In the circus-shapito
The artist Pavel Zhorov arrived in this big southern city in a very bad mood.
After all, for so long, he had managed to avoid traveling circuses by hook or by crook, and now for the first time he was unlucky.
A week ago, when he received a referral to the circus, he immediately rushed to fight it off.But one of the employees of soyuzgostsirk, even Gorovo first seemed very nice and sympathetic, took out a folder of old gorovsky report and quietly told him: “Here you write that you can’t work in a tent, supposedly there from the axle of your suspension before the mast a distance less than five meters. But actually more than seven. We give you the opportunity to see this in person. Go and work.”
What was to be done? I had to go.
At the station, Zhorov coldly nodded to the friendly female freight forwarder who met him and, grumbling grumpily at his wife’s hesitation, went to the circus bus…
Soon they saw four masts standing forlornly in the square, and as they drew nearer they saw tarpaulins piled up around them. Dozens of cars, various trailers, and trailers were scattered around the site.
The circus Director was found near a trailer with a shattered side, some metal parts were being unloaded from it.
— When moving, they hit an oncoming dump truck. The boxes were damaged a little — ” the Director explained to Zhorov, dragging something broken and mangled to the side.
On the same bus we went to get a private apartment. Everything here Zhorov did not like. Everything was annoying.
— This is outrageous!” — what is it? ” he said to the freight forwarder and the bus driver. — You’ve plastered the whole city with an announcement about the circus opening tomorrow, and you won’t be opening for another week. No order!
The shipping clerk only smiled.
“You only moved a hundred kilometers away, but you managed to break a trailer,” Zhorov persisted, ” and if you had moved five hundred kilometers, you would have broken five trailers?” The driver turned and chuckled, but said nothing.
Under the sarcastic remarks and continuous grumbling Zhorov traveled all over the district. We looked at six apartments and finally settled on the one that was offered by the very first one. Zhorov immediately collapsed on the sofa: neither the warm Sunny day nor the novelty of an unfamiliar city lured him. The mere fact that it was set to move, caused prejudice.
In the evening, his wife finally picked him up from the sofa.
— You would have just went and bought sausages or something. And bring some tea.
Finally, she gave him her pet bolonka Button. Let him walk.
The grocery store was nearby. After leaving it, Zhorov confidently walked towards a dozen identical multi-storey buildings and, only when he reached them, realized that he did not remember either the house or the entrance, or even the floor — either the third or the fourth.
He walked around a block or two, hoping for visual memory, for signs, but without success. Zhorov soon realized that he was hopelessly lost. And then the Button got tired and started whining. I had to pick her up.
It had long been dark, and Zhorov still wandered through unfamiliar streets, sometimes bypassing the same blocks. He was grim,brooding.
Finally, turning a corner, Zhorov suddenly saw such an ungracious movement illuminated by strong lamps and searchlights. The dome of the tent was already stretched, and a canvas stable stood close to it.
Hoping to get his address from the freight forwarder, Zhorov went to the auditorium. Squinting against the glare, he stopped, stunned by the sound of jackhammers pounding the asphalt in the ring of the arena. Several guys were mixing clay with sawdust, and electric welding was flashing in front of the orchestra box.
After getting used to it a little, Zhorov saw the Director and the Ringmaster standing next to the barrier — his old friend, a famous wit and humorist.
“Things are bad,” Zhorov was upset. – Since Igor is here, you should keep quiet about your wanderings — a very suitable topic for friendly jokes.”
After mutual exclamations of joy, it turned out that the freight forwarder had just gone to rest until morning. And where, no one knows.
– We need to find her immediately, – Zhorov pressed the Director, trying to shout over the jackhammer, – this is very important! It is absolutely necessary!
— I wish I had your concerns.” – chuckled the Director and, lightly clicking the funny Button on the nose, went in the direction of the electric welding.
Zhorov almost choked with indignation.
– Igor Vladimirovich, have you heard how artists are treated here? — get out of here! ” he shouted to the inspector. — When I was in America…
But the Ringmaster, not hearing about America, excused himself and went to work. Zhorov sat down on a box of sawdust and lowered the Button to the floor, near which a large shaggy dog instantly appeared as if from under the ground. I had to pick up the dog again. The dog didn’t leave.
“Get out, you brat!” Zhorov swung a sausage loaf at him. But he was not a coward. He just leaned forward and silently bared his large fangs.
Cursing everything, accompanied by a new shaggy acquaintance, he went backstage to find his Luggage.
“They probably scattered boxes all over the circus: if you don’t track them yourself, they’ll just be lying around.”
But all his seven seats were neatly stacked in the stable, near the lion cages.
The nearest lion, opening one eye, looked drowsily at Zhorov.
The button in her bosom barked angrily: she didn’t like any cats, even the biggest ones.
“You’re right, Button. There is no order here. They didn’t even find another place for our Luggage, ” Zhorov grumbled.
Taking advantage of the pause in the rattling of the jackhammers, he tried again to interest the inspector.
– Listen, Igor, when I was in America…
— I’m sorry, Pasha, but we have an opening tomorrow. Unpack your Luggage early, warn the bandmaster about the equipment being suspended, and send the sheet music to the orchestra.
“Ha, ha! You have an orchestra. I imagine! Probably a cripple and a half.
— We have a great band. And you, Pasha, were once a wonderful companion, but you have become a bore. Go home. God bless you.
A little bored in solitude, Zhorov noticed among those working in the arena a familiar Dzhigit-an honored artist. Say hello. He came up. He was dressed in an old, clay-stained uniform.
“You can’t leave for a minute,” the honored one complained. – The guys are inexperienced, and the arena should be ready today. We rehearse in the morning.
— Whether it is in hospitals, – Zhorov was happy to the interlocutor, – there is no sawdust. In the arena of rubber. When I worked in Moscow…
“I like sawdust better,” interrupted the jig, and shouting: “what Are you doing?” – I ran to my guys.
“Why are they all trying so hard, because they won’t open tomorrow anyway? Zhorov was surprised.
He went out into the street. Stood. Near the front of the building, two burly guys were puffing and cursing as they worked on blocks, pulling on their caps.
Pursuing on the heels of a troublesome dog, Zhorov was walking by the facade. As time went on. Homeless Zhorov loitered near the circus, with annoyance remembering the cute employee of the soyuzgoscirk, who had sent him here. I didn’t forget about my own wife.
“And she is good, I also found a sausage lover, where will I spend the night now?»
Talk to someone… But everyone is working, everyone is busy. Shaggy and the somewhere runs away, barks at someone, but immediately returns back.
“Even this barbos is in business,” thought Zhorov, ” I’m the only one who’s lost. And time is so slow.”
And under the dome of the shapito, life boils. The sound of jackhammers stopped there, and the voices of workers became more audible. Zhorov has long been tired of grumbling. I was drawn to people.
Suddenly the thought moved: “Igor said that once I was a wonderful friend, but who am I now?»
There was only one thing left…
When already at midnight the wife with the landlady of the apartment found the missing Zhorov, he furiously hammered a trombovki clay-sawn mixture in the arena. I wasn’t going home. After all, it was necessary to finish telling the uniformists about the tour in America, and most importantly, as he explained to his wife:”Tomorrow we have the premiere.”
It was not soon, and only with the help of the Ringmaster, that his wife tore Zhorov away from the piano, which he was helping to drag into the orchestra box, and finally took Him to his apartment.