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  .., 2026.



Alexey Tolstoy  

Engineer Garin's hyperboloid   



Chapter 1  1

This season the business world of Paris gathered for breakfast at the Hotel Majestic.            c. There one could meet representatives of every nation except the French.       ,  . There, between courses, business conversations were held and deals were concluded to the sounds of an orchestra, the popping of corks, and the chatter of women.            ,     .

In the magnificent lobby of the hotel, carpeted with precious carpets, near the glass revolving doors, a tall man with a gray head and an energetic, clean-shaven face, reminiscent of the heroic past of France, was walking importantly.    ,   ,    ,    ,       ,    . He was dressed in a black wide tailcoat, silk stockings and patent leather shoes with buckles.       ,       . A silver chain lay on his chest.      . He was the head porter, the spiritual deputy of the joint-stock company operating the Hotel Majestic.    ,    ,   .

With his gouty hands behind his back, he stopped in front of the glass wall where visitors were having lunch among the trees blooming in green tubs and palm leaves.     ,     ,            . At that moment, he looked like a professor studying the life of plants and insects behind the wall of an aquarium.       ,        .

The women were beautiful, to be sure.   ,   . The young ones were alluring with their youth and the sparkle of their eyes: blue  Anglo-Saxon, dark as night  South American, purple  French.   ,  :   , ,  ,  ,   . The older women seasoned their fading beauty with the unusualness of their attire, like a hot sauce.   ,   ,    .

Yes, as far as the women were concerned, everything was going well. ,   ,    . But the head porter could not say the same about the men sitting in the restaurant.          ,   .

Where, from what thistles after the war did these plump young men crawl out, short in stature, with hairy fingers in rings, with inflamed cheeks that were difficult to shave? ,         ,  ,     ,   ,   ?

They fussily swallowed all sorts of drinks from morning until morning.         . Their hairy fingers wove money, money, money out of thin air... They crawled from America, primarily, from the damned country where they walk knee-deep in gold, where they are going to buy up the whole good old world on the cheap.       , ,       ,   ,      ,         .



Chapter 2  2

A Rolls-Royce, a long car with a mahogany body, silently pulled up to the hotel entrance.      -        . The doorman, rattling his chain, hurried to the revolving doors. ,  ,    .

The first to enter was a short, yellowish-pale man with a black, short-cropped beard and flared nostrils on his fleshy nose.   -   ,  ,   ,     . He was wearing a baggy long coat and a bowler hat pulled down over his eyebrows.        ,   .

He stopped, grumpily waiting for his companion, who was talking to a young man who jumped out from behind a column of the entrance to meet the car.  ,   ,     ,    -  . Nodding her head to him, she passed through the revolving doors.   ,     . It was the famous Zoe Monrose, one of the most chic women in Paris.     ,      . She was wearing a white cloth suit, trimmed on the sleeves, from wrist to elbow, with long black monkey fur.      ,   ,    ,    . Her little felt cap was created by the great Collot.        . Her movements were confident and careless.      . She was beautiful, thin, tall, with a long neck, a slightly large mouth, and a slightly upturned nose.   , , ,   ,    ,    . Her bluish-gray eyes seemed cold and passionate. -      .

Are we going to have lunch, Rolling?    , ? she asked the man in the bowler hat.       .

- No.  . I will talk to him until lunch.       .

Zoya Monroz smiled, as if condescendingly excusing the harsh tone of the answer.   ,       . At that moment, the young man who had been talking to Zoya Monroz at the car rushed through the door.        ,      . He was wearing an old, open coat, with a cane and a soft hat in his hand.      ,       . His excited face was covered with freckles.      . His sparse, stiff mustache seemed to be glued on.     . He apparently intended to shake hands, but Rolling, without taking his hands out of his coat pockets, said even more sharply:  , ,   ,  ,      ,   :

- You are a quarter of an hour late, Semenov.      , .

 I was detained... For our own case... I'm terribly sorry... Everything is arranged... They agree... They can leave for Warsaw tomorrow...                  

If you yell at the whole hotel, youll be thrown out, Rolling said, staring at him with cloudy eyes that didnt promise anything good.        ,  ,   ,     ,    .

 Sorry, Im whispering... Everything is already prepared in Warsaw: passports, clothes, weapons, etc.          : , ,   . In the first days of April they will cross the border...       

Now Mademoiselle Montrose and I will have dinner, said Rolling, you will go to these gentlemen and tell them that I wish to see them today at a little after four.        ,   ,         ,         . Warn them that if they decide to lead me by the nose, I will hand them over to the police , ,       ,     

This conversation took place at the beginning of May 192.       192 .



Chapter 3  3

In Leningrad, at dawn, near the booms of the rowing school, a two-oared boat stopped on the Krestovka River.    ,    ,      .

Two people came out of it, and right by the water they had a short conversation - only one spoke - sharply and commandingly, the other looked at the full-flowing, quiet, dark river.    ,         ,        ,    , ,  . Beyond the thickets of Krestovsky Island, in the night blue, the spring dawn was spreading.    ,   ,   .

Then the two leaned over the boat, the match flame illuminating their faces.      ,     . They took the packages from the bottom of the boat, and the one who was silent took them and disappeared into the forest, and the one who spoke jumped into the boat, pushed off from the shore and hurriedly creaked the oarlocks.      ,  ,  ,      ,  ,  ,   ,       . The outline of a rowing man passed through the dawn strip of water and dissolved in the shadow of the opposite bank.              . A small wave splashed onto the booms.     .

Spartak's Tarashkin, the "strokeman" of a racing outrigger, was on duty at the club that night.  ,     ,      . Due to his youth and the springtime, instead of recklessly wasting the fleeting hours of life on sleep, Tarashkin sat above the sleepy water on the booms, hugging his knees.      ,          ,       ,  .

There was plenty to think about in the silence of the night.       . For two summers in a row, the damned Muscovites, who dont even understand the smell of real water, beat the rowing school in singles, fours, and eights.     ,      ,     ,     . It was offensive.   .

But the athlete knows that defeat leads to victory.   ,     . This alone, and perhaps also the charm of the spring dawn, smelling of sharp grass and wet wood, supported in Tarashkin the presence of mind necessary for training before the big June races.  ,  , ,   ,      ,     ,       .

Sitting on the booms, Tarashkin saw how a two-oared boat moored and then departed.   ,  ,       . Tarashkin had a calm attitude towards life's events.      . But here one circumstance seemed strange to him: the two who landed on the shore were as similar to each other as two oars.       :         ,   . They were the same height, dressed in the same wide coats, both had soft hats pulled down over their foreheads, and the same pointed beard.  ,     ,    ,   ,    .

But, after all, in the republic it is not forbidden to wander around at night, on land and in water, with your double. ,   ,       ,    ,   . Tarashkin probably would have immediately forgotten about the individuals with pointed beards, if not for a strange event that occurred that same morning near the rowing school in a birch grove in a dilapidated dacha with boarded-up windows. , ,          ,     ,                 .



Chapter 4  4

When the sun rose from the pink dawn over the thickets of the islands, Tarashkin cracked his muscles and went into the club yard to collect wood chips.         ,          . It was six o'clock at the beginning.      . The gate slammed, and Vasily Vitalyevich Shelga approached along the wet path, leading a bicycle.  ,    ,  ,    .

Shelga was a well-trained athlete, muscular and light, of medium height, with a strong neck, quick, calm and cautious.     ,   ,  ,   , ,   . He served in the criminal investigation department and took up sports for general training.           .

Well, how are you, Comrade Tarashkin?  ,  ,  ? Everything alright?   ? he asked, putting his bike by the porch.    ,    . I came to mess around a bit Look  its trash, ow, ow.        , , .

He took off his tunic, rolled up the sleeves on his thin, muscular arms and began cleaning the club yard, which was still littered with materials left over from repairing the booms.   ,            ,   ,    .

The guys from the factory are coming today, well get things in order overnight, said Tarashkin.      ,      ,   . So, Vasily Vitalyevich, are you signing up for the team as a six?     ,  ,     ?

I dont know what to do, said Shelga, rolling away the tar barrel, on the one hand, the Muscovites need to be beaten, but on the other hand, Im afraid I wont be able to be careful... A funny thing is happening here.   ,   ,   ,   ,  ,   ,  ,    ,          .

- Something about bandits again?     -?

- No, raise it higher - its a crime on an international scale.  ,       .

Its a pity, said Tarashkin, otherwise they would have buried him.  ,   ,     .

Coming out onto the booms and watching the sunbeams playing all over the river, Shelga hit the broom handle and called out to Tarashkin in a low voice:     ,       ,        :

 Do you know well who lives nearby in the dachas?    ,      ?

 Winter owls live here and there.   - .

 Did anyone move into one of these dachas in mid-March?             ?

Tarashkin glanced sideways at the sunny river and scratched his other leg with his toenails.     ,     .

Theres a boarded-up dacha in that little forest over there, he said, four weeks ago, I remember that, I looked and there was smoke coming out of the chimney.       ,   ,    ,   ,     . Thats what we thought  either homeless children or bandits.         ,   .

 Have you seen anyone from that dacha?   -   ?

- Wait, Vasily Vitalyevich.  ,  . I must have seen them today. - ,  ,   .

And Tarashkin told about two people who landed at dawn on a marshy shore.      ,      .

Shelga nodded in agreement: Yes, yes, his sharp eyes became like slits.  : , ,      .

Come on, show me the dacha, he said and touched the revolver holster hanging on his belt at the back.  ,  ,           .



Chapter 5  5

The dacha in the stunted birch grove seemed uninhabited  the porch was rotten, the windows were boarded up over the shutters.       ,   ,     . The glass in the mezzanine was broken, the corners of the house under the remains of drainpipes were overgrown with moss, and quinoa grew under the windowsills.    ,        ,    .

Youre right  they live there, said Shelga, looking at the dacha from behind the trees, then carefully walked around it.      ,   ,   - ,     . They were here today But why the hell did they need to climb in through the window?              ? Tarashkin, come here, somethings not right here. , - ,  - .

They quickly approached the porch.     . Footprints were visible on it.      . To the left of the porch, a shutter hung sideways on the window  freshly torn off.          . The window was open inward.   . Under the window, on the wet sand, there were more footprints.  ,       . Large footprints, apparently of a heavy person, and others  smaller, narrow  with the toes inward.  , ,  ,    ,    .

There are footprints of other shoes on the porch, said Shelga.      ,   .

He looked in the window, whistled quietly, and called out: Hey, Uncle, keep your window open, so that nothing gets taken away.    ,  , : , ,    ,    . No one answered.   . A sweetish, unpleasant smell emanated from the semi-dark room.       .

Shelga called louder, climbed onto the windowsill, took out his revolver and softly jumped into the room.   ,   ,       . Tarashkin followed him.     .

The first room was empty, broken bricks, plaster, and scraps of newspaper lay underfoot.    ,     , ,  . A half-open door led into the kitchen.     . Here, on the stove under a rusty hood, on tables and stools stood primus stoves, porcelain crucibles, glass and metal retorts, jars, and zinc boxes.      ,      ,  , ,  ,    . One of the primus stoves was still hissing, burning out.     , .

Shelga called again: Hey, Uncle!   : , ! He shook his head and carefully opened the door into a semi-dark room, cut through by flat rays of sun through the cracks in the shutters.          ,  ,   ,  .

Here he is!   ! said Shelga.    .

In the back of the room, on an iron bed, lay a dressed man, on his back.      , ,   . His hands were thrown behind his head and tied to the bars of the bed.           . His legs were tied with rope.   . His jacket and shirt on his chest were torn.      . His head was thrown back unnaturally, his beard sticking out sharply.   ,   .

Aha, thats what they did to him, said Shelga, examining the Finnish knife driven to the hilt under the dead mans nipple.  ,    ,   ,         . They tortured him Look    

- Vasily Vitalyevich, this is the same one who arrived on the boat.   ,   ,    . He was killed no more than an hour and a half ago.        .

 Stay here, guard, dont touch anything, dont let anyone in, do you hear, Tarashkin?   , ,   ,   ,  , ?

A few minutes later Shelga was talking on the phone from the club:         :

 A detail at the train stations... Check all passengers... Details at all hotels.           . Check everyone who returned between six and eight in the morning.  ,       . An agent and a dog at my disposal.      .




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