Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita -
50 >
back to where he had been talking to the professor, who was fortunately
still there.
The lamps were already lit on Bronnaya Street and a golden moon was
shining over Patriarch's Ponds. By the light of the moon, deceptive as it
always is, it seemed to Ivan Nikolayich that the thing under the professor's
arm was not a stick but a sword.
The ex-choirmaster was sitting on the seat occupied a short while
before by Ivan Nikolayich himself. The choirmaster had now clipped on to his
nose an obviously useless pince-nez. One lens was missing and the other
rattled in its frame. It made the check-suited man look even more repulsive
than when he had shown Berlioz the way to the tramlines. With a chill of
fear Ivan walked up to the professor. A glance at his face convinced him
that there was not a trace of insanity in it.
'Confess--who are you? ' asked Ivan grimly.
The stranger frowned, looked at the poet as if seeing him for the first
time, and answered disagreeably :
'No understand ... no speak Russian . . . '
'He doesn't understand,' put in the choirmaster from his bench,
although no one had asked him.
'Stop pretending! ' said Ivan threateningly, a cold feeling growing in
the pit of his stomach. ' Just now you spoke Russian perfectly well. You're
no German and you're not a professor! You're a spy and a murderer! Show me
your papers! ' cried Ivan angrily.
The enigmatic professor gave his already crooked mouth a further twist
and shrugged his shoulders.
'Look here, citizen,' put in the horrible choirmaster again. ' What do
you mean by upsetting this foreign tourist? You'll have the police after
you! '
The dubious professor put on a haughty look, turned and walked away
from Ivan, who felt himself beginning to lose his head. Gasping, he turned
to the choirmaster :
'Hey, you, help me arrest this criminal! It's your duty! '