Already approaching the plant, Semyonov, frightened by the horn of a passing car, fell through the hatch opened by the workers. He came to himself only in the evening, when it was already dark. He felt the cold, dirty bars of the stairs, the poor fellow got up and climbed up. The darkness thickening over the city was unusually dense, like fog. Nothing was visible, only nearby Semyonov noticed a fire and stooped figures sitting next to him. He wandered over to them.
The devils were sitting by the fire playing cards. Suddenly one noticed a limping man walking from the side of those who had just died.
“Look, the new one is trudging along,” said the first.
- This something frisky, apparently did not understand, - the second nodded.
“I don’t understand exactly, therefore, craniocerebral,” the third chuckled.
- Guys! - Semyonov shouted from a distance. - Where is the plant?
- What are you?
- Radio engineering, - Semenov was amazed.
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- Yes, right there, - and one of the devils, pointing to the gate behind the fire, giggling into his fist.
Semyonov finally went up to the fire. He saw three men, smeared with soot, sitting on boxes. They equipped one of the boxes under the table, on it stood a bottle of vodka, three stoppers and a jar of cucumbers. The role of the tablecloth was played by the newspaper.
The peasants together put down their cards and, smiling mysteriously, looked at Semyonov.
- Here, - complained Semyonov, - fell through the hatch - he began to meticulously shake off his trousers.
“It happens,” one said competently, puffing on a cigarette.
- I was late for the meeting. I don’t know what to do now,”Semyonov sighed.
- So they are now around the clock, - encouraged another man with a wrinkled bald head. The hair on the sides of the round bald patch was tousled up and resembled small horns.
- And the director?
- In place.
- So I'll get through?
- Why not get through, go.
Semyonov, clutching the handle of a briefcase with papers, went to the gate. To his surprise, they opened on their own. He shrugged his shoulders, stepped into the factory grounds. Then he saw the watchman. The 2-meter bruiser, not shaved and gloomy, looked at Semyonov with a squint.
“I’m going to the director,” Semenov explained in a businesslike manner.
- Look, you! By yourself?
- Yes. The most important thing!
- Who would have doubted, - the big man nodded and pointed with a long, hooked finger at the building. - Look, you see, the window is on the sixth floor. There you.
- Yeah, thanks, - and Semyonov, avoiding the dark puddles, went to the door of the building. And it was strange that gas lanterns instead of electric ones did not seem suspicious to him, and the gargoyles on the factory roof, frozen in half-sleep, did not inspire awe and fear. He stayed as if in a dream. And in a dream it always happens that nothing seems incongruous and pretentious, therefore, without any suspicion, Semyonov opened the heavy oak doors and entered a vast hall, illuminated by torches and covered with carpets.
Then he saw a long oak bench against the wall. On the bench sat in a variety of demons and witches, being in anguish and pensiveness. There were also souls with them who realized their end, and from that they were frightened and saddened, hunted by the upcoming ordeals. They did not know what was to be done, but they expected the worst. Nobody even paid attention to Semyonov.
- Citizens, how can I get to the director? Semyonov asked.
- What a smart one, - one witch, with protruding crooked teeth, was indignant, - as all of them stand in line.
- I have a row. I am by prior arrangement, - said Semenov proudly.
One demon, critically examining the newcomer, winked at the witch and asked:
- And you, dear, what do you want from the main thing?
- We have a multimillion-dollar order. We will make radio-controlled vacuum cleaners on an industrial scale. Domestic.
- Well, this is serious, - the demon nodded, barely holding back his laughter, - then you have to go through the shop. At the same time, you can see how our employees work here.
- And what, this idea is to my liking, - Semenov was delighted and then he saw the door, and above it and the sign. It bore the Roman numeral one and the ouroboros, where two snakes biting each other's tail form a ring.
Semyonov went to the door and, opening it, entered the shop. He immediately smelled of heat, the door slammed shut behind his back, and Semyonov saw that he was standing in the middle of a huge room full of workers undressed to the waist.
Exhausted and sweaty, they poured yellow phosphoric paint on each other. But looking closely, Semyonov realized that this was not paint at all. They poured red-hot copper on each other, scooping it from a seething vat with ladles with long handles.
- Citizens, what are you doing! - Semenov was indignant. - You are causing irreparable damage to each other!
Nobody paid any attention to him. Semyonov, taking the briefcase under his arm, went to one group of people. Coming closer, he stopped near the vat and read on it: "idleness, lies, slander."
A fat man, covered in red scorched spots, scooped up boiling metal from him.
- Hey, you fool! - Semenov called. - Completely crazy? What's going on here? Where is the shop manager?
- Get away, shell-shocked, - said the fat man absolutely harmlessly.
- How dare you your comrade with red-hot copper?
“I deserved it,” the fat man replied with a sigh, and without any regret poured the contents of the bucket onto the man standing next to him. He, gritting his teeth, endured, not even thinking to resist such an inhuman attitude. He closed his eyes and began to chatter quickly:
- So me, so me, scoundrel lazy, vile deceiver, snitch!
- What did he do that? - Semenov was amazed.
“A former banker,” said the fat man.
- And what is he doing here at the plant?
The fat man and the newly drenched one looked at Semyonov in unison, as doctors sometimes look at terminally ill with mental illness. Semyonov roused himself with a dove and pretended to be proud, raising his chin.
- You should be driven from work for such outrageous behavior! - and Semenov, deciding to himself that everything should be reported to whoever should be, spat on the floor and went around the shop, in search of the chief. He walked for a long time and kept looking around as workers bully each other and inflict physical injuries in all sorts of ways.
He examined vats of boiling metal and ingenious devices that looked like alien lathes, and on all of them he met the inscriptions: "theft and covetousness", "pride and anger", "mercy, cruelty and gluttony", "laziness and idleness", and one, quite terrible machine, into which, as Semyonov saw, one of the workers had accidentally got himself into, had the inscription: "fornication and sin of Sodom." The citizen who got into the machine was entangled with black hoses, and besides, a terrible drill that looked like a baseball bat was thrust into his flesh from behind. And the scream was - horror. Semenov recoiled from what he saw and moved on. And still he could not understand where the microcircuits were produced here.
“As you can see, I was carried to the wrong shop,” Semenov finally understood.
Then he saw a long line on four legs, in a military jacket and with a cane, and ran up to him, recognizing him as the head of the shop.
- Comrade boss, my dear, can you tell me how to get to your main one? - gasping for breath, caught up with the line Semyonov. - I have a row here for microcircuits …
The devil narrowed his eyes slyly and measured Semyonov with his eyes, like a fisherman at a freshly caught mackerel.
- Yes, here, go through this door, - and directed him with a bony hand towards the door, which (Semenov was ready to swear) had grown in the wall right in front of his eyes.
“The plant is secret,” Semenov recalled, “defense industry, state secrets. Everything can be here."
And he walked to the door, not afraid of anything.
Before him appeared an office, with an office table, at which a guy with glasses was sitting. The worker looked strange. His eyes shone like electric bulbs, and smoke billowed from his nose. In the very nose there was a large brass ring.
- Are you the director? Semyonov asked.
The guy looked at Semyonov contemptuously. But then something changed in his gaze, as if he suddenly recognized a distant relative in the entered. Semyonov's forehead was combed, and it seemed to him as if someone's insolent, curious thought had crept into his head.
The guy smiled and invited:
“Have a seat,” he looked at the papers on the table. - Semyon Semenovich?
Semyonov nodded and quickly sat down.
- How did you get there?
- Thank. Good. I fell into the pit, here, - he was effaced for a minute, - I am from the Vacuum cleaner SOS company. We have a purchase order …
- The director is busy now, - said the type with extreme courtesy, - and I am authorized to hold a preliminary conversation with you.
He opened the folder in front of him and, squinting, read:
- Are you Semyon Semyonovich, a lecher? - He stared at Semyonov. He blushed deeply and opened his eyes in surprise, - And perhaps a pervert? Bugger? Sadist? Are you interested in underage girls? Or maybe teenagers of both sexes?
- What are you talking about! How is this possible?
- Good with. Further, - the guy glanced at the folder again. - Have you had any experience of thefts in your life? Robbery? - and again he looked with a piercing gaze into the very soul of Semyonov. - Well, maybe something quite insignificant? Well, they stole a can of sprat from the store? Does a friend have a silver spoon? Not? What a pity. Well, further.
And again the most disgusting, as Semyonov now understood, type looked at the folder.
- Was it so that you, Semyon Semyonovich, lied? Or a person who is terribly unpleasant to you was slandered? Really not once? Well, and laziness? Do you have such a sin? What, too - no? Incomprehensible! Have you ever been cruel? Did you cut your neighbor with a knife in a drunken brawl? What kind of cat by the scruff of the neck, or a nasty slap on the head of a child, eh? Such, you know, there are children of the most pernicious, even swamp them like flea puppies. What? Not?
And at all, impossibly disgusting and shameful questions, Semyonov shook his head, horrified by the foul interrogation.
- Oh, the forces of all elements, you are pure! Like a baby. The most amazing fact, - the guy finally reported, having read, as it seems, everything that was in his folder to the end.
- I would like to inform you that a complete disgrace is happening in your shop! Your workers …
- Workers?
- Yes. Instead of working, they traumatize each other. Mutually!
- You are absolutely right, this is a real disgrace, - agreed the type.
- So when can I see the director?
- And you, Semyon Semyonovich, will not be able to see him. The error came out. You are not at all to us, but to another place.
- But I need it, we have an order. Microcircuits.
The type thought about it. He looked attentively at Semyonov, at his broken, bleeding skull and, looking up somewhere, slyly and stealthily said in his hearts:
- Well, so be it. Just out of great respect for you, I give you another chance. But next time, if you please, come back to us with a full set. Will 10 years suit you?
Semyonov blinked in confusion. The tip got up from the table, turned out to be huge, about three meters, arched and, breathing on the gilded seal, with blue fire, slapped her on Semyonov's bald head, right in the place where his skull was broken.
Climbing out of the hatch, Semyonov cursed, touched a huge bump and headed for the plant. Road workers sat on boxes not far from the entrance. They drank vodka and played cards. Passing by them, Semyon Semyonovich for a second was overwhelmed by the feeling known by the people as "deja vu". Stopping, he looked at them intently.
- Why did you bastards open the hatches anywhere? Well, I'll tell you where to go! Which trust are you from?
One of the workers, whose face was heavily smeared with either mud or soot, turned to Semyon Semyonovich and answered with a dashing wink:
- From the most important thing! You go wherever you went. Look at your feet more carefully. The hatch is, it is always open not where you expect it, but not everyone will fall into it.
M. Bochkarev