“... Hyenas howled at night. Borodin had chills running down his spine: he believed that hyenas were something from Gehenna, from the hellish underworld. Hippopotamuses labored heavily in the water and made footprints in the coastal clearings. Fomin, looking at the deep dents, scratched his chin: “They’re hammering in, like a pile...” The herons stood numb among the water lilies; Yegor Petrovich could not decide who was more graceful - birds or flowers... And Lev Semenovich Tsenkovsky suffered from the fact that swarms of locusts were gnawing away the foliage of magnificent trees... And all four laughed until they cried when the inhabitants of some village showed how they catch monkeys. Method was hilariously simple. In the forest thicket there was a jug with an intoxicating drink. The monkeys came running in a crowd, pushing and baring their teeth, falling to the jug. And they drank. Wow and drank, drunkards! Then they fooled around and swaggered, then fell asleep and at those moments looked very much like those who descended from monkeys. The hunters calmly stuffed the drunkards into bags. The ball was over, the parrots were mocking in the branches. But the splash of hippopotamuses in the river, the howling of hyenas, damned locusts, drunken monkeys - all was nothing in comparison with the night lion's roar. ..."