman on the back of the shoulders or trip her up, and she would fall
and smash her face. One old woman called Zvyakina, punished by Yufleva, fell
so disastrously that she broke both her jaws. The doctor had to be sent for.
He arrived, put on his white coat and, having examined Zvyakina, said that
she was too old for there being any possibility of counting on her jaws
mending. Then the doctor asked to be given a hammer, a chisel, pincers and
rope. The old women drifted round the house for ages and, not knowing what
pincers and a chisel look like, they brought the doctor everything that
seemed to them anything like tools. The doctor cursed for a long time but
finally, having received all the objects he had demanded, asked everyone to
withdraw. The old women, burning with curiosity, withdrew with great
displeasure. When the old women, amid swearing and grumbling, had hocked out
of the room, the doctor locked the door behind them and went up to Zvyakina.
-- Now then -- said the doctor and, having grabbed Zvyakina, tied her
tightly with the rope. Then the doctor, paying no attention to the loud
cries and wailing of Zvyakina, placed the chisel to her jaw-bone and struck
the chisel hard with the hammer. Zvyakina began howling in a hoarse bass.
Having shattered Zvyakina's jaw with the chisel, the doctor grabbed the
pincers and, having engaged Zvyakina's jaws, tore them out. Zvyakina howled,
shouted and wheezed, covered in blood. And the doctor dropped the pincers
and Zvyakina's torn jaw-bones, took off his white coat, wiped his hands off
it and, going over to the door, opened it. The old women tumbled into the
room with a scream and stared goggle-eyed, some at Zvyakina, some at the
blood-stained bits lying about on the floor. The doctor pushed his way
between the old women and went out. The old women rushed over to Zvyakina.
Zvyakina faded in volume and, obviously, was in the process of dying.
Yufleva stood right there, looking at Zvyakina and nibbling at sunflower
seeds. The old woman Byashechina said: -- So, Yufleva, even you and I will
snuff it some day.
Yufleva kicked at Byashechina, but the latter jumped aside in time.
-- Come on girls! -- said Byashechina. -- Why hang around here? Let's
leave Yufleva and Zvyakina to romp around, and we'll go and swat flies.
And the old women moved off out of the room.
Yufleva, continuing to bite into her sunflower seeds, stood in the
middle of the room and looked at Zvyakina. Zvyakina had faded away and lay
there motionless. Perhaps she had died.
However, with this the author is finishing his narrative, since he
cannot find his ink-pot.
1940
--------
Pushkov said: -- Woman is the workbench of love.
And he immediately received a clout across the gob.
-- What's that for? -- asked Pushkov.
But, not getting any answer to his question, he continued: -- This is
what I think: a woman should be tackled from below. Women really like this
and only pretend that they don't like it.
At this point Pushkov was again struck across the gob.
-- But what on earth is this, comrades! If that's the way it is, I
won't carry on speaking -- said Pushkov.
But, after waiting about a quarter of a minute, he continued: -- A
woman is so built that she is all soft and damp.
At this point Pushkov was again struck across the gob. Pushkov tried to
pretend that he hadn't noticed this and went on: -- If you just sniff a
woman...
But at this point Pushkov was so slammed across the gob that he caught
hold of his cheek and said: -- Comrades, under these conditions it is
absolutely impossible to deliver a lecture. If this happens again, I shall
discontinue.
Pushkov waited for a quarter of a minute and then continued: -- Now,
where were we? Ah, yes. That was it. A woman loves to look at herself. She
sits down in front of the mirror completely naked...
At this word, Pushkov again received a clout across the gob.
-- Naked -- repeated Pushkov.
Smack! -- he was weighed into right across the gob.
-- Naked! -- yelled Pushkov.
Smack! -- he received a clout across the gob.
-- Naked! A naked woman! A nude tart! -- Pushkov kept yelling. Smack!
Smack! Smack! -- Pushkov took it across the gob.
-- A nude tart with a ladle in her hands! -- yelled Pushkov.
Smack! Smack! -- the blows rained down on Pushkov.
-- A tart's bum-hole! -- yelled Pushkov, dodging the blows. -- A nude
nun!
But at this point Pushkov was struck with such force that he lost
consciousness and crumpled to the floor as though pole-axed.
1940
--------
They said to Myshin: -- Hey, Myshin, get up!
Myshin said: -- I won't get up -- and continued lying on the floor.
Then Kalugin came up to Myshin and said: -- If you don't get up,
Myshin, I will make you get up.
-- No -- said Myshin, continuing to lie on the floor.
Selizneva went up to Myshin and said: -- Myshin, you are for ever
sprawling about the floor in the corridor and you interfere with us walking
backwards and forwards.
-- I have been interfering and I shall keep on interfering -- said
Myshin.
-- Well, you know -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and
said:
-- What's the point of carrying on long conversations about it! Call
the militia!
They called for the militia and called out a militiaman.
The militiaman arrived after half an hour with the caretaker.
-- What's going on here? -- asked the militiaman.
-- How do you like this! -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him
and said:
-- This is the situation. This citizen lies here on the floor all the
time and interferes with us walking along the corridor. We've tried telling
him this and that...
But at this point Kalugin was interrupted by Selizneva, who said: --
We've asked him to go away, but he doesn't go away.
-- Yes -- said Korshunov.
The militiaman went up to Myshin.
-- You, citizen, why are you lying here? -- asked the militiaman.
-- I'm resting -- said Myshin.
-- Resting here is not good enough, citizen -- said the militiaman. --
Where do you live, citizen?
-- Here -- said Myshin.
-- Where's your room? -- asked the militiaman.
-- He's registered in our flat, but he doesn't have a room -- said
Kalugin.
-- Wait a minute, citizen -- said the militiaman -- I'll have a word
with him now. Citizen, where do you sleep?
-- Here -- said Myshin.
-- Allow me to -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and said:
-- He doesn't even have a bed and he sprawls right on the bare floor.
-- They've been complaining about him for a long time -- said the
caretaker.
-- It's absolutely impossible to walk along the corridor -- said
Selizneva -- I can't keep stepping over a man for ever. And he sticks out
his legs on purpose, and he sticks out his hands, and he lies on his back
and looks up. I come back tired from work, I need a rest.
-- And I can add -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and
said:
-- He lies here at night, as well. Everyone trips over him in the dark.
I tore my blanket because of him.
Selizneva said: -- He's always got tin-tacks and things falling out of
his pocket. It's impossible to walk barefooted down the corridor, or before
you know where you are -- you put your foot on something.
-- They wanted to set him alight with kerosene the other day -- said
the caretaker.
-- We did pour kerosene over him -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin
interrupted him and said:
-- We only poured kerosene over him to scare him, but we weren't going
to set light to him.
-- Oh no, I wouldn't have a man burned alive in my presence -- said
Selizneva.
-- But why is this citizen lying in the corridor? -- the militiaman
suddenly asked.
-- That's a fine how do you do! -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin
interrupted him and said:
-- Well, because he hasn't got any other living space: here's where I
live, in this room, and she's in that one, and that one's his, and so Myshin
lives here, in the corridor.
-- That's not good enough -- said the militiaman. -- Everyone should be
lying in their own living space.
-- But he hasn't got any other living space, except in the corridor --
said Kalugin.
-- That's just it -- said Korshunov.
-- And so he goes on lying here -- said Selizneva.
-- That's not good enough -- said the militiaman and went away,
together with the caretaker.
Korshunov leaped over to Myshin.
-- What about it? -- he yelled. -- How did you like that, then?
-- Wait -- said Kalugin. And, going up to Myshin, he said: -- Did you
hear what the militiaman said? Get up from the floor!
-- I won't get up -- said Myshin, continuing to lie there on the floor.
-- Now he will deliberately and furthermore and for ever keep on lying
there -- said Selizneva.
-- Definitely -- said Kalugin with some irritation.
And Korshunov said: -- I don't doubt it. Parfaitement!
1940
--------
Two men fell from a roof. They both fell from the roof of a five-storey
newly erected building. Seemingly a school. They had moved down the roof in
a sitting position to the very edge and at that point started to fall. Their
fall was noticed first of all by Ida Markovna. She was standing at her
window in the building opposite and was blowing her nose into a tumbler. And
suddenly she caught sight of someone starting to fall from the roof of the
building opposite. Peering out, Ida Markovna saw what was an entire twosome
starting to fall at once. Completely losing her head, Ida Markovna tore off
her shift and hurriedly began to rub the misted-over windowpane, the better
to make out who was falling from the roof out there. However, twigging that,
perhaps, those falling might, from their vantage point, be able to glimpse
her naked -- and goodness only knew what they might think of her -- Ida
Markovna jumped back from the window and hid behind the wicker tripod on
which there had at one time stood a pot plant.
At this juncture, those falling from the roof were sighted by another
personage who lived in the same building as Ida Markovna, only two floors
below. This personage was also called Ida Markovna. She happened at the time
to be sitting with her feet up on the window-sill and was sewing a button on
her slipper. Looking out of the window, she had caught sight of those
falling from the roof. Ida Markovna yelped and, leaping up from the
window-sill, hastily began opening the window, so as to get a better view
when those falling from the roof should strike the ground. But the window
would not open. Ida Markovna remembered that she had nailed the window from
beneath and rushed to the stove, in which she kept her tools: four hammers,
a chisel and pincers. Grabbing the pincers, Ida Markovna again ran up to the
window and pulled out the nail. Now the window was easily flung open. Ida
Markovna leaned out of the window and saw those who had fallen from the roof
whistling towards the ground.
On the street a smallish crowd had already gathered. Whistles were
already blowing and a diminutive militiaman was unhurriedly approaching the
location of the anticipated event. A big-nosed caretaker bustled about,
shoving people and explaining that those falling from the roof could smite
the heads of those gathered below. By this time, both Ida Markovnas -- the
one in a dress and the other naked -- having leaned out of their windows,
were squealing and kicking their legs about. And so, finally, arms spread
and eyes agape, those who had fallen from the roof struck the ground.
Just as on occasion we, falling from heights we have attained, may
strike the dreary cage of our future.
Written over four days. Finished 17 October 1940
--------
Perechin sat on a drawing pin and, from this moment, his life changed
abruptly. From a contemplative, quiet man Perechin turned into a downright
scoundrel. He grew himself a moustache and henceforth trimmed it extremely
untidily, in such a way that the one side of his moustache was always longer
than the other. And so his moustache came to grow somehow askew. It became
impossible to look at Perechin. What is more, he would give a repulsive wink
of the eye and twitch his cheek. For a certain time Perechin confined
himself to petty and reprehensible tricks: he told tales, denounced people,
and cheated tram conductors by paying them his fare in the very smallest
copper coin and each time two or three kopecks short.
1940
--------
Pronin said: -- You have very beautiful stockings.
Irina Mazer said: -- Do you like my stockings?
Pronin said: -- Oh yes. Very much. -- And he made a grab at them with
his hand.
Irina said: -- But why do you like my stockings?
Pronin said: -- They are very smooth.
Irina lifted her skirt and said: -- And do you see how high they go?
Pronin said: -- Oh yes, I do.
Irina said: -- But here they come to an end. Up here it's bare leg.
-- Oh, and what leg! -- said Pronin.
-- I've got very thick legs -- said Irina. -- And I'm very wide in the
hips.
-- Show me -- said Pronin.
-- I can't -- said Irina. -- I've no knickers on.
Pronin got down on his knees in front or her.
Irina said: -- What are you kneeling for?
Pronin kissed her on the leg, a little above the stocking top, and
said: -- That's what for.
Irina said: -- Why are you lifting my skirt even higher? I've already
told you I've no knickers on.
But Pronin lifted her skirt all the same and said: -- Never mind, never
mind.
-- What do you mean, never mind? -- said Irina.
But at this juncture someone was knocking at the door. Irina briskly
pulled down her skirt and Pronin got up from the floor and went over to the
window.
-- Who's there? -- asked Irina through the door.
-- Open the door -- said a sharp voice.
Irina opened the door and into the room came a man in a black coat and
high boots. Behind him came a pair of soldiers of the lowest rank, rifles at
the ready, and behind them came the caretaker. The lower ranks stood by the
door, while the man in the black coat went up to Irina Mazer and said: --
Your name?
-- Mazer -- said Irina.
-- Your name? -- asked the man in the black coat, turning to Pronin .
Pronin said: -- My name is Pronin.
-- Do you have a weapon? -- asked the man in the black coat.
-- No -- said Pronin.
-- Sit down here -- said the man in the black coat, indicating a chair
to Pronin.
Pronin sat down.
-- And you -- said the man in the black coat, turning to Irina, -- put
your coat on. You'll have to come for a ride with us.
-- What for? -- asked Irina.
The man in the black coat did not reply.
-- I'll need to change -- said Irina.
-- No -- said the man in the black coat.
-- But there's something else I need to put on -- said Irina. -- No --
said the man in the black coat.
Irina put on her fur coat in silence.
-- Good-bye, then -- she said to Pronin.
-- Conversations are not allowed -- said the man in the black coat.
-- Do I come with you as well? -- asked Pronin.
-- Yes -- said the man in the black coat. -- Get your coat on. Pronin
stood up, took his coat and hat down from the peg, put them on and said: --
Well, I'm ready. -- Let's go -- said the man in the black coat.
The lower ranks and the caretaker stamped their feet.
They all went out into the corridor.
The man in the black coat locked the door of Irina's room and sealed it
with two brown seals.
-- Outside -- he said.
And they all went out of the flat, loudly slamming the outside door.
1940
--------
An old man set out to go into the woods, although he didn't know what
for. Then he came back and said:
-- Hey, old woman, you!
The old woman fell straight down. Since then, the hares are white in
winter.
--------
Anton Mikhailovich spat, said 'ugh', spat again, again said 'ugh',
again spat, again said 'ugh' and walked away. And to hell with him. I'd do
better to talk about Il'ya Pavlovich.
Il'ya Pavlovich was born in 1893 in Constantinople.
When he was still a small boy, he was taken to Petersburg and hero he
went to the German school on Kirochnaya Street. Then he worked in some shop
or other, then he did something else and at the beginning of the revolution
he emigrated abroad. Well and to hell with him. I'd do better to talk about
Anna Ignat'evna.
But to talk about Anna Ignat'evna is not so very simple. In the first
place I don't know anything about her and in the second place I have now
fallen off my chair and forgotten what I had intended to say. I'd do better
to talk about myself.
I am on the tall side, quite intelligent, I'm a flashy dresser with a
bit of taste, I don't drink, I don't go to the races, but I do chase the
ladies. And the ladies don't avoid me. They even like it when I muck around
with them. Serafima Izmailovna has often invited me round and Zinaida
Yakovlevna also used to say that she was always pleased to see me. But there
did occur between me and Marina Pavlovna an amusing incident which I want to
tell you about. It was a completely ordinary incident, but all the same an
amusing one for, thanks to me, Marina Pavlovna went absolutely bald, like
the palm of your hand. It happened like this: once I arrived at Marina
Pavlovna's and bang! -- she went bald. And that's all there is to it.
1941
--------
Without boasting, I can tell you that, when Volodya struck me across
the ear and spat in my face, I really got him, so that he won't forget it.
It was only after that that I hit him with his primus and it was evening
when I hit him with the iron. So he didn't die straight away by any means.
This doesn't prove that I cut his leg off as early as the afternoon. He was
still alive then. Whereas Andryusha I killed simply from inertia, and I
can't hold myself responsible for that. Why did Andryusha and Yelizaveta
Antonovna fall into my hands anyway? They had no business springing out from
behind the door. I am being accused of bloodthirstiness; they say I drank
blood, but that is not true: I licked up the pools of blood and stains -- it
is a man's natural urge to wipe out the traces of even the most trivial of
crimes. And also I did not rape Yelizaveta Antonovna. In the first place,
she was no longer a virgin; and secondly I was having dealings with a
corpse, so she has no cause for complaint. What about the fact that she just
happened to have to give birth? Well, I did pull out the infant. The fact
that he was not long for this world anyway, well that's really not my fault.
I didn't tear his head off; it was his thin neck that did that. He was
simply not created for this life. It's true that I stomped their dog to a
pulp around the floor, but it's really cynical to accuse me of murdering the
dog when in the immediate vicinity, it might be said, three human lives had
been obliterated. The infant I don't count. Well, all right then, in all
this (I can agree with you) it is possible to discern a degree of severity
on my part. But to consider it a crime that I squatted down and defecated on
my victims -- that is really, if you'll excuse me, absurd. Defecation is an
urge of nature and consequently can in no sense be criminal. All things
considered, I do understand the misgivings of my defence counsel, but all
the same I am hoping for a complete acquittal.
1940
--------
Now I will describe how I was born, how I grew up and how the first
signs of genius were discovered in me. I was born twice. This is how it
happened.
My Dad got married to my Mum in 1902, but my parents brought me into
the world only at the end of 1905, because Dad was adamant that his child
should be born at New Year. Dad calculated that conception had to take place
on the first of April and only on that day did he get round my Mum with the
proposition of conceiving a child.
My Dad got round my Mum on the first of April 1903. Mum had long been
awaiting this moment and was terribly thrilled. But Dad, as it seems, was in
a very playful mood and could not restrain himself, saying to Mum: 'April
Fool!'.
Mum was absolutely furious and didn't allow Dad anywhere near her that
day. There was nothing for it but to wait until the following year.
On the first of April 1904, Dad again started getting round Mum with
the same proposition. But Mum, remembering what had happened the year
before, said that she had no further desire to be left in that stupid
position and again would not allow Dad near her. It didn't matter how much
noise Dad created, it got him nowhere.
And only a year later did my Dad manage to have his way with my Mum and
beget me.
And so my conception took place on the first of April 1905.
However, all Dad's calculations broke down because I turned out to be
premature and was born four months before my time.
Dad created such a fuss that the midwife who had delivered me lost her
head and started to shove me back in, from where I had only just emerged.
An acquaintance of ours who was in attendance, a student from the
military medical academy, declared that shoving me back in would not work.
However, the student's words notwithstanding, they still shoved me and
shoved me back, for all they were worth.
At this point a fearful commotion broke out.
The progenetrix yells: -- Give me my baby!
And the response comes: -- Your baby -- they tell her -- is inside you.
-- What! -- yells the progenetrix. -- How can my baby be inside me when
I have just given birth to him!
-- But -- they say to the progenetrix -- mightn't you be mistaken?
-- What! -- yells the progenetrix -- mistaken? How can I be mistaken! I
saw the baby myself, he was lying here on a sheet only just now!
-- That is true -- they tell the progenetrix -- but perhaps he's
crawled off somewhere. -- In a word, they themselves don't know what to tell
the progenetrix.
And the progenetrix is still making a noise and demanding her baby.
There was nothing for it, but to call an experienced doctor. The
experienced doctor examined the progenetrix and threw up his hands; however,
he thought it all out and gave the progenetrix a good dose of English salts,
and by this means I saw the light of day for the second time.
At this juncture, Dad again started creating a fuss, saying that,
surely, this couldn't be called a birth, that this, surely, couldn't yet be
called a human being, but rather a semifoetus, and that it ought to either
be shoved back again or put into a incubator.
And so they put me into an incubator.
1935
--------
I sat in the incubator for four months. I remember only that the
incubator was made of glass, was transparent and had a thermometer. I sat
inside the incubator on cotton wool. I don't remember anything else about
it.
After four months they took me out of the incubator. They did this, as
it happens, on the first of January 1906.
By this means, I was to all intents and purposes born for a third time.
But it was the first of January that was counted as my birthday.
1935
* Note: Daniil Kharms was in fact born on 17 December (Old Style) / 25
December (New Style), 1905.
--------
1.
Once I arrived at Gosizdat <publishing house> and there in Gosizdat met
Yevgeny L'vovich Shvarts who, as always, was badly dressed but with
pretention to something.
Catching sight of me, Shvarts began to crack jokes but also, as always,
unsuccessfully.
I cracked jokes significantly more successfully and soon, with regard
to intellectual relations, put Shvarts squarely on his back.
Everyone around envied my wit, but they could do nothing about it as
they literally killed themselves laughing. In particular Nina Vladimirovna
Gernet and David Yefimych Rakhmilovich, who called himself Eugene because of
the sound of it, used to kill themselves laughing.
Seeing that his jokes didn't work with me, Shvarts started to change
his tone and in the end, cursing me up and down, declared that everyone in
Tiflis knows Zabolotsky and hardly anyone knows me.
At this point I lost my temper and said that I was more historically
important than Shvarts and Zabolotsky, that I shall leave a radiant mark
upon history, while they will quickly be forgotten.
Having got the feel of my magnitude and my major world significance,
Shvarts gradually began to palpitate and invited me round for dinner.
2.
I decided to mess up the party, and that's what I'm going to do.
I'll start with Valentina Yefimovna. This inhospitable personage
invites us round and instead of a meal she puts on the table some awful sour
stuff. I enjoy eating and I know what's what when it comes to food. You
can't fool me with sour muck! I even go into restaurants on occasions and
see what sort of food they have there. And I cannot stand it when this
particularity of my character is not recognized.
Now I'll move on to Leonid Savel'evich Lipavsky. He didn't shrink from
telling me in my face that every month he composes ten thoughts.
In the first place, he's lying. He doesn't compose ten, it's less.
And secondly, I think up more. I haven't counted up how many I think up
in a month, but it must be more than he does...
And I, for example, don't throw it in everyone's face that I, say,
possess a colossal mind. I have quite sufficient evidence to consider myself
a great man. Yes and, at any rate, I do consider myself such.
That is why it is insulting and painful for me to find myself among
people who are inferior to me in terms of mind, insight and talent, and not
to feel that I am accorded the respect that is fully my due.
Why, oh why am I better than everyone else?
3.
Now I have understood everything: Leonid Savel'evich is a German. He
even has German habits. Look at the way he eats. Well, he's a pure German,
that's all there is to it! Even by his legs you can tell that he's a German.
Without boasting at all, I am able to say that I am very observant and
witty.
So, for example, if you take Leonid Savel'evich, Yuri Berzin and Vol'f
Erlikh and line them all up together on the pavement, then you could well
call them: major, minor and minimus.
In my view that's witty, because it's moderately funny.
And all the same, Leonid Savel'evich is a German! I really must tell
him this when I see him.
I don't consider myself an especially intelligent person, but all the
same I have to say that I'm more intelligent than all the rest. Perhaps
there's someone more intelligent than me on Mars, but I don't know about on
Earth.
For instance, they say that Oleinikov is very intelligent. And in my
view he is intelligent, but not very. He discovered, for example, that if
you write a '6' and turn it upside down, then you get a '9'. And in my view
that's just stupid.
Leonid Savel'evich is absolutely right when he says that someone's mind
is their worth. And if there is no mind, that means there is no worth. Yakov
Semyonovich argues with Leonid Savel'evich and says that someone's mind is
their weakness. And in my view that's already a paradox. Why ever should the
mind be a weakness? Not at all. Rather, it's a stronghold. I think so,
anyway.
We often get together at Leonid Savel'evich's and talk about this. If
an argument breaks out, then I always turn out the winner of the argument. I
myself don't know why.
Everyone regards me with a certain astonishment for some reason.
Whatever I do, everyone finds it astonishing.
I don't even make any effort. Everything seems to work out of its own
accord.
Zabolotsky said some time that I was born to govern the spheres. He
must have been joking. No such idea has ever entered my head.
In the Writers' Union I am considered an angel, for some reason.
Listen, my friends! In fact you shouldn't bend the knee before me like
that. I am just the same as all of you, only better.
4.
I have heard the phrase: 'Seize the moment'. It's easily said, but hard
to do. In my view, it's a meaningless expression. And really, you can't call
for the impossible.
I say this with complete certainty, because I have tested everything on
myself. I have grabbed at the moment but not managed to seize it and have
merely broken my watch. Now I know that it's impossible.
it's also impossible to 'seize the epoch', because it's the same as the
moment, only a bit more so.
It's another matter if you say: 'Document what is happening at this
moment'... That is quite another matter.
So, for example: one, two, three! Nothing happened! And so I have
documented a moment in which nothing happened.
I told Zabolotsky about this. He was very taken by this and sat the
whole day counting: one, two, three! And made notes that nothing had
happened.
Shvarts caught Zabolotsky at this activity. And Shvarts also took an
interest in this original means of documenting what was happening in our
epoch, since an epoch is formed out of moments.
But I beg to draw your attention to the fact that once again I was the
prime mover of this method. Me again! Me everywhere! It's simply
astonishing!
What comes with difficulty to others comes easily to me!
I can even fly. But I'm not going to tell you about that because, come
what may, nobody will believe it.
5.
Whenever two people are playing chess, it always seems to me that one
is fooling the other. Especially if they are playing for money.
In general, I find any kind of playing for money disgusting. I forbid
gambling in my presence.
And as for card players, I would have them executed. That would be the
best method of getting to grips with games of chance.
Instead of playing card games, it would be better if people would get
together and read each other a bit of ethics.
Though ethics is rather boring. Womanizing is more fun.
Women have always interested me. Women's legs have always excited me,
especially above the knee.
Many people consider women to be depraved creatures. But not me! On the
contrary, I even consider them to be somehow quite pleasant.
A plumpish young woman! What's depraved about her? She's not depraved
at all!
Children are another matter. They are usually said to be innocent. And
I consider that they might well be innocent, but anyway they are highly
loathsome, especially when they are dancing. I always make an exit from
anywhere where there are children.
Leonid Savel'evich also doesn't like children. And it was me who
inspired him with such ideas.
... Generally speaking, everything that Leonid Savel'evich says has
already been said some time earlier by me.
And that doesn't only go for Leonid Savel'evich.
Everyone is only too pleased to pick up even scraps of my ideas. I even
find this funny.
For example, Oleinikov ran up to me yesterday, saying that he had got
into a complete muddle over questions of existence. I gave him some sort of
advice and discharged him. He went off delighted with me and in his very
best mood.
People see me as a means of support, they repeat my words, they are
astonished by my actions, but they don't pay me money.
Foolish people! Bring me money, the more the better, and you will see
how pleased that will make me.
6.
Now I'll say a few words about Aleksandr Ivanovich.1
He's a wind-bag and a card player. But what I value him for is his
obedience to me.
By day and by night he dances attendance on me, just waiting for a hint
from me of some command. I have only to proffer such a hint and Aleksandr
Ivanovich flies like the wind to carry out my wish. For this I bought him
some shoes and said: -- There you are, wear them! And so he wears them.
Whenever Aleksandr Ivanovich arrives at Gosizdat, they all laugh and
say to each other that Aleksandr Ivanovich has come for his money.
Konstantin Ignat'evich Drovatsky hides under the table. I say this in
an allegorical sense.
More than anything, Aleksandr Ivanovich loves macaroni.
He always eats it with ground rusks and he gobbles up almost a whole
kilo, and perhaps even much more.
Having eaten his macaroni, Aleksandr Ivanovich says he feels sick and
lies down on the divan. Sometimes the macaroni comes back up.
Aleksandr Ivanovich doesn't eat meat and he doesn't like women.
Although sometimes he likes them. Apparently, even very often.
But the women whom Aleksandr Ivanovich likes, to my taste, are all
ugly, and therefore we shall consider that they are not even women at all.
If I say a thing, that means it's correct. I don't advise anyone to
argue with me, as they will just be made a fool of, because I get the last
word with everyone.
And it's no use you bandying words with me. That's already been tried.
I've seen them all off! Never mind that I look as though I can barely talk,
but when I get going, there's no stopping me.
Once I got going at the Lipavskys and that was that! I talked them all
to death! Then I went off to the Zabolotskys and talked everyone's head off
there. Then I went to the Shvartses and talked everyone's head off there.
Then I arrived home and talked half the night away again there!
1930s
1 A. I. Vvedensky was a close friend of D. Kharms.
--------
I love sensual women and not passionate ones. A passionate woman closes
her eyes, moans and shouts and the enjoyment of a passionate woman is blind.
A passionate woman writhes about, grabs you with her hands without looking
where, clasps you, kisses you, even bites you and hurries to reach her
climax as soon as she can. She has no time to display her sexual organs, no
time to examine, touch with the hand and kiss your sexual organs, she is in
such a hurry to slake her passion. Having slaked her passion, the passionate
woman will fall asleep. The sexual organs of a passionate woman are dry. A
passionate woman is always in some way or another mannish.
The sensual woman is always feminine.
Her contours are rounded and abundant.
The sensual woman rarely reaches a blind passion. She savours sexual
enjoyment. The sensual woman is always a woman and even in an unaroused
state her sexual organs are moist. She has to wear a bandage on her sexual
organs, so as not to soak them with moisture.
When she takes the bandage off in the evening, the bandage is so wet
that it can be squeezed out.
Thanks to such an abundance of juices, the sexual organs of a sensual
woman give off a slight, pleasant smell which increases strongly when the
sensual woman is aroused. Then the juice from her sexual organs is secreted
in a syrupy stream.
A sensual woman likes you to examine her sexual organs.
early 1930s
--------
But the artist sat the nude model on the table and moved her legs
apart. The girl hardly resisted and merely covered her face with her hands.
Amonova and Strakhova said that first the girl should have been taken
off to the bathroom and washed between her legs, as any whiff of such an
aroma was simply repulsive. The girl wanted to jump up but the artist held
her back and asked her to take no notice and sit there, just as he had
placed her. The girl, not knowing what she was supposed to do, sat back down
again. The artist and his female colleagues took their respective seats and
began sketching the nude model. Petrova said that the nude model was a very
seductive woman, but Strakhova and Amonova said that she was rather plump
and indecent. Zolotogromov said that this was what made her seductive, but
Strakhova said that this was simply repulsive, and not at all seductive.
-- Look -- said Strakhova -- ugh! It's pouring out of her on to the
table cloth. What is there seductive about that, when I can sniff the smell
off her from here.
Petrova said that this only showed her feminine strength. Abel'far
blushed and agreed. Amonova said she had seen nothing like it, that you get
to the highest point of arousal and it still wouldn't secrete like this girl
did. Petrova said that, faced with that, one could get aroused oneself and
drink milk. Though, in fact, his wife, to tell the truth, also drank vodka
but kept it quiet. But her husband was quite shameless and didn't keep it
quiet.
-- I don't drink milk, I drink vodka! -- he always said. While his wife
on the quiet, from under her apron, pulled out a jar and -- glug! -- she was
drinking away.
Her husband, the prince, says: -- You could have given me some.
But his wife, the princess, says: -- No, there's little enough for me.
Shoo!
-- As for you, -- says the prince -- call yourself a lady! -- And with
these words, wallop, and his wife's on the floor! The wife, her whole kisser
smashed in, lies on the floor crying. And the prince wrapped himself in his
cloak and went to his quarters in the tower, where his cages stood. He bred
fowls there, you see. And so the prince arrived in the tower and there the
chickens were squawking, wanting food. one chicken even began to neigh.
-- As for you -- said the prince -- you chauntecleer! Shut up, before
you get your teeth bashed in! -- The chicken doesn't understand a word and
just carries on neighing. So, in the end then, we've got a chicken making a
racket in the tower, and tile prince, then, offing and blinding and his
wife, then, downstairs lying on the floor -- in a word, a complete Sodom.
That's the sort of story Andrey Andreyevich would think up. Even just
from this story you can tell that Andrey Andreyevich is a major talent.
Andrey Andreyevich is a very clever man. Very clever and very fine!
1938
--------
They call me the Capuchin. For that I'll tear the ears off whomsoever
it may be necessary, but meanwhile I get no peace from the fame of
Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Why did he have to know everything? How to swaddle
infants and how to give young girls in marriage I would also like to know
everything. In fact I do know everything, except that I am not so sure of my
theories. About infants, I certainly know that they should not be swaddled
at all -- they should be obliterated. For this I would establish a central
pit in the city and would throw the infants into it. And so that the stench
of decomposition should not come from the pit, it could be flooded every
week with quicklime. Into the same pit I would also stick all Alsatian dogs.
Now, about giving young girls in marriage. That, in my view, is even
simpler: I would establish a public hall where, say, once a month all the
youth would assemble. All of them between seventeen and thirty-five would
have to strip naked and parade up and down the hall. If anyone fancied
someone, then that pail would go off into a corner and there examine each
other in detail. I forgot to say that they would all have to have a card
hanging from the neck with their name, surname and address. Then, a letter
could be sent to whomever was to someone's taste, to set up a more intimate
acquaintance. Should any old man or woman intervene in these matters, I
would propose killing them with an axe and dragging them off to the same
place as the infants -- to the central pit.
I would have written more of the knowledge within me, but unfortunately
I have to go to the shop for tobacco. When walking on the street, I always
take with me a thick knotty stick. I take it with me in order to batter any
infants who may get under my feet. That must be why they called me the
Capuchin. But just you wait, you swine, I'll skin your ears yet!
1938
--------
Serov, an artist, went to the Obvodny Canal. Why did he go there? To
buy some india rubber. What did he want india rubber for? To make himself a
rubber band. And what did he want a rubber band for? In order to stretch it.
That's what for. And what else? This is what else: the artist Serov had
broken his clock. The clock had been going well, but he picked it up and
broke it. What else? Nothing else. Nothing, this is it, in a nutshell! Keep
your filthy snout out when it's not needed! And may the lord have mercy on
us!
Once there lived an old woman. She lived and lived, until she got burnt
up in her stove. Served her right, too! The artist Serov, at least, was of
that opinion...
Huh! I would write some more, but the ink-pot has suddenly gone and
disappeared.
1938
--------
I had raised dust. Children were running after me, tearing their
clothing. Old men and old women fell from roofs. I whistled, I roared, my
teeth chattered and I clattered like an iron bar. Lacerated children raced
after me and, falling behind, broke their thin legs in their awful haste.
Old men and old women were skipping around me. I rushed on! Filthy, rachitic
children, looking like toadstools, got tangled under my feet. Running was
hard going. I kept remembering things and once I even almost fell into the
soft mush of old men and women floundering on the ground. I jumped, snapped
a few heads off toadstools and trod on the belly of a thin old woman, who at
this emitted a loud crunch and softly muttered: -- They've worn me out. --
Not looking back, I ran on further. Now under my feet was a clean and smooth
pavement. Occasional streetlamps lit my way. I ran up to the bath-house. The
welcoming bath-house flickered in front of me and the cosy but stifling
bathhouse steam was already in my nostrils, ears and mouth. Without
undressing, I ran straight through the changing-room, then past the taps,
the tubs and the planks, to the shelf. A hot white cloud surrounds me, I
hear a weak but insistent sound. I seem to be lying down.
And at this point, a mighty relaxation stopped my heart.
1939
--------
A shortish gent with a pebble in his eye went up to the door of a
tobacconist's shop and stopped. His black polished shoes gleamed on the
stone step leading up to the tobacconist's. The toe-caps of his shoes were
directed at the inside of the shop. Two more steps and the gentleman would
have disappeared through the door. But for some reason he dilly-dallied, as
though purposely to position his head under the brick which was falling from
the roof. The gentleman had even taken off his hat, baring his bald skull,
and thus the brick struck the gentleman right on his bare head, broke the
cranium and embedded itself in his brain. The gentleman didn't fall. No, he
merely staggered a bit from the terrible blow, pulled a handkerchief from
his pocket, used it to wipe his face, which was all gooey from blood and
brains, and, turning towards the crowd, which had instantly gathered around
the gentleman, he said: -- Don't worry, ladies and gents: I've already had
the vaccination. You can see -- I've got a protruding pebble in my right
eye. That was also once quite an incident. I've already got used to that.
Now everything's just fine and dandy!
And with these words the gentleman replaced his hat and went off
somewhere into the margins, leaving the troubled crowd in complete
bewilderment.
1939-40
--------
There was a house, full of old women. The old women lounged around the
house all day and swatted flies with paper bags. There were in all
thirty-six old women in this house. The most vigourous old woman, by surname
Yufleva, ordered the other old women about. She would nib any disobedient
old woman on the back of the shoulders or trip her up, and she would fall
and smash her face. One old woman called Zvyakina, punished by Yufleva, fell
so disastrously that she broke both her jaws. The doctor had to be sent for.
He arrived, put on his white coat and, having examined Zvyakina, said that
she was too old for there being any possibility of counting on her jaws
mending. Then the doctor asked to be given a hammer, a chisel, pincers and
rope. The old women drifted round the house for ages and, not knowing what
pincers and a chisel look like, they brought the doctor everything that
seemed to them anything like tools. The doctor cursed for a long time but
finally, having received all the objects he had demanded, asked everyone to
withdraw. The old women, burning with curiosity, withdrew with great
displeasure. When the old women, amid swearing and grumbling, had hocked out
of the room, the doctor locked the door behind them and went up to Zvyakina.
-- Now then -- said the doctor and, having grabbed Zvyakina, tied her
tightly with the rope. Then the doctor, paying no attention to the loud
cries and wailing of Zvyakina, placed the chisel to her jaw-bone and struck
the chisel hard with the hammer. Zvyakina began howling in a hoarse bass.
Having shattered Zvyakina's jaw with the chisel, the doctor grabbed the
pincers and, having engaged Zvyakina's jaws, tore them out. Zvyakina howled,
shouted and wheezed, covered in blood. And the doctor dropped the pincers
and Zvyakina's torn jaw-bones, took off his white coat, wiped his hands off
it and, going over to the door, opened it. The old women tumbled into the
room with a scream and stared goggle-eyed, some at Zvyakina, some at the
blood-stained bits lying about on the floor. The doctor pushed his way
between the old women and went out. The old women rushed over to Zvyakina.
Zvyakina faded in volume and, obviously, was in the process of dying.
Yufleva stood right there, looking at Zvyakina and nibbling at sunflower
seeds. The old woman Byashechina said: -- So, Yufleva, even you and I will
snuff it some day.
Yufleva kicked at Byashechina, but the latter jumped aside in time.
-- Come on girls! -- said Byashechina. -- Why hang around here? Let's
leave Yufleva and Zvyakina to romp around, and we'll go and swat flies.
And the old women moved off out of the room.
Yufleva, continuing to bite into her sunflower seeds, stood in the
middle of the room and looked at Zvyakina. Zvyakina had faded away and lay
there motionless. Perhaps she had died.
However, with this the author is finishing his narrative, since he
cannot find his ink-pot.
1940
--------
Pushkov said: -- Woman is the workbench of love.
And he immediately received a clout across the gob.
-- What's that for? -- asked Pushkov.
But, not getting any answer to his question, he continued: -- This is
what I think: a woman should be tackled from below. Women really like this
and only pretend that they don't like it.
At this point Pushkov was again struck across the gob.
-- But what on earth is this, comrades! If that's the way it is, I
won't carry on speaking -- said Pushkov.
But, after waiting about a quarter of a minute, he continued: -- A
woman is so built that she is all soft and damp.
At this point Pushkov was again struck across the gob. Pushkov tried to
pretend that he hadn't noticed this and went on: -- If you just sniff a
woman...
But at this point Pushkov was so slammed across the gob that he caught
hold of his cheek and said: -- Comrades, under these conditions it is
absolutely impossible to deliver a lecture. If this happens again, I shall
discontinue.
Pushkov waited for a quarter of a minute and then continued: -- Now,
where were we? Ah, yes. That was it. A woman loves to look at herself. She
sits down in front of the mirror completely naked...
At this word, Pushkov again received a clout across the gob.
-- Naked -- repeated Pushkov.
Smack! -- he was weighed into right across the gob.
-- Naked! -- yelled Pushkov.
Smack! -- he received a clout across the gob.
-- Naked! A naked woman! A nude tart! -- Pushkov kept yelling. Smack!
Smack! Smack! -- Pushkov took it across the gob.
-- A nude tart with a ladle in her hands! -- yelled Pushkov.
Smack! Smack! -- the blows rained down on Pushkov.
-- A tart's bum-hole! -- yelled Pushkov, dodging the blows. -- A nude
nun!
But at this point Pushkov was struck with such force that he lost
consciousness and crumpled to the floor as though pole-axed.
1940
--------
They said to Myshin: -- Hey, Myshin, get up!
Myshin said: -- I won't get up -- and continued lying on the floor.
Then Kalugin came up to Myshin and said: -- If you don't get up,
Myshin, I will make you get up.
-- No -- said Myshin, continuing to lie on the floor.
Selizneva went up to Myshin and said: -- Myshin, you are for ever
sprawling about the floor in the corridor and you interfere with us walking
backwards and forwards.
-- I have been interfering and I shall keep on interfering -- said
Myshin.
-- Well, you know -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and
said:
-- What's the point of carrying on long conversations about it! Call
the militia!
They called for the militia and called out a militiaman.
The militiaman arrived after half an hour with the caretaker.
-- What's going on here? -- asked the militiaman.
-- How do you like this! -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him
and said:
-- This is the situation. This citizen lies here on the floor all the
time and interferes with us walking along the corridor. We've tried telling
him this and that...
But at this point Kalugin was interrupted by Selizneva, who said: --
We've asked him to go away, but he doesn't go away.
-- Yes -- said Korshunov.
The militiaman went up to Myshin.
-- You, citizen, why are you lying here? -- asked the militiaman.
-- I'm resting -- said Myshin.
-- Resting here is not good enough, citizen -- said the militiaman. --
Where do you live, citizen?
-- Here -- said Myshin.
-- Where's your room? -- asked the militiaman.
-- He's registered in our flat, but he doesn't have a room -- said
Kalugin.
-- Wait a minute, citizen -- said the militiaman -- I'll have a word
with him now. Citizen, where do you sleep?
-- Here -- said Myshin.
-- Allow me to -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and said:
-- He doesn't even have a bed and he sprawls right on the bare floor.
-- They've been complaining about him for a long time -- said the
caretaker.
-- It's absolutely impossible to walk along the corridor -- said
Selizneva -- I can't keep stepping over a man for ever. And he sticks out
his legs on purpose, and he sticks out his hands, and he lies on his back
and looks up. I come back tired from work, I need a rest.
-- And I can add -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and
said:
-- He lies here at night, as well. Everyone trips over him in the dark.
I tore my blanket because of him.
Selizneva said: -- He's always got tin-tacks and things falling out of
his pocket. It's impossible to walk barefooted down the corridor, or before
you know where you are -- you put your foot on something.
-- They wanted to set him alight with kerosene the other day -- said
the caretaker.
-- We did pour kerosene over him -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin
interrupted him and said:
-- We only poured kerosene over him to scare him, but we weren't going
to set light to him.
-- Oh no, I wouldn't have a man burned alive in my presence -- said
Selizneva.
-- But why is this citizen lying in the corridor? -- the militiaman
suddenly asked.
-- That's a fine how do you do! -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin
interrupted him and said:
-- Well, because he hasn't got any other living space: here's where I
live, in this room, and she's in that one, and that one's his, and so Myshin
lives here, in the corridor.
-- That's not good enough -- said the militiaman. -- Everyone should be
lying in their own living space.
-- But he hasn't got any other living space, except in the corridor --
said Kalugin.
-- That's just it -- said Korshunov.
-- And so he goes on lying here -- said Selizneva.
-- That's not good enough -- said the militiaman and went away,
together with the caretaker.
Korshunov leaped over to Myshin.
-- What about it? -- he yelled. -- How did you like that, then?
-- Wait -- said Kalugin. And, going up to Myshin, he said: -- Did you
hear what the militiaman said? Get up from the floor!
-- I won't get up -- said Myshin, continuing to lie there on the floor.
-- Now he will deliberately and furthermore and for ever keep on lying
there -- said Selizneva.
-- Definitely -- said Kalugin with some irritation.
And Korshunov said: -- I don't doubt it. Parfaitement!
1940
--------
Two men fell from a roof. They both fell from the roof of a five-storey
newly erected building. Seemingly a school. They had moved down the roof in
a sitting position to the very edge and at that point started to fall. Their
fall was noticed first of all by Ida Markovna. She was standing at her
window in the building opposite and was blowing her nose into a tumbler. And
suddenly she caught sight of someone starting to fall from the roof of the
building opposite. Peering out, Ida Markovna saw what was an entire twosome
starting to fall at once. Completely losing her head, Ida Markovna tore off
her shift and hurriedly began to rub the misted-over windowpane, the better
to make out who was falling from the roof out there. However, twigging that,
perhaps, those falling might, from their vantage point, be able to glimpse
her naked -- and goodness only knew what they might think of her -- Ida
Markovna jumped back from the window and hid behind the wicker tripod on
which there had at one time stood a pot plant.
At this juncture, those falling from the roof were sighted by another
personage who lived in the same building as Ida Markovna, only two floors
below. This personage was also called Ida Markovna. She happened at the time
to be sitting with her feet up on the window-sill and was sewing a button on
her slipper. Looking out of the window, she had caught sight of those
falling from the roof. Ida Markovna yelped and, leaping up from the
window-sill, hastily began opening the window, so as to get a better view
when those falling from the roof should strike the ground. But the window
would not open. Ida Markovna remembered that she had nailed the window from
beneath and rushed to the stove, in which she kept her tools: four hammers,
a chisel and pincers. Grabbing the pincers, Ida Markovna again ran up to the
window and pulled out the nail. Now the window was easily flung open. Ida
Markovna leaned out of the window and saw those who had fallen from the roof
whistling towards the ground.
On the street a smallish crowd had already gathered. Whistles were
already blowing and a diminutive militiaman was unhurriedly approaching the
location of the anticipated event. A big-nosed caretaker bustled about,
shoving people and explaining that those falling from the roof could smite
the heads of those gathered below. By this time, both Ida Markovnas -- the
one in a dress and the other naked -- having leaned out of their windows,
were squealing and kicking their legs about. And so, finally, arms spread
and eyes agape, those who had fallen from the roof struck the ground.
Just as on occasion we, falling from heights we have attained, may
strike the dreary cage of our future.
Written over four days. Finished 17 October 1940
--------
Perechin sat on a drawing pin and, from this moment, his life changed
abruptly. From a contemplative, quiet man Perechin turned into a downright
scoundrel. He grew himself a moustache and henceforth trimmed it extremely
untidily, in such a way that the one side of his moustache was always longer
than the other. And so his moustache came to grow somehow askew. It became
impossible to look at Perechin. What is more, he would give a repulsive wink
of the eye and twitch his cheek. For a certain time Perechin confined
himself to petty and reprehensible tricks: he told tales, denounced people,
and cheated tram conductors by paying them his fare in the very smallest
copper coin and each time two or three kopecks short.
1940
--------
Pronin said: -- You have very beautiful stockings.
Irina Mazer said: -- Do you like my stockings?
Pronin said: -- Oh yes. Very much. -- And he made a grab at them with
his hand.
Irina said: -- But why do you like my stockings?
Pronin said: -- They are very smooth.
Irina lifted her skirt and said: -- And do you see how high they go?
Pronin said: -- Oh yes, I do.
Irina said: -- But here they come to an end. Up here it's bare leg.
-- Oh, and what leg! -- said Pronin.
-- I've got very thick legs -- said Irina. -- And I'm very wide in the
hips.
-- Show me -- said Pronin.
-- I can't -- said Irina. -- I've no knickers on.
Pronin got down on his knees in front or her.
Irina said: -- What are you kneeling for?
Pronin kissed her on the leg, a little above the stocking top, and
said: -- That's what for.
Irina said: -- Why are you lifting my skirt even higher? I've already
told you I've no knickers on.
But Pronin lifted her skirt all the same and said: -- Never mind, never
mind.
-- What do you mean, never mind? -- said Irina.
But at this juncture someone was knocking at the door. Irina briskly
pulled down her skirt and Pronin got up from the floor and went over to the
window.
-- Who's there? -- asked Irina through the door.
-- Open the door -- said a sharp voice.
Irina opened the door and into the room came a man in a black coat and
high boots. Behind him came a pair of soldiers of the lowest rank, rifles at
the ready, and behind them came the caretaker. The lower ranks stood by the
door, while the man in the black coat went up to Irina Mazer and said: --
Your name?
-- Mazer -- said Irina.
-- Your name? -- asked the man in the black coat, turning to Pronin .
Pronin said: -- My name is Pronin.
-- Do you have a weapon? -- asked the man in the black coat.
-- No -- said Pronin.
-- Sit down here -- said the man in the black coat, indicating a chair
to Pronin.
Pronin sat down.
-- And you -- said the man in the black coat, turning to Irina, -- put
your coat on. You'll have to come for a ride with us.
-- What for? -- asked Irina.
The man in the black coat did not reply.
-- I'll need to change -- said Irina.
-- No -- said the man in the black coat.
-- But there's something else I need to put on -- said Irina. -- No --
said the man in the black coat.
Irina put on her fur coat in silence.
-- Good-bye, then -- she said to Pronin.
-- Conversations are not allowed -- said the man in the black coat.
-- Do I come with you as well? -- asked Pronin.
-- Yes -- said the man in the black coat. -- Get your coat on. Pronin
stood up, took his coat and hat down from the peg, put them on and said: --
Well, I'm ready. -- Let's go -- said the man in the black coat.
The lower ranks and the caretaker stamped their feet.
They all went out into the corridor.
The man in the black coat locked the door of Irina's room and sealed it
with two brown seals.
-- Outside -- he said.
And they all went out of the flat, loudly slamming the outside door.
1940
--------
An old man set out to go into the woods, although he didn't know what
for. Then he came back and said:
-- Hey, old woman, you!
The old woman fell straight down. Since then, the hares are white in
winter.
--------
Anton Mikhailovich spat, said 'ugh', spat again, again said 'ugh',
again spat, again said 'ugh' and walked away. And to hell with him. I'd do
better to talk about Il'ya Pavlovich.
Il'ya Pavlovich was born in 1893 in Constantinople.
When he was still a small boy, he was taken to Petersburg and hero he
went to the German school on Kirochnaya Street. Then he worked in some shop
or other, then he did something else and at the beginning of the revolution
he emigrated abroad. Well and to hell with him. I'd do better to talk about
Anna Ignat'evna.
But to talk about Anna Ignat'evna is not so very simple. In the first
place I don't know anything about her and in the second place I have now
fallen off my chair and forgotten what I had intended to say. I'd do better
to talk about myself.
I am on the tall side, quite intelligent, I'm a flashy dresser with a
bit of taste, I don't drink, I don't go to the races, but I do chase the
ladies. And the ladies don't avoid me. They even like it when I muck around
with them. Serafima Izmailovna has often invited me round and Zinaida
Yakovlevna also used to say that she was always pleased to see me. But there
did occur between me and Marina Pavlovna an amusing incident which I want to
tell you about. It was a completely ordinary incident, but all the same an
amusing one for, thanks to me, Marina Pavlovna went absolutely bald, like
the palm of your hand. It happened like this: once I arrived at Marina
Pavlovna's and bang! -- she went bald. And that's all there is to it.
1941
--------
Without boasting, I can tell you that, when Volodya struck me across
the ear and spat in my face, I really got him, so that he won't forget it.
It was only after that that I hit him with his primus and it was evening
when I hit him with the iron. So he didn't die straight away by any means.
This doesn't prove that I cut his leg off as early as the afternoon. He was
still alive then. Whereas Andryusha I killed simply from inertia, and I
can't hold myself responsible for that. Why did Andryusha and Yelizaveta
Antonovna fall into my hands anyway? They had no business springing out from
behind the door. I am being accused of bloodthirstiness; they say I drank
blood, but that is not true: I licked up the pools of blood and stains -- it
is a man's natural urge to wipe out the traces of even the most trivial of
crimes. And also I did not rape Yelizaveta Antonovna. In the first place,
she was no longer a virgin; and secondly I was having dealings with a
corpse, so she has no cause for complaint. What about the fact that she just
happened to have to give birth? Well, I did pull out the infant. The fact
that he was not long for this world anyway, well that's really not my fault.
I didn't tear his head off; it was his thin neck that did that. He was
simply not created for this life. It's true that I stomped their dog to a
pulp around the floor, but it's really cynical to accuse me of murdering the
dog when in the immediate vicinity, it might be said, three human lives had
been obliterated. The infant I don't count. Well, all right then, in all
this (I can agree with you) it is possible to discern a degree of severity
on my part. But to consider it a crime that I squatted down and defecated on
my victims -- that is really, if you'll excuse me, absurd. Defecation is an
urge of nature and consequently can in no sense be criminal. All things
considered, I do understand the misgivings of my defence counsel, but all
the same I am hoping for a complete acquittal.
1940
--------
Now I will describe how I was born, how I grew up and how the first
signs of genius were discovered in me. I was born twice. This is how it
happened.
My Dad got married to my Mum in 1902, but my parents brought me into
the world only at the end of 1905, because Dad was adamant that his child
should be born at New Year. Dad calculated that conception had to take place
on the first of April and only on that day did he get round my Mum with the
proposition of conceiving a child.
My Dad got round my Mum on the first of April 1903. Mum had long been
awaiting this moment and was terribly thrilled. But Dad, as it seems, was in
a very playful mood and could not restrain himself, saying to Mum: 'April
Fool!'.
Mum was absolutely furious and didn't allow Dad anywhere near her that
day. There was nothing for it but to wait until the following year.
On the first of April 1904, Dad again started getting round Mum with
the same proposition. But Mum, remembering what had happened the year
before, said that she had no further desire to be left in that stupid
position and again would not allow Dad near her. It didn't matter how much
noise Dad created, it got him nowhere.
And only a year later did my Dad manage to have his way with my Mum and
beget me.
And so my conception took place on the first of April 1905.
However, all Dad's calculations broke down because I turned out to be
premature and was born four months before my time.
Dad created such a fuss that the midwife who had delivered me lost her
head and started to shove me back in, from where I had only just emerged.
An acquaintance of ours who was in attendance, a student from the
military medical academy, declared that shoving me back in would not work.
However, the student's words notwithstanding, they still shoved me and
shoved me back, for all they were worth.
At this point a fearful commotion broke out.
The progenetrix yells: -- Give me my baby!
And the response comes: -- Your baby -- they tell her -- is inside you.
-- What! -- yells the progenetrix. -- How can my baby be inside me when
I have just given birth to him!
-- But -- they say to the progenetrix -- mightn't you be mistaken?
-- What! -- yells the progenetrix -- mistaken? How can I be mistaken! I
saw the baby myself, he was lying here on a sheet only just now!
-- That is true -- they tell the progenetrix -- but perhaps he's
crawled off somewhere. -- In a word, they themselves don't know what to tell
the progenetrix.
And the progenetrix is still making a noise and demanding her baby.
There was nothing for it, but to call an experienced doctor. The
experienced doctor examined the progenetrix and threw up his hands; however,
he thought it all out and gave the progenetrix a good dose of English salts,
and by this means I saw the light of day for the second time.
At this juncture, Dad again started creating a fuss, saying that,
surely, this couldn't be called a birth, that this, surely, couldn't yet be
called a human being, but rather a semifoetus, and that it ought to either
be shoved back again or put into a incubator.
And so they put me into an incubator.
1935
--------
I sat in the incubator for four months. I remember only that the
incubator was made of glass, was transparent and had a thermometer. I sat
inside the incubator on cotton wool. I don't remember anything else about
it.
After four months they took me out of the incubator. They did this, as
it happens, on the first of January 1906.
By this means, I was to all intents and purposes born for a third time.
But it was the first of January that was counted as my birthday.
1935
* Note: Daniil Kharms was in fact born on 17 December (Old Style) / 25
December (New Style), 1905.
--------
1.
Once I arrived at Gosizdat <publishing house> and there in Gosizdat met
Yevgeny L'vovich Shvarts who, as always, was badly dressed but with
pretention to something.
Catching sight of me, Shvarts began to crack jokes but also, as always,
unsuccessfully.
I cracked jokes significantly more successfully and soon, with regard
to intellectual relations, put Shvarts squarely on his back.
Everyone around envied my wit, but they could do nothing about it as
they literally killed themselves laughing. In particular Nina Vladimirovna
Gernet and David Yefimych Rakhmilovich, who called himself Eugene because of
the sound of it, used to kill themselves laughing.
Seeing that his jokes didn't work with me, Shvarts started to change
his tone and in the end, cursing me up and down, declared that everyone in
Tiflis knows Zabolotsky and hardly anyone knows me.
At this point I lost my temper and said that I was more historically
important than Shvarts and Zabolotsky, that I shall leave a radiant mark
upon history, while they will quickly be forgotten.
Having got the feel of my magnitude and my major world significance,
Shvarts gradually began to palpitate and invited me round for dinner.
2.
I decided to mess up the party, and that's what I'm going to do.
I'll start with Valentina Yefimovna. This inhospitable personage
invites us round and instead of a meal she puts on the table some awful sour
stuff. I enjoy eating and I know what's what when it comes to food. You
can't fool me with sour muck! I even go into restaurants on occasions and
see what sort of food they have there. And I cannot stand it when this
particularity of my character is not recognized.
Now I'll move on to Leonid Savel'evich Lipavsky. He didn't shrink from
telling me in my face that every month he composes ten thoughts.
In the first place, he's lying. He doesn't compose ten, it's less.
And secondly, I think up more. I haven't counted up how many I think up
in a month, but it must be more than he does...
And I, for example, don't throw it in everyone's face that I, say,
possess a colossal mind. I have quite sufficient evidence to consider myself
a great man. Yes and, at any rate, I do consider myself such.
That is why it is insulting and painful for me to find myself among
people who are inferior to me in terms of mind, insight and talent, and not
to feel that I am accorded the respect that is fully my due.
Why, oh why am I better than everyone else?
3.
Now I have understood everything: Leonid Savel'evich is a German. He
even has German habits. Look at the way he eats. Well, he's a pure German,
that's all there is to it! Even by his legs you can tell that he's a German.
Without boasting at all, I am able to say that I am very observant and
witty.
So, for example, if you take Leonid Savel'evich, Yuri Berzin and Vol'f
Erlikh and line them all up together on the pavement, then you could well
call them: major, minor and minimus.
In my view that's witty, because it's moderately funny.
And all the same, Leonid Savel'evich is a German! I really must tell
him this when I see him.
I don't consider myself an especially intelligent person, but all the
same I have to say that I'm more intelligent than all the rest. Perhaps
there's someone more intelligent than me on Mars, but I don't know about on
Earth.
For instance, they say that Oleinikov is very intelligent. And in my
view he is intelligent, but not very. He discovered, for example, that if
you write a '6' and turn it upside down, then you get a '9'. And in my view
that's just stupid.
Leonid Savel'evich is absolutely right when he says that someone's mind
is their worth. And if there is no mind, that means there is no worth. Yakov
Semyonovich argues with Leonid Savel'evich and says that someone's mind is
their weakness. And in my view that's already a paradox. Why ever should the
mind be a weakness? Not at all. Rather, it's a stronghold. I think so,
anyway.
We often get together at Leonid Savel'evich's and talk about this. If
an argument breaks out, then I always turn out the winner of the argument. I
myself don't know why.
Everyone regards me with a certain astonishment for some reason.
Whatever I do, everyone finds it astonishing.
I don't even make any effort. Everything seems to work out of its own
accord.
Zabolotsky said some time that I was born to govern the spheres. He
must have been joking. No such idea has ever entered my head.
In the Writers' Union I am considered an angel, for some reason.
Listen, my friends! In fact you shouldn't bend the knee before me like
that. I am just the same as all of you, only better.
4.
I have heard the phrase: 'Seize the moment'. It's easily said, but hard
to do. In my view, it's a meaningless expression. And really, you can't call
for the impossible.
I say this with complete certainty, because I have tested everything on
myself. I have grabbed at the moment but not managed to seize it and have
merely broken my watch. Now I know that it's impossible.
it's also impossible to 'seize the epoch', because it's the same as the
moment, only a bit more so.
It's another matter if you say: 'Document what is happening at this
moment'... That is quite another matter.
So, for example: one, two, three! Nothing happened! And so I have
documented a moment in which nothing happened.
I told Zabolotsky about this. He was very taken by this and sat the
whole day counting: one, two, three! And made notes that nothing had
happened.
Shvarts caught Zabolotsky at this activity. And Shvarts also took an
interest in this original means of documenting what was happening in our
epoch, since an epoch is formed out of moments.
But I beg to draw your attention to the fact that once again I was the
prime mover of this method. Me again! Me everywhere! It's simply
astonishing!
What comes with difficulty to others comes easily to me!
I can even fly. But I'm not going to tell you about that because, come
what may, nobody will believe it.
5.
Whenever two people are playing chess, it always seems to me that one
is fooling the other. Especially if they are playing for money.
In general, I find any kind of playing for money disgusting. I forbid
gambling in my presence.
And as for card players, I would have them executed. That would be the
best method of getting to grips with games of chance.
Instead of playing card games, it would be better if people would get
together and read each other a bit of ethics.
Though ethics is rather boring. Womanizing is more fun.
Women have always interested me. Women's legs have always excited me,
especially above the knee.
Many people consider women to be depraved creatures. But not me! On the
contrary, I even consider them to be somehow quite pleasant.
A plumpish young woman! What's depraved about her? She's not depraved
at all!
Children are another matter. They are usually said to be innocent. And
I consider that they might well be innocent, but anyway they are highly
loathsome, especially when they are dancing. I always make an exit from
anywhere where there are children.
Leonid Savel'evich also doesn't like children. And it was me who
inspired him with such ideas.
... Generally speaking, everything that Leonid Savel'evich says has
already been said some time earlier by me.
And that doesn't only go for Leonid Savel'evich.
Everyone is only too pleased to pick up even scraps of my ideas. I even
find this funny.
For example, Oleinikov ran up to me yesterday, saying that he had got
into a complete muddle over questions of existence. I gave him some sort of
advice and discharged him. He went off delighted with me and in his very
best mood.
People see me as a means of support, they repeat my words, they are
astonished by my actions, but they don't pay me money.
Foolish people! Bring me money, the more the better, and you will see
how pleased that will make me.
6.
Now I'll say a few words about Aleksandr Ivanovich.1
He's a wind-bag and a card player. But what I value him for is his
obedience to me.
By day and by night he dances attendance on me, just waiting for a hint
from me of some command. I have only to proffer such a hint and Aleksandr
Ivanovich flies like the wind to carry out my wish. For this I bought him
some shoes and said: -- There you are, wear them! And so he wears them.
Whenever Aleksandr Ivanovich arrives at Gosizdat, they all laugh and
say to each other that Aleksandr Ivanovich has come for his money.
Konstantin Ignat'evich Drovatsky hides under the table. I say this in
an allegorical sense.
More than anything, Aleksandr Ivanovich loves macaroni.
He always eats it with ground rusks and he gobbles up almost a whole
kilo, and perhaps even much more.
Having eaten his macaroni, Aleksandr Ivanovich says he feels sick and
lies down on the divan. Sometimes the macaroni comes back up.
Aleksandr Ivanovich doesn't eat meat and he doesn't like women.
Although sometimes he likes them. Apparently, even very often.
But the women whom Aleksandr Ivanovich likes, to my taste, are all
ugly, and therefore we shall consider that they are not even women at all.
If I say a thing, that means it's correct. I don't advise anyone to
argue with me, as they will just be made a fool of, because I get the last
word with everyone.
And it's no use you bandying words with me. That's already been tried.
I've seen them all off! Never mind that I look as though I can barely talk,
but when I get going, there's no stopping me.
Once I got going at the Lipavskys and that was that! I talked them all
to death! Then I went off to the Zabolotskys and talked everyone's head off
there. Then I went to the Shvartses and talked everyone's head off there.
Then I arrived home and talked half the night away again there!
1930s
1 A. I. Vvedensky was a close friend of D. Kharms.
--------
I love sensual women and not passionate ones. A passionate woman closes
her eyes, moans and shouts and the enjoyment of a passionate woman is blind.
A passionate woman writhes about, grabs you with her hands without looking
where, clasps you, kisses you, even bites you and hurries to reach her
climax as soon as she can. She has no time to display her sexual organs, no
time to examine, touch with the hand and kiss your sexual organs, she is in
such a hurry to slake her passion. Having slaked her passion, the passionate
woman will fall asleep. The sexual organs of a passionate woman are dry. A
passionate woman is always in some way or another mannish.
The sensual woman is always feminine.
Her contours are rounded and abundant.
The sensual woman rarely reaches a blind passion. She savours sexual
enjoyment. The sensual woman is always a woman and even in an unaroused
state her sexual organs are moist. She has to wear a bandage on her sexual
organs, so as not to soak them with moisture.
When she takes the bandage off in the evening, the bandage is so wet
that it can be squeezed out.
Thanks to such an abundance of juices, the sexual organs of a sensual
woman give off a slight, pleasant smell which increases strongly when the
sensual woman is aroused. Then the juice from her sexual organs is secreted
in a syrupy stream.
A sensual woman likes you to examine her sexual organs.
early 1930s
--------
But the artist sat the nude model on the table and moved her legs
apart. The girl hardly resisted and merely covered her face with her hands.
Amonova and Strakhova said that first the girl should have been taken
off to the bathroom and washed between her legs, as any whiff of such an
aroma was simply repulsive. The girl wanted to jump up but the artist held
her back and asked her to take no notice and sit there, just as he had
placed her. The girl, not knowing what she was supposed to do, sat back down
again. The artist and his female colleagues took their respective seats and
began sketching the nude model. Petrova said that the nude model was a very
seductive woman, but Strakhova and Amonova said that she was rather plump
and indecent. Zolotogromov said that this was what made her seductive, but
Strakhova said that this was simply repulsive, and not at all seductive.
-- Look -- said Strakhova -- ugh! It's pouring out of her on to the
table cloth. What is there seductive about that, when I can sniff the smell
off her from here.
Petrova said that this only showed her feminine strength. Abel'far
blushed and agreed. Amonova said she had seen nothing like it, that you get
to the highest point of arousal and it still wouldn't secrete like this girl
did. Petrova said that, faced with that, one could get aroused oneself and