Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita -
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on Bronnaya, but I climbed over the fence and that's how I scratched my
cheek! ' Ivan Nikolayich lifted up his candle and shouted: ' Fellow
artists!' (His squeaky voice grew stronger and more urgent.) ' Listen to me,
all of you! He's come! Catch him at once or he'll do untold harm! '
'What's that? What? What did he say? Who's come? ' came the questions
from all sides.
'A professor,' answered Ivan, ' and it was this professor who killed
Misha Berlioz this evening at Patriarch's.'
By now people were streaming on to the verandah from the indoor rooms
and a crowd began milling round Ivan.
'I beg your pardon, would you say that again more clearly? ' said a
low, courteous voice right beside Ivan Nikolayich's ear. ' Tell me, how was
he killed? Who killed him? '
'A foreigner--he's a professor and a spy,' replied Ivan, looking
round.
'What's his name? ' said the voice again into his ear.
'That's just the trouble!' cried Ivan in frustration. ' If only I knew
his name! I couldn't read it properly on his visiting card ... I only
remember the letter ' W '--the name began with a ' W '. What could it have
been? ' Ivan asked himself aloud, clutching his forehead with his hand. '
We, wi, wa . . . wo . . . Walter? Wagner? Weiner? Wegner? Winter? ' The
hairs on Ivan's head started to stand on end from the effort.
'Wolff? ' shouted a woman, trying to help him.
Ivan lost his temper.
'You fool!' he shouted, looking for the woman in the crowd. ' What's
Wolff got to do with it? He didn't do it ... Wo, wa . . . No, I'll never
remember it like this. Now look, everybody-- ring up the police at once and
tell them to send five motorcycles and sidecars with machine-guns to catch
the professor. And don't forget to say that there are two others with him--a
tall fellow in checks with a wobbly pince-nez and a great black cat. . . .