Myshevskiy. Actually, he did and even wrote books. Actually, the world learnt about the elixir-stone exactly from his books. Unfortunately, most of the them were destroyed by the fire at the Alexandria library. Those few saved were hidden in the underground caches in the desert by Hermes Trismegistus’s adepts.
Golyshkin. Do you really believe all that?
Myshevskiy. Some translations of his books are available today. Unfortunately, they are too distorted. Almost nothing could be understood from them.
Golyshkin. Well, are you sure that during a spirit séance this mythological Egyptian would show up from the other world and open you his secret recipe?
Myshevskiy. Why not? I think many people before me tried to do this. Most of them didn’t succeed. But some were lucky.
Golyshkin. It looks like you are absolutely sure, Myshevsky, that Hermes Tricemegistus wouldn’t reject you.
Myshevskiy. Not me.
Golyshkin. Why?
Myshevskiy. Because what I need from Hermes Tricemegistus is not the recipe of the elixir-stone. I already know this recipe.
Behind the door Rodion tries to kiss Olga’s lips, but she blocks his lips with her hand.
Rodion. Why not, Olya? Don’t you like it?
Olga. Hush!
Olga puts her finger on his lips encouraging him to listen to the voices in the room.
Golyshkin. Did you get your recipe from one of those poor translations of that great Egyptian alchemist? Or did you get it from those books destroyed by fire at the Alexandrian library?
Myshevskiy. Don’t mock professor. I inherited it from my father.
Golyshkin. Well, well… Excuse me, what did your father do?
Myshevskiy. There is nothing supernatural. In his youth he was attracted by archeology. He used to go to archeological expeditions as a simple worker. During one of the expeditions they came across a half destroyed tomb in the desert. While digging my dad found a cache in the wall with an ancient manuscript in it. It was a sheet of parchment half destroyed by time and sand. Some unreadable hieroglyphs were written there. My dad was an honest person, but you should keep in mind, that he was young…
Golyshkin. So, he stole the manuscript?
Myshevskiy. I would put it another way. He held it back. Most likely, it was against his own will. As he said later, some supernatural power conquered his will. When my father returned to his consciousness he was sitting in his tent at the camp. He didn’t remember how he got there unnoticeable walking from the tomb. The parchment carefully covered with a clean shirt was in his backpack. Later, my dad felt ashamed of what he did but it was too late to get back. Even if he had returned the parchment he would have been blamed for theft anyway and expelled from the expedition. He would have probably been arrested. Stealing of the state property was punished more strictly than murder at those times.
Golyshkin. You know, in the Middle East, they used to cut a hand to a thief. In ancient Russia they used to mark a thief and tear out his nostrils. However, people keep on stealing here and there. I think supernatural power has nothing to do with it. That is human nature. Your father was afraid but had stolen anyway. Why did he need this parchment? I doubt that he understood what it was. Did he really think that somebody would buy this shabby sheet of paper?
Myshevskiy. Let it be your way, professor. Okay, let’s assume that supernatural power has nothing to do with it and my dad was a simple wrecker. However, in order to justify him I’d like to say the following: for many years my dad had been trying to read what was written on the parchment. He didn’t sell this shabby paper – as you call it – he didn’t even try.
Golyshkin. So, did he manage to read it?
Myshevskiy. It took him almost his whole life. For a few years he had been learning that dead language. During the following few decades he had been trying to decipher the words. Hermes Tricemegistus used a special cipher to put down his great secret.
Golyshkin. Are you sure it was Hermes Tricemegistus?
Myshevskiy. Absolutely. As sure as a gun. The parchment was signed by the great Egyptian. But even without it the text spoke for itself. It was a recipe of the elixir-stone.
Golyshkin. So, your dad… did he use the recipe?
Myshevskiy. Fortunately, not. By the time when the secret text was deciphered my dad was seriously ill. Soon after that he died. The only thing he did was to hand the parchment to me. He expected that I would fulfill the business of his whole life.
Golyshkin. Wait a second! Why did you say “fortunately”?
Myshevskiy. Because he didn’t feel that frustration that I did. I tried to prepare the elixir-stone.
Golyshkin. And you failed, as far as I understand.
Myshevskiy. After my experiment I received very beautiful crystals of deep-ruby color. It turned out to be Argentum Chloraurate with a high concentration of gold – forty four percent! During a fusing process the crystals got golden color. However, it wasn’t pure gold as we hoped.
Golyshkin. Perhaps, the alchemists called these crystals the elixir stone.
Myshevskiy. Only quacks and losers did so. I guess Hermes Tricemegistus wrote this recipe especially for them. In order to confuse them, the Egyptian made the recipe look quite naturally, but had changed some ingredient. Perhaps, only one ingredient, but it resulted in just forty four percent of gold in the substance. So, if we manage to open this little secret of the old alchemist we would become fantastically rich, professor!
Golyshkin. You said “we”? Are you sure?
Myshevskiy. Of course we. I can’t deal with this spirit-rapping stuff. All my attempts in it failed. You are an expert in spiritualism. So, I offer you to open a joint venture. My contribution to the authorized fund is the recipe of the elixir-stone willed to me by my dad. And you…
Golyshkin. Yes, what about me?
Myshevskiy. Sincere confession of Hermes Tricemegistus.
Golyshkin. It’s nonsense! Don’t you understand it?
Myshevskiy. Will you believe me if I show you the parchment
Myshevskiy takes something covered with soft cloth out of his briefcase. He unfolds it carefully and shows the manuscript to Golyshkin. He shows it at a distance not letting touch it.
Golyshkin. My God! So it's true!
Myshevskiy. What is the reason for me deceiving you? You can check the veracity of my words yourself.
Golyshkin. Are you going to give me..?
Myshevskiy wraps the manuscript in cloth and hides the package back in his briefcase.
Myshevskiy. Of course, it's not that easy. Only after you promise me to get the spirit of Hermes Trismegistus. So… Deal?
Golyshkin. Give me some time to think. I can't make a decision out of the blue like this. After all, I am a philosopher, not an adventurer.
Myshevskiy. I understand, professor. How much time do you need?
Golyshkin. I'll call you. In a week. Or by the end of the month.
Myshevskiy. I'll call you myself. If you don’t mind.
Golyshkin. But I don't promise anything!
Myshevsky. Negative answer is also an answer.
Golyshkin. Well, if so…
Myshevskiy. Well, it’s time for me to leave.
Golyshkin. Shall I guide you?
Myshevskiy. No, thanks. I'll find the way.
Golyshkin. It is not so easy. You may get lost in the maze of the rooms.
Myshevsky. It seems to me I've been here before. And that's why I'm fine with it.
Golyshkin. Oh, really? And when?
Myshevsky. Maybe in my previous life. It’s genetic memory.
Golyshkin. You are speaking with puzzles, Mr. Myshevsky.
Myshevskiy. There will come a time for clues, professor. I promise you. I'm leaving, but I’ll come back. See you!
Golyshkin. But remember – I didn't promise anything!
Olga moves away from the door and drags Rodion along with her.