rubbed their eyes and stared again at the spot where the statue had stood just an hour before. ‘Oh!’ shouted the Scotsman to the translator from Moscow, shaking his head puzzledly. ‘It is very possible, sir! It happens all too often in this country. You must have heard about the theft of the Liverpool Railway Bridge. In one night alone…’ ‘Yes, I have,’ the interpreter replied. ‘It was in the papers.’ ‘And what is your statue compared to a railway bridge! It’s almost like a puppet you can slip into your pocket and carry away. It’s a mistake not to put guards around such a rare statue. It’s even more irresponsible! Besides, the floodlights are all out. There’s an empty bottle, it smells of vodka. So the thieves drank it here…!’ They went back to the hotel. It turned out that some old woman in plaid from the same delegation had already called the district committee and got everyone up on their feet. Soon Zhanaidarov and the secretary for ideology appeared in the hotel lobby. After explaining to them what was the matter, they, yawning, answered: ‘There is no such thing.’ ‘Why is it impossible? Mr. Translator and I have just come from there. No statue, no bag.’ Zhanaidarov, still at home, found out what was causing the commotion in the camp of the British and took measures: the same instructors went to Ashten, to persuade him to return to his place, saying that it was not raining or snowing, it was warm and he could stay there for another ten or fifteen minutes. The phone rang. The instructors reported that all was well. ‘Well, let’s go. Let’s see,’ Zhanaidarov invited the Englishmen along with him. ‘It’s not just the statue, the money will be lying on the road, no one will bend down to take it.’ When they approached the square in a noisy crowd, they saw a statue holding a new sheepskin in its outstretched hands. ‘You see, the statue is in place. No one has even thought of stealing it. And the workers at the plant have already managed to put a new skin in his hands,’ announced Zhanaidarov in a nonchalant tone, ostensibly wiping his eyes. Jones and the interpreter clutched their hearts and stopped, swaying. As they got into the car and drove off, the ideology secretary, head back, turned to Ashten: ‘Hey, Ashten, give

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