A dog's heart (A Monstrous Story) / Собачье сердце (Чудовищная история). Книга для чтения на английском языке. Михаил Булгаков

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ eyes. “Well, it’s lovely, everything is perfectly fine… I didn’t expect such a fine result, truth to tell. ‘Lots of blood and lots of songs!’. Get dressed, dear fellow!”

      “‘And for the loveliest of all!..’ the patient sang the next line in a voice as resonant as a frying pan and, glowing, started dressing. Having brought himself back to order, hopping and exuding perfume, he counted out a wad of white banknotes for Filipp Filippovich and tenderly pressed both of his hands.

      “You need not return for two weeks,” Filipp Filippovich said, “but I do ask that you be careful.”

      “Professor!” from beyond the door, in ecstasy, the guest exclaimed. “Do not worry in the least.” He giggled sweetly and vanished.

      The tinkling bell flew through the apartment, the lacquered door opened, the bitten one entered, handing Filipp Filippovich a piece of paper and announced: “The dates are incorrectly given. Probably 54–55. Heart tones low.”

      He vanished and was replaced by a rustling lady with a hat at a rakish angle and a sparkling necklace on her flabby and wrinkled neck. Terrible black bags sagged beneath her eyes, but her cheeks were a doll’s rouge colour.

      She was very agitated.

      “Madam! How old are you?” Filipp Filippovich asked very severely.

      The lady took flight and even paled beneath the crust of rouge.

      “I, Professor… I swear, if you only knew, my drama…”

      “How old, Madam?” Filipp Filippovich repeated even more severely.

      “Honestly. well, forty-five-”

      “Madam!” Filipp Filippovich cried out. “People are waiting! Don’t hold me up, please, you are not the only one!”

      The lady’s bosom heaved mightily.

      “I’ll tell you alone, as a luminary of science, but I swear, it is so terrible-”

      “How old are you?” Filipp Filippovich demanded angrily and squeakily, and his glasses flashed.

      “Fifty-one,” the lady replied, cowering in fear.

      “Take off your pants, Madame[27],” Filipp Filippovich said in relief and indicated a tall white scaffold in the corner.

      “I swear, Professor,” the lady muttered, undoing some snaps on her belt with trembling fingers, “That Moritz… I am confessing to you, hiding nothing…”

      “‘From Seville to Granada,’” Filipp Filippovich sang distractedly and stepped on the pedal under the marble sink. Water poured noisily.

      “I swear to God!” the lady said, and live spots of colour broke through the artificial ones on her cheeks, “I know that this is my last passion. He’s such a scoundrel! Oh, Professor! He’s a card shark, all of Moscow knows it. He can’t let a single lousy model get by. He’s so devilishly young!” The lady mumbled and pulled out a crumpled lacy clump from beneath her rustling skirts.

      The dog was completely confused and everything went belly up in his head.

      “The hell with you,” he thought dimly, resting his head on his paws and falling asleep from the shame, “I won’t even try to understand what this is, since I won’t get it anyway.”

      He was awaked by a ringing sound and saw that Filipp Filippovich had tossed some glowing tubes into a basin.

      The spotted lady, pressing her hands to her breast, gazed hopefully at Filipp Filippovich. He frowned importantly and, sitting at his desk, made a notation.

      “Madame, I will transplant ape ovaries in you,” he announced and looked severe.

      “Ah, Professor, must it be an ape?”

      “Yes,” Filipp Filippovich replied inexorably.

      “When will the operation take place?” the lady asked in a weak voice, turning pale.

      “‘From Seville to Granada’… hm… Monday. You will check into the clinic in the morning and my assistant will prepare you.”

      “Ah, I don’t want to be in the clinic. Can’t you do it here, Professor?”

      “You see, I do surgery here only in extreme situations. It will be very expensive, five thousand.”

      “I’m willing, Professor!”

      The water thundered again, the feathered hat billowed, and then a head as bald as a plate appeared and embraced Filipp Filippovich. The dog dozed, the nausea had passed, and the dog enjoyed the calmed side and warmth, even snored a little and had time for a bit of a pleasant dream: he had torn a whole bunch of feathers from the owl’s tail. Then an agitated voice bleated overhead:

      “I am a well-known figure, Professor! What do I do now?”

      “Gentlemen!” Filipp Filippovich shouted in outrage. “You can’t behave this way! You have to control yourself! How old is she?”

      “Fourteen, Professor… You realize that the publicity will destroy me. I’m supposed to be sent to London on business any day now.”

      “I’m not a lawyer, dear fellow. So, wait two years and marry her.”

      “I’m married, Professor!”

      “Ah, gentlemen, gentlemen!”

      Doors opened, faces changed, instruments clattered in the cupboard, and Filipp Filippovich worked without stop.

      “A vile apartment,” the dog thought, “but how good it is here! What the hell did he need me for? Is he really going to let me live? What a weirdo! A single wink from him and he’d get such a fine dog it would take your breath away! Maybe I’m handsome too. It’s my good luck! But the owl is garbage. Arrogant.”

      The dog woke up at last late in the evening, when the bells stopped and just at the instant when the door let in special visitors. There were four at once. All young people, and all dressed very modestly.

      “What do these want?” the dog thought with surprise. Filipp Filippovich greeted them with much greater hostility. He stood at his desk and regarded them like a general looking at the enemy. The nostrils of his aquiline nose flared. The arrivals shuffled their feet on the carpet.

      “We are here, Professor,” said the one with a topknot of about a half foot of thick, curly black hair, “on this matter-”

      “Gentlemen, you shouldn’t go around without galoshes in this weather,” Filipp Filippovich interrupted edifyingly. “First, you will catch cold, and second, you’ve left tracks on my carpets, and all my carpets are Persian.”

      The one with the topknot shut up and all four stared in astonishment at Filipp Filippovich. The silence extended to several seconds and it was broken by Filipp Filippovich’s fingers drumming on the painted wooden plate on his desk.

      “First of all, we’re not gentlemen,” said the youngest of the four, who had a peachy look.

      “First of all,” interrupting him as well, Filipp Filippovich asked, СКАЧАТЬ