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'I must go to Griboyedov! He's bound to be there.' Ivan Nikolayich's
fears were completely justified--passers-by noticed him and turned round to
stare, so he decided to leave the main streets and make Us way through the
side-roads where people were not so inquisitive, where there was less chance
of them stopping a barefoot man and badgering him with questions about his
underpants--which obstinately refused to look like trousers.
Ivan plunged into a maze of sidestreets round the Arbat and began to
sidle along the walls, blinking fearfully, glancing round, occasionally
hiding in doorways, avoiding crossroads with traffic lights and the elegant
porticos of embassy mansions.
It was an old two-storied house, painted cream, that stood on the ring
boulevard behind a ragged garden, fenced off from the pavement by
wrought-iron railings. In winter the paved front courtyard was usually full
of shovelled snow, whilst in summer, shaded by a canvas awning, it became a
delightful outdoor extension to the club restaurant.
The house was called ' Griboyedov House ' because it might once have
belonged to an aunt of the famous playwright Alexander Sergeyevich
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