Mikhail Bulgakov. The Fateful Eggs -
21 >
A greenish light soared up over the University roof; the words "Talking
Newspaper" lit up in the sky, and a crowd jammed Mokhovaya.
"Take a seat!' an unpleasant thin voice, just like Alfred Bronsky's
magnified a thousand times, yelped from a loudspeaker on the roof, "the
eminent scientist Persikov invited me hospitably. 'I've been wanting to tell
the workers of Moscow the results of my discovery for some time...'"
There was a faint metallic scraping behind Persikov's back, and someone
tugged at his sleeve. Turning round he saw the yellow rotund face of the
owner of the artificial leg. His eyes were glistening with tears and his
lips trembled.
"You wouldn't tell me the results of your remarkable discovery,
Professor," he said sadly with a deep sigh. "So that's farewell to a few
more copecks."
He gazed miserably at the University roof, where the invisible Alfred
raved on in the loudspeaker's black jaws. For some reason Persikov felt
sorry for the fat man.
"I never asked him to sit down!" he growled, catching words from the
sky furiously. "He's an utter scoundrel! You must excuse me, but really when
you're working like that and people come bursting in... I'm not referring to
you, of course..."
"Then perhaps you'd just describe your chamber to me, Professor?" the
man with the artificial leg wheedled mournfully. "It doesn't make any
difference now..."
"In three days half-a-pound of frog-spawn produces more tadpoles than
you could possibly count," the invisible man in the loudspeaker boomed.
"Toot-toot," cried the cars on Mokhovaya.
"Ooo! Ah! Listen to that!" the crowd murmured, staring upwards.
"What a scoundrel! Eh?" hissed Persikov, shaking with anger, to the
artificial man. "How do you like that? I'll lodge an official complaint
against him."
"Disgraceful!" the fat man agreed.