Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita -
22 >
am asking him an irrelevant question . . . my mind no longer obeys me. . . .
' Once more he had a vision of a goblet of dark liquid. ' Poison, I need
poison.. .. ' And again he heard the voice :
'At this moment the truth is chiefly that your head is aching and
aching so hard that you are having cowardly thoughts about death. Not only
are you in no condition to talk to me, but it even hurts you to look at me.
This makes me seem to be your torturer, which distresses me. You cannot even
think and you can only long for your dog, who is clearly the only creature
for whom you have any affection. But the pain will stop soon and your
headache will go.'
The secretary stared at the prisoner, his note-taking abandoned. Pilate
raised his martyred eyes to the prisoner and saw how high the sun now stood
above the hippodrome, how a ray had penetrated the arcade, had crept towards
Yeshua's patched sandals and how the man moved aside from the sunlight. The
Procurator stood up and clasped his head in his hands. Horror came over his
yellowish, clean-shaven face. With an effort of will he controlled his
expression and sank back into his chair.
Meanwhile the prisoner continued talking, but the secretary had stopped
writing, craning his neck like a goose in the effort not to miss a single
word.
'There, it has gone,' said the prisoner, with a kindly glance at
Pilate. ' I am so glad. I would advise you, hegemon, to leave the palace for
a while and take a walk somewhere nearby, perhaps in the gardens or on Mount
Eleona. There will be thunder . . .' The prisoner turned and squinted into
the sun . . . ' later, towards evening. A walk would do you a great deal of
good and I should be happy to go with you. Some new thoughts have just come
into my head which you might, I think, find interesting and I should like to
discuss them with you, the more so as you strike me as a man of great