Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita -
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for justice.
The man came soon after Ivan's breakfast. The door into Ivan's room
suddenly opened and in swept a crowd of people in white overalls. In front
strode a man of about forty-five, with a clean-shaven, actorish face, kind
but extremely piercing eyes and a courteous manner. The whole retinue showed
him signs of attention and respect, which gave his entrance a certain
solemnity. ' Like Pontius Pilate! ' thought Ivan.
Yes, he was undoubtedly the man in charge. He sat down on a stool.
Everybody else remained standing.
'How do you do. My name is doctor Stravinsky,' he said as he sat down,
looking amiably at Ivan.
'Here you are, Alexander Nikolayich,' said a neatly bearded man and
handed the chief Ivan's filled-in questionnaire.
'They've got it all sewn up,' thought Ivan. The man in charge ran a
practised eye over the sheet of paper, muttered' Mm'hh' and exchanged a few
words with his colleagues in a strange language. ' And he speaks Latin
too--like Pilate ', mused Ivan sadly. Suddenly a word made him shudder. It
was the word ' schizophrenia ', which the sinister stranger had spoken at
Patriarch's Ponds. Now professor Stravinsky was saying it. ' So he knew
about this, too! ' thought Ivan uneasily.
The chief had adopted the rule of agreeing with everybody and being
pleased with whatever other people might say, expressing it by the word '
Splendid . . .'
'Splendid! ' said Stravinsky, handing back the sheet of paper. He
turned to Ivan.
'Are you a poet? '
'Yes, I am,' replied Ivan glumly and for the first time he suddenly
felt an inexplicable revulsion to poetry. Remembering some of his own poems,
they struck him as vaguely unpleasant.
Frowning, he returned Stravinsky's question by asking:
'Are you a professor? '
To this Stravinsky, with engaging courtesy, inclined his head.