Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita -
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all because he untruthfully wrote down what I said.'
There was silence. Now both pain-filled eyes stared heavily at the
prisoner.
'I repeat, but for the last time--stop pretending to be mad,
scoundrel,' said Pilate softly and evenly. ' What has been written down
about you is little enough, but it is sufficient to hang you.'
'No, no, hegemon,' said the prisoner, straining with the desire to
convince. ' This man follows me everywhere with nothing but his goatskin
parchment and writes incessantly. But I once caught a glimpse of that
parchment and I was horrified. I had not said a word of what was written
there. I begged him-- please burn this parchment of yours! But he tore it
out of my hands and ran away.'
'Who was he? ' enquired Pilate in a strained voice and put his hand to
his temple.
'Matthew the Levite,' said the prisoner eagerly. ' He was a
tax-collector. I first met him on the road to Bethlehem at the corner where
the road skirts a fig orchard and I started talking to him. At first he was
rude and even insulted me, or rather he thought he was insulting me by
calling me a dog.' The prisoner laughed. ' Personally I see nothing wrong
with that animal so I was not offended by the word. . . .'
The secretary stopped taking notes and glanced surreptitiously, not at
the prisoner, but at the Procurator.
'However, when he had heard me out he grew milder,' went on Yeshua,'
and in the end he threw his money into the road and said that he would go
travelling with me. . . .'
Pilate laughed with one cheek. Baring his yellow teeth and turning
fully round to his secretary he said :
'Oh, city of Jerusalem! What tales you have to tell! A tax-collector,
did you hear, throwing away his money!'
Not knowing what reply was expected of him, the secretary chose to