Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita -
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and approached the two writers. They stared at him in astonishment.
'Excuse me, please,' said the stranger with a foreign accent, although
in correct Russian, ' for permitting myself, without an introduction . . .
but the subject of your learned conversation was so interesting that. . .'
Here he politely took off his beret and the two friends had no
alternative but to rise and bow.
'No, probably a Frenchman.. . .' thought Berlioz.
'A Pole,' thought Bezdomny.
I should add that the poet had found the stranger repulsive from first
sight, although Berlioz had liked the look of him, or rather not exactly
liked him but, well. . . been interested by him.
'May I join you? ' enquired the foreigner politely, and as the two
friends moved somewhat unwillingly aside he adroitly placed himself 'between
them and at once joined the conversation. ' If I am not mistaken, you were
saying that Jesus never existed, were you not? ' he asked, turning his green
left eye on Berlioz.
'No, you were not mistaken,' replied Berlioz courteously. ' I did
indeed say that.'
'Ah, how interesting! ' exclaimed the foreigner.
'What the hell does he want?' thought Bezdomny and frowned.
'And do you agree with your friend? ' enquired the unknown man,
turning to Bezdomny on his right.
'A hundred per cent! ' affirmed the poet, who loved to use pretentious
numerical expressions.
'Astounding! ' cried their unbidden companion. Glancing furtively
round and lowering his voice he said : ' Forgive me for being so rude, but
am I right in thinking that you do not believe in God either? ' He gave a
horrified look and said: ' I swear not to tell anyone! '
'Yes, neither of us believes in God,' answered Berlioz with a faint
smile at this foreign tourist's apprehension. ' But we can talk about it
with absolute freedom.'