The carved door at the other end of the room opened and in came the doctor who had been bitten. In the bright light he now looked very young and handsome, with a pointed beard. He put down a sheet of paper and said: ‘The same as before…’
Then he silently vanished and Philip Philipovich, spreading his coat-tails, sat down behind the huge desk and immediately looked extremely dignified and important.
No, this can’t be a hospital, I’ve landed up somewhere else, the dog thought confusedly and stretched out on the patterned carpet beside a massive leather-covered couch. I wish I knew what that owl was doing here…
The door gently opened and in came a man who looked so extraordinary that the dog gave a timid yelp…
‘Shut up!… My dear fellow, I hardly recognised you!’
Embarrassed, the visitor bowed politely to Philip Philipovich and giggled nervously.
‘You’re a wizard, a magician, professor!’ he said bashfully.
‘Take down your trousers, old man,’ ordered Philip Philip-ovich and stood up.
Christ, thought the dog, what a sight! The man’s hair was completely green, although at the back it shaded off into a brownish tobacco colour, wrinkles covered his face yet his complexion was as pink as a boy’s. His left leg would not bend and had to be dragged across the carpet, but his right leg was as springy as a jack-in-the-box. In the buttonhole of his superb jacket there shone, like an eye, a precious stone.
The dog was so fascinated that he even forgot his nausea. Oow-ow, he whined softly.
‘Quiet!… How have you been sleeping!’
The man giggled. ‘Are we alone, professor? It’s indescribable,’ said the visitor coyly. ‘Parole d’honneur — I haven’t known anything like it for twenty-five years…’ the creature started struggling with his flybuttons… ‘Would you believe it, professor — hordes of naked girls every night. I am absolutely entranced. You’re a magician.’
‘H’m,’ grunted Philip Philipovich, preoccupied as he stared into the pupils of his visitor’s eyes. The man finally succeeded in mastering his flybuttons and took off his checked trousers, revealing the most extraordinary pair of pants. They were cream-coloured, embroidered with black silk cats and they smelled of perfume.
The dog could not resist the cats and gave such a bark that the man jumped.
‘Oh!’
‘Quiet — or I’ll beat you!… Don’t worry, he won’t bite.’
Won’t I? thought the dog in amazement.
Out of the man’s trouser pocket a little envelope fell to the floor. It was decorated with a picture of a naked girl with flowing hair. He gave a start, bent down to pick it up and blushed violently.
‘Look here,’ said Philip Philipovich in a tone of grim warning, wagging a threatening finger, ‘you shouldn’t overdo it, you know.’
‘I’m not overdo…’ the creature muttered in embarrassment as he went on undressing. ‘It was just a sort of experiment.’
‘Well, what were the results?’ asked Philip Philipovich sternly.
The man waved his hand in ecstasy. ‘I swear to God, professor, I haven’t known anything like it for twenty- five years. The last time was in 1899 in Paris, in the Rue de la Paix.’
‘And why have you turned green?’
The visitor’s face clouded over. ‘That damned stuff! You’d never believe, professor, what those rogues palmed off on me instead of dye. Just take a look,’ the man muttered, searching for a mirror. ‘I’d like to punch him on the snout,’ he added in a rage. ‘What am I to do now, professor?’ he asked tearfully.
‘H’m. Shave all your hair off.’
‘But, professor,’ cried the visitor miserably, ‘then it would only grow grey again. Besides, I daren’t show my face at the office like this. I haven’t been there for three days. Ah, professor, if only you had discovered a way of rejuvenating hair!’
‘One thing at a time, old man, one thing at a time,’ muttered Philip Philipovich. Bending down, his glittering eyes examined the patient’s naked abdomen.
‘Splendid, everything’s in great shape. To tell you the truth I didn’t even expect such results. You can get dressed now.’
‘“Ah, she’s so lovely…”’ sang the patient in a voice that quavered like the sound of someone hitting an old, cracked saucepan. Beaming, he started to dress. When he was ready he skipped across the floor in a cloud of perfume, counted out a heap of white banknotes on the professor’s desk and shook him tenderly by both hands.
‘You needn’t come back for two weeks,’ said Philip Philipovich, ‘but I must beg you — be careful.’
The ecstaticvoice replied from behind thedoor: ‘Don’t worry, professor.’ The creature gave a delighted giggle and went. The doorbell tinkled through the apartment and the varnished door opened, admitting the other doctor, who handed Philip Philipovich a sheet of paper and announced:
‘She has lied about her age. It’s probably about fifty or fifty-five. Heart-beats muffled.’
He disappeared, to be succeeded by a rustling lady with a hat planted gaily on one side of her head and with a glittering necklace on her slack, crumpled neck. There were black bags under her eyes and her cheeks were as red as a painted doll. She was extremely nervous.
‘How old are you, madam?’ enquired Philip Philipovich with great severity.
Frightened, the lady paled under her coating of rouge. ‘Professor, I swear that if you knew the agony I’ve been going through…!’
‘How old are you, madam?’ repeated Philip Philipovich even more sternly.
‘Honestly… well, forty-five…’
‘Madam,’ groaned Philip Philipovich, I am a busy man. Please don’t waste my time. You’re not my only patient, you know.’
The lady’s bosom heaved violently. ‘I’ve come to you, a great scientist… I swear to you — it’s terrible…’
‘How old are you?’ Philip Philipovich screeched in fury, his spectacles glittering.
‘Fifty-one!’ replied the lady, wincing with terror.
‘Take off your underwear, please,’ said Philip Philipovich with relief, and pointed to a high white examination table in the comer.
‘I swear, professor,’ murmured the lady as with trembling fingers she unbuttoned the fasteners on her belt, ‘this boy Moritz… I honestly admit to you…’
‘“From Granada to Seville…”’ Philip Philipovich hummed absentmindedly and pressed the foot-pedal of his marble washbasin. There was a sound of running water.
‘I swear to God,’ said the lady, patches of real colour showing through the rouge on her cheeks, ‘this will be my last affair. Oh, he’s such a brute! Oh, professor! All Moscow knows he’s a card-sharper and he can’t resist any little tart of a dressmaker who catches his eye. But he’s so deliciously young…’As she talked the lady pulled out a crumpled blob of lace from under her rustling skirts.
A mist came in front of the dog’s eyes and his brain turned a somersault. To hell with you, he thought vaguely, laying his head on his paws and closing his eyes with embarrassment. I’m not going to try and guess what all this is about -it’s beyond me, anyway.
He was wakened by a tinkling sound and saw that Philip Philipovich had tossed some little shining tubes into a basin.
The painted lady, her hands pressed to her bosom, was gazing hopefully at Philip Philipovich. Frowning impressively he had sat down at his desk and was writing something.
‘I am going to implant some monkey’s ovaries into you, madam,’ he announced with a stern look.
‘Oh, professor — not monkey’s ?’
‘Yes,’ replied Philip Philipovich inexorably.
‘When will you operate?’ asked the lady in a weak voice, turning pale.
‘“…from Granada to Seville…” H’m… on Monday. You must go into hospital on Monday morning. My assistant will prepare you.’
‘Oh, dear. I don’t want to go into hospital. Couldn’t you operate here, professor?’
‘I only operate here in extreme cases. It would be very expensive — 500 roubles.’
‘I’ll pay, professor!’
Again came the sound of running water, the feathered hat swayed out, to be replaced by a head as bald as a
