But one time Mother said: Let's just lock them up so they'll stay at home and lay eggs for us year-round. Sure! Just try and hold them back! Grab them by the legs! They'll peck your eyes out in a thrice. Another time she said: What a pity they aren't edible-I would love to have a nice chicken dish. Father nearly keeled over laughing. What a dimwit, he said, what a dolt-nothing but air between your ears. Klim Danilych ate chicken once-and where is he now? He not only kicked the bucket, first he turned all black, swelled up like a hollow log and burst; and that wasn't the end of it. Then the ground around his grave sank and caved in and wicked fires flicker there, cold they are, and it stinks so bad they sent people over twice to dump sand on the grave, and even that didn't help.

Nikita Ivanich goes on the same way: he doesn't get it, but sure knows how to talk. Once he said: There isn't any Slynx, it's nothing but human ignorance. How d'ya like that? And who rips people's veins out? Who sucks the lifeblood out of the neck? Tell me! And if you don't know, then shut your trap.

Nikita Ivanich started putting signposts all over town. Next to his own house he carved one that said "Nikita's Gates." As if we didn't know. No gates there, but still. They rotted. Well, all right. In another place he carved " Balchug St." Then: " Polyanka Rd. " " Strastnoi Blvd. " " Kuznetsky Bridge." " Volkhonka St." You ask him: Nikita Ivanich, what's going on? And he says: I want to keep memory alive. As long as I'm breathing, he says, and I'm planning on living forever, as you can see, I want to make my contribution to the restoration and rebirth of culture. Just wait, he says, in a millennium or so, you people will finally set foot upon the path of civilized development, curse your bloody souls. The light of knowledge will finally dispel the impenetrable darkness of your ignorance, O obstinate people, and the balm of enlightenment will flow down over your coarse manners, mores, and customs.