Mikhail Bulgakov. The Fateful Eggs -
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sharp point of the ray falling from the reflector looked strange and
majestic in his revolving chair. The newcomer stared at him with an
expression in which sparks of respect flashed clearly through the
self-assurance, did not hand over any warrant, but said:
"I am Alexander Semyonovich Feight!"
"Well then? So what?"
"I have been put in charge of the Red Ray Model State Farm," the
newcomer explained.
"So what?"
"And so I have come to see you on secret business, comrade."
"Well, I wonder what that can be. Put it briefly, if you don't mind."
The newcomer unbuttoned his jacket and pulled out some instructions
typed on splendid thick paper. He handed the paper to Persikov, then sat
down uninvited on a revolving stool.
"Don't push the table," said Persikov with hatred.
The newcomer looked round in alarm at the table, on the far edge of
which a pair of eyes glittered lifelessly like diamonds in a damp dark
opening. They sent shivers down your spine.
No sooner had Persikov read the warrant, than he jumped up and rushed
to the telephone. A few seconds later he was already saying hastily in a
state of extreme irritation:
"Forgive me... I just don't understand... How can it be? Without my
consent or advice... The devil only knows what he'll do!"
At that point the stranger, highly offended, spun round on the stool.
"Pardon me, but I'm in charge..." he began.
But Persikov shook a crooked finger at him and went on:
"Excuse me, but I just don't understand. In fact, I object
categorically. I refuse to sanction any experiments with the eggs... Until I
have tried them myself..."
Something croaked and rattled in the receiver, and even at a distance
it was clear that the indulgent voice on the phone was talking to a small
child. In the end a purple-faced Persikov slammed down the receiver,