"E.Voiskunsky, I.Lukodyanov. The Crew Of The Mekong (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

The electrician glanced into the room in time to see the woman drop the
fish and a big black cat spring to seize it.
"Shoo!" cried Benedictov.
The electrician jumped back from the doorway as the cat, covered with
blue sparks and screeching piteously, dashed into the passage. Its fur stood
on end, the sparks crackling. The cat ran frenziedly between the
electrician's legs, received a kick, and bounded down the passage.
"The cat thought I tossed the fish to her," Rita said with a laugh as
she came out of the study. "Have you finished looking things over?"
Benedictov followed his wife into the passage.
"Who are you?" he asked the electrician in alarm. "What do you want?"
"I ought to fine you for such goings-on," the electrician growled
hoarsely, tugging his cap down over his forehead. He strode to the door,
pulled it open and went out, slamming the door behind him.


After the war Bugrov returned home to his flat in Cooper Lane where a
circus poster, now yellowed, still hung on the wall beside his bed.
Soon afterwards he married a stately, imperious woman named Claudia.
She hid the poster in the lower drawer of the bureau, placed little rugs and
embroidered cushions here, there and everywhere.
Bugrov did not return to the circus. He obtained a medical certificate
stating that he was a disabled veteran and began to make spring dynamometers
at home for a small producers' co-operative of disabled war veterans.
When Bugrov saw Benedictov's strange knife on board the Uzbekistan on
his way home from a holiday on the Volga he immediately realized that such a
knife could be a gold mine in a circus act. He carefully noted the place
where the woman in red had dived overboard. When the passengers from the
Uzbekistan went ashore he took a taxi and followed Benedictov to his home.
Bugrov hesitated for several days before finally deciding on direct
action to learn whether the man still had the knife or whether it had sunk
to the bottom of the Caspian.
"It was a waste of time," Bugrov thought gloomily as he walked to the
trolleybus stop. "I didn't learn anything about the knife. All I did was
tangle with a cat." Recalling the black cat covered with sparks he spat on
the ground in fury.
Vova Bugrov did not know that cats possess excellent electrical
properties, although they could hardly be a source of electric power. It has
been estimated that if 1,500 million cats were stroked simultaneously they
would generate a mere 15 watts.
"But maybe it wasn't a complete loss, after all," Bugrov reflected in
the trolleybus. "The cat's owner was out of sorts. He swore and shouted at
his wife. He might have been upset because the knife sank into the sea. Why
didn't I grab it? I should have kept my eye on the handle. Well, I'll have
to search the sea bottom."
Bugrov fell into a daydream about a wonderful circus act. The day he
arrived in a small town posters would be pasted on all the fences showing
Bugrov in a red robe-no, a green robe would perhaps be better-and a turban,
with a knife piercing his throat. "Famous Fakir so-and-so" the poster would
read. He'd have to think up a good name for himself. The hall would be