Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita -
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intelligence.' The secretary turned mortally pale and dropped his scroll to
the ground. ' Your trouble is,' went on the unstoppable prisoner, ' that
your mind is too closed and you have finally lost your faith in human
beings. You must admit that no one ought to lavish all their devotion on a
dog. Your life is a cramped one, hegemon.' Here the speaker allowed himself
to smile.
The only thought in the secretary's mind now was whether he could
believe his ears. He had to believe them. He then tried to guess in what
strange form the Procurator's fiery temper might break out at the prisoner's
unheard-of insolence. Although he knew the Procurator well the secretary's
imagination failed him.
Then the hoarse, broken voice of the Procurator barked out in Latin:
'Untie his hands.'
One of the legionary escorts tapped the ground with his lance, gave it
to his neighbour, approached and removed the prisoner's bonds. The secretary
picked up his scroll, decided to take no more notes for a while and to be
astonished at nothing he might hear.
'Tell me,' said Pilate softly in Latin, ' are you a great physician?'
'No, Procurator, I am no physician,' replied the prisoner, gratefully
rubbing his twisted, swollen, purpling wrist.
Staring from beneath his eyelids, Pilate's eyes bored into the prisoner
and those eyes were no longer dull. They now flashed with their familiar
sparkle. ' I did not ask you,' said Pilate. ' Do you know Latin too? '
'Yes, I do,' replied the prisoner.
The colour flowed back into Pilate's yellowed cheeks and he asked in
Latin:
'How did you know that I wanted to call my dog? '
'Quite simple,' the prisoner answered in Latin. ' You moved your hand
through the air . . . ' the prisoner repeated Pilate's gesture . . . ' as
though to stroke something and your lips . . .'
'Yes,' said Pilate.