Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita (1997) -
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Here Riukhin looked closely at Ivan and went cold: there was decidedly
no insanity in the man's eyes. No longer dull as dicy had been at
Griboedov's, they were now clear as ever.
'Good God!' Riukhin thought fearfully. 'So he's really normal! What
nonsense! Why, in fact, did we drag him here? He's normal, normal, only his
mug got scratched . . .'
'You are,' the doctor began calmly, sitting down on a white stool with
a shiny foot, 'not in a madhouse, but in a clinic, where no one will keep
you if it's not necessary.'
Ivan Nikolaevich glanced at him mistrustfully out of the comer of his
eye, but still grumbled:
'Thank the Lord! One normal man has finally turned up among the idiots,
of whom the first is that giftless goof Sashka!'
'Who is this giftless Sashka?' the doctor inquired.
'This one here - Riukhin,' Ivan replied, jabbing his dirty finger in
Riukhin's direction.
The latter flushed with indignation. That's the thanks I get,' he
thought bitterly, 'for showing concern for him! What trash, really!'
'Psychologically, a typical little kulak,'[2] Ivan
Nikolaevich began, evidently from an irresistible urge to denounce Riukhin,
'and, what's more, a little kulak carefully disguising himself as a
proletarian. Look at his lenten physiognomy, and compare it with those
resounding verses he wrote for the First of May[3] - heh, heh,
heh ... "Soaring up!" and "Soaring down!!" But if you could look inside him
and see what he thinks ... you'd gasp!' And Ivan Nikolaevich burst into
sinister laughter.
Riukhin was breathing heavily, turned red, and thought of just one
thing, that he had warmed a serpent on his breast, that he had shown concern
for a man who turned out to be a vicious enemy. And, above all, there was
nothing to be done: there's no arguing with the mentally ill!