While all the people were jumping from one service to another, Bartholomew Korotkov, a gentle, quiet blonde, served firmly in the Glavcentrbazspimat (abbreviated as Spimat) as a clerk and served in it for 11 months.

On September 20, 1921, the cashier of Spimat covered himself with his nasty eared hat, grabbed a briefcase and left. He returned completely wet, put the hat on the table, and the briefcase on the hat. Then he left the room and returned after a quarter of an hour with a big chicken. He laid the chicken on the briefcase, on the chicken - his right hand and said: “There will be no money. And don’t climb, gentlemen, otherwise you, comrades, will overturn the table. ” Then he covered himself with a hat, waved a chicken and disappeared in the doorway.

Three days later, the salary was still issued. Korotkov received 4 large packs, 5 small and 13 boxes of “production products” of Spimat, and having packed his “salary” in a newspaper, he left for home, and at the entrance of Spimat he almost fell under the car in which someone drove up, but who exactly Korotkov did not make out.

At home, he laid out the matches on the table: “We will try to sell them,” he said with a silly smile and knocked on the neighbor, Alexandra Fedorovna, who served in Gubvinsklad. A neighbor squatted in front of a system of bottles of church wine, her face was tearful. “And we have matches,” said Korotkov. “Why, they don’t burn!” Cried Alexandra Fedorovna. "How is that, don't burn?" - scared Korotkov and rushed to his room.

The first match immediately went out, the second shot sparks in the left eye of Comrade. Korotkov, and he had to blindfold. Korotkov suddenly became like a wounded man in battle.

Korotkov struck matches all night and struck out so three boxes. His room was filled with a suffocating sulfuric smell. At dawn, Korotkov fell asleep and saw in a dream a live billiard ball with legs. Korotkov screamed and woke up, and another five seconds he imagined a ball. But then everything was gone, Korotkov fell asleep and no longer woke up.

In the morning, Korotkov, so in a blindfold, appeared at the service. On his desk, he found paper in which they requested uniforms for typists. Taking the paper, Korotkov went to the head of the base, Comrade Chekushin, but at the very door he ran into an unknown man who struck him with his appearance.

The unknown was so short that he reached Korotkov only to the waist. The lack of growth was bathed by the extraordinary width of the shoulders. A square torso sat on bent legs, and the left was lame. The head of the unknown was a gigantic model of an egg, planted horizontally and with a sharp end forward. And like an egg, she was bald and shiny. The tiny face of the unknown was shaved to blue, and his green eyes were small, like pinheads, in deep cavities. The body of the unknown was dressed in a jacket sewn from a gray blanket, from which a Little Russian embroidered shirt peeped out, legs in trousers made of the same material and low hussar boots from the time of Alexander I.

"What do you want?" The unknown asked in the voice of a copper basin, and it seemed to Korotkov that his words smelled of matches. “You see, do not enter without a report!” - bald stunned with pan-like sounds. “I'm going with the report,” Korotkov stupid, pointing to his paper. The bald man suddenly became angry: “What do you not understand ?! And why is it that you have black eyes at every turn? Well, nothing, we’ll put everything in order! ” - He tore the paper from Korotkov’s hands and wrote a few words on it, after which the cabinet door swallowed an unknown person. Chekushin was not in the office! Lidochka, Chekushin’s personal secretary (also blindfolded, injured by matches) said that Chekushin was kicked out yesterday, and the bald one is now in his place.

Having come to his room, Korotkov read the bald scripture: “All typists and women will be given out soldier’s pants in general in a timely manner.” Korotkov composed a telephone message in three minutes, handed it to the manager for signature, and four hours after that he sat in the room so that the manager, if he decided to stop by, suddenly found him immersed in work.

Nobody came. At half past three the bald man left, and the office immediately ran away. After all, Comrade Korotkov left home alone.

The next morning, Korotkov happily dropped the bandage and immediately became prettier and changed. He was late for service, and when he nevertheless ran into the office, the entire office did not sit in their places at the kitchen tables of the former Alpine Rose restaurant, but stood in a heap against the wall on which the paper was nailed. The crowd parted, and Korotkov read “Order No. 1” on the immediate dismissal of Korotkov for negligence and for a broken face. Under the order there was a signature: "Head of the pants."

- How? Is his surname Kalsoner? - hissed Korotkov. - And I read instead of “Calsoner”, “Pants.” He writes a surname with a small letter! And about the person, he has no right! I will explain myself !!! - he sang high and thin and rushed straight to the terrible door.

As soon as Korotkov ran to his office, his door opened and Kalsoner rushed along the corridor with a briefcase under his arm. Korotkov rushed after him. “You see, I'm busy! - rang frantically aspiring Kalsoner, - Address to the clerk! ” “I'm a clerk!” - Korotkov squealed in horror. But Kalsoner had already slipped away, jumped into a motorcycle and disappeared into the smoke. "Where did he go?" Korotkov asked in a shaky voice. “Seem to Centrsnab ...” Korotkov ran off the stairs with a whirlwind, jumped out onto the street, jumped on the tram and rushed after him. Hope burned his heart.

At Tsentsnab he immediately saw Kalsoner's square back flashing in front of the stairs and hurried after her. But on the 5th platform, the back disappeared into the thick of people. Korotkov flew up to the landing and entered the door with two inscriptions in gold on green “Dortuar pepinierok” and black and white on “Nachkantsupelsdelnsnab”. In the room, Korotkov saw glass cages and blond women running between them under the unbearable crackle of cars. Kalsoner was not. Korotkov stopped the first woman who came across. “He's leaving now. Catch up with him, ”the woman answered with a wave of her hand.

Korotkov ran to where the woman pointed, found himself on a dark platform and saw the open mouth of the elevator, which took a square back. "Comrade Calsoner!" Korotkov shouted, and his back turned. Korotkov recognized everything: a gray jacket and a briefcase. But it was Kalsoner with a long Assyrian-corrugated beard that fell to his chest. “Late, comrade, on Friday,” Calsoner shouted tenor, lowering the elevator. “The voice is also tethered,” knocked in Korotkov’s skull.

A second later, Korotkov cursed down the stairs, where he again saw Kalsoner, blue and shaved terrible. He walked very close, separated only by a glass wall. Korotkov rushed to the nearest doorknob and unsuccessfully began to tear it, and only then, in desperation, he saw a tiny inscription: “Around, through the 6th entrance”. "Where is the sixth?" - Korotkov shouted weakly. In response, an old lustered man came out of the side door with a huge list in his hands.

- All go? - the old man mumbled. “Come on, anyway, I already deleted you, Vasily Petrovich,” and laughed voluptuously.

“I am Bartholomew Petrovich,” said Korotkov.

“Do not confuse me,” said the terrible old man. - Kolobkov V.P. and Kalsoner. Both translated. And in place of Kalsoner - Chekushin. Just managed to manage the day, and kicked ...

- I am saved! - Korotkov exclaimed in exultation and reached into his pocket for a little book, so that the old man could make a mark on his reinstatement in the service, and then he turned pale, slammed his pockets and rushed back up the stairs with a deaf cry - there was no wallet with all the documents! After running up the stairs, I rushed back, but the old man had already disappeared somewhere, all the doors were locked, and in the darkness of the corridor it smelled a little gray. "Tram!" Groaned Korotkov. He jumped out into the street and ran into a small building of unpleasant architecture, where he began to prove to a gray man, oblique and gloomy, that he was not Kolobkov, but Korotkov, and that his documents had stolen him. Gray demanded a certificate from the brownie, and Korotkov faced a painful dilemma: to Spimat or to the brownie? And when he had already decided to run to Spimat, the clock struck four, dusk came, and people with briefcases ran out of all the doors. Late, Korotkov thought, home.

A note stuck at home in the castle’s ear - a neighbor left Korotkova all her wine salary. Korotkov dragged all the bottles to himself, fell onto the bed, jumped up, dropped the box of matches on the floor and frantically began to crush them with his feet, vaguely dreaming that he was crushing Kalsoner's head. He stopped: “Well, isn't he really double?” Fear climbed through the black windows into the room, Korotkov quietly cried. Having cried, ate, then again cried. He drank half a glass of wine and suffered from pain in his temples for a long time, until a muddy dream took pity on him.

The next morning for Korotkov he ran to the house. Brownie, as luck would have it, died, and no certificates were issued. An annoyed Korotkov rushed to Spimat, where Chekushin might already have returned.

In Spimat, Korotkov immediately went to the office, but on the threshold stopped and opened his mouth: there was not a single familiar face in the hall of the former Alpine Rose restaurant. Korotkov went into his room, and the light dimmed in his eyes - Kalsoner was sitting at the Korotkov table and a corrugated beard covered his chest: “I’m sorry, the local clerk is me,” he answered with amazed falsetto. Korotkov hesitated and went out into the corridor. And immediately Kalsoner's shaved face obscured the world: “Good! The pelvis slammed, and Korotkova brought a cramp. “You are my assistant.” Kalsoner is an office clerk. I’m running off to the department, and you’ll write a relationship with Kalsoner about all the former ones, and especially about this bastard Korotkov. ”

Kalsoner dragged Korotkov, who was breathing heavily, into his office, crossed out on paper, slammed the seal, grabbed the receiver, yelled “I will arrive right now” and disappeared into the doorway. And Korotkov with horror read on a piece of paper: “The presenter of this is my assistant, Comrade V.P. Kolobkov ... "At that moment the door opened, and Kalsoner returned in his beard:" Kalsoner has already fled? " Korotkov howled and jumped to Calsoner, biting his teeth. Kalsoner fell into the corridor with horror and rushed to run. The recalled Korotkov rushed after. From the cries of Kalsoner, the office was confused, and Kalsoner himself disappeared behind the former restaurant authority. Korotkov rushed after him, clinging to a huge organ pen - a grunt was heard, and now all the halls were filled with the lion's roar: “Noisy, Moscow fire rattled ...” Through the howling and roar a car signal burst, and Calsoner, shaved and formidable walked into the lobby. In an ominous bluish radiance, he began to climb the stairs. His hair stirred on Korotkov, through the side doors he ran out into the street and saw the bearded Kalsoner jumping up into the span.

Korotkov cried out painfully: "I will explain it!" - and rushed off by tram into the green building, asked the blue teapot in the window where the claims office was, and immediately got confused in the corridors and rooms. Relying on his memory, Korotkov went up to the eighth floor, opened the door and entered a vast and completely empty hall with columns. The massive figure of a man in white came down heavily from the stage, introduced herself and affectionately asked Korotkov if he would please them with a brand new feuilleton or essay. Confused, Korotkov began to tell his bitter story, but then the man began to complain about “this Kalsoner”, who managed to transfer all the furniture to the claims bureau in two days of being here.

Korotkov cried out and flew to the claims office. About five minutes later he fled, following the bends of the corridor, and ended up at the place from which he had run out. "Oh hell!" - Korotkov gasped and ran the other way - five minutes later he was there again. Korotkov ran into the empty colonnade hall and saw a man in white - he was standing without an ear and nose, and his left arm was broken off. Backing away and getting colder, Korotkov again ran out into the corridor. Suddenly a secret door opened in front of him, from which a shriveled woman came out with empty buckets on the beam. Korotkov threw himself at that door, ended up in a darkened space with no way out, began to frantically scratch at the walls, fell on some white spot that released him onto the stairs. Korotkov ran down from where footsteps were heard. Another moment - and a gray blanket and a long beard appeared. At the same time their eyes crossed, and both howled in thin voices of fear and pain. Korotkov stepped back, Kalsoner moved back down: "Save!" He shouted, changing his thin voice to copper bass. Pausing, he fell with a thunder, turned into a black cat with phosphor eyes, flew out into the street and disappeared. An unusual clarification suddenly occurred in Korotkov’s brain: “Yeah, I get it. Cats! " He began to laugh louder and louder, until the whole staircase was filled with echoing peals.

In the evening, sitting at home on the bed, Korotkov drank three bottles of wine in order to forget everything and calm down. His head now hurt all and twice comrade. Korotkova vomited in the basin. Korotkov firmly decided to straighten out his documents and never again appear in Spimat, and not meet with the terrible Kalsoner. In the distance, the clock began to beat deafly. After counting forty strokes, Korotkov grinned bitterly and cried. Then he was again convulsively and severely sick of church wine.

The next day, comrade Korotkov again climbed to the eighth floor, but he found the bureau of claims. Seven women sat at the bureau at typewriters. The extreme brunette abruptly interrupted Korotkov, who opened his mouth, pulled him into the corridor, where she resolutely expressed her intention to surrender to Korotkov. “I don’t need to,” Korotkov answered hoarsely, “documents were stolen from me ...” The brunette rushed at Korotkov with a kiss, and then (“Teks”) an old lustrous old man suddenly appeared.

- Everywhere you are, Mr. Kolobkov. But you will not kiss me on a business trip - they gave me an old man. I’ll file an application with you. Child molester, get to the subdivisions? Would you like to tear up the lifting ones from the hands of an old man? He cried all of a sudden. The hysteria took possession of Korotkov, but here: “Next!” - barked the door of the bureau. Korotkov rushed into it, passed cars and found himself in front of an elegant blonde who nodded to Korotkov: “Poltava or Irkutsk?” Then he pulled out a drawer, and a secretary crawled out of the drawer, bent like a snake, pulled out a pen from his pocket and made a note of it. Brunetkin's head popped out of the door and shouted excitedly:

- I already sent his documents to Poltava. And I'm going with him. I have an aunt in Poltava.

- I do not want! Cried Korotkov, wandering his gaze.

- Poltava or Irkutsk? - Having lost his temper the blond thundered. - Do not take the time! Do not walk along the corridors! Do not smoke! Money exchange is not difficult!

- Handshakes are canceled! - the secretary crowed.

“It is said in the commandment of the thirteenth: Do not enter your neighbor without a report,” the lustrin mumbled and flew through the air.

Dregs walked around the room, in dregs the blond began to grow. He waved a huge hand, the wall fell apart, the cars on the tables played a foxtrot, and thirty women went around them in a parade alla. White trousers with violet stripes got out of the cars: “This bearer is really a bearer, not some kind of chantrap.” Korotkov whined thinly and began to bang his head against the corner of the blond table. “Now one salvation - to Dyrkin in the fifth compartment,” the old man whispered anxiously. - Go! Go! " The smell of ether, his hands vaguely carried Korotkov into the corridor. Drawn damp from the net, going into the abyss ...

The cabin and two Korotkov fell down. The first Korotkov left, the second remained in the mirror of the cabin.The pink fat man in the top hat said to Korotkov: “So I will arrest you” “You cannot be arrested,” Korotkov laughed with a satanic laugh, “because I don’t know who. Maybe I'm Hohenzollern. Didn’t you come across Calsoner? Answer, fat man! ” The fat man trembled in horror: “Now to Dyrkin, not otherwise. He is only menacing! ” And they ascended in the elevator to Dyrkin.

When Korotkov entered the comfortably furnished study, a little chubby Dyrkin jumped up from the table and barked: “M-be silent!”, Although Korotkov had not said anything yet. At that very moment a pale young man with a briefcase appeared in his office. Dyrkin's face was covered with smiley wrinkles, he cried out in a welcoming and sweet voice. However, the young man made an assault on Dyrkin in a metal voice, waved his briefcase, cracked Dyrkin in his ear, and, threatening Korotkov with a red fist, he left. “Here,” said the good and humble Dyrkin, “the reward for diligence. Well ... Beat Dyrkina. It hurts with your hand, so take the candelabric. ” Without understanding anything, Korotkov took the candelabra and hit Dyrkin on the head with a crunch. Dyrkin, shouting "guard", fled through the inner door. "Ku Klux Klan! Cried the cuckoo from the clock, and turned into a bald head. “Let’s write how you beat the workers!” Fury seized Korotkov, he hit the candelabra in the clock, and out of them jumped out Kalsoner, turned into a white cockerel and flashed at the door. At once, Dyrkin's cry spilled out the door: “Catch him!” And the heavy steps of the people flew from all sides. Korotkov rushed to run.

They ran along a huge staircase: a fat man’s top hat, a white rooster, a candelabrum, Korotkov, a boy with a revolver in his hand, and some other stomping people. Korotkov, having overtaken a cylinder and a candelabrum, jumped out first and rushed down the street. Passers-by hid from him in the gateway, whistled somewhere, someone hooted, shouted "Hold." Shots flew after Korotkov, and a growling Korotkov strove for an eleven-story giant, facing sideways on the street.

Korotkov ran into the mirror lobby, thrust himself into the elevator box, sat on the sofa opposite another Korotkov, and drove to the very top. Shots immediately rang out below.

Korotkov jumped upstairs and listened. From below came a growing rumble, from the side - the knock of balls in the billiard room. Korotkov ran into the billiard room with a war cry. A shot fell from below. Korotkov locked the glass doors of the billiard room and armed himself with balls, and when the first head grew near the elevator, he began shelling. In response, a machine gun howled. Glass burst.

Korotkov realized that the position could not be maintained, and ran out onto the roof. “Give up!” - Vaguely came to him. Grabbing rolling balls, Korotkov jumped to the parapet, looked down. His heart sank. He made out bugs-people, gray figures dancing to the porch, and behind them a heavy toy dotted with golden heads. “Surrounded! - gasped Korotkov. - Firefighters".

Leaning over the parapet, he launched three balls one after another (bugs ran in alarm) and three more. When Korotkov leaned in to pick up more shells, people rained down from the billiard room breach. An old lustrous old man flew over them, and a terrible Calsoner with a musketon in his hands rolled out menacingly on his rollers. “Done!” - Korotkov shouted weakly. The courage of death poured into his soul. He climbed up the parapet and shouted: “Better death than shame!”

The pursuers were around the corner. Korotkov had already seen outstretched hands, a flame had already popped out of Kalsoner's mouth. The sunny abyss beckoned Korotkov, with a piercing victorious clique, he jumped up and flew up to the narrow slit of the alley. Then the blood sun burst with a ringing in his head, and he saw nothing more.