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    "zone": "merch",
    "info": "The Master and Margarita, BOOK 1, ch 1\nby Mikhail Bulgakov, 1891-1940\nTranslated by:\nRichard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky",
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        "domain": "maybe.merch",
        "data": "hapter 1\nNever Talk with Strangers.\n At the hour of the hot spring sunset two citizens appeared at the Patriarch\u2019s\nPonds. One of them, approximately forty years old, dressed in a grey summer\nsuit, was short, dark-haired, plump, bald, and carried his respectable fedora hat\nin his hand. His neatly shaven face was adorned with black horn-rimmed glasses\nof a supernatural size. The other, a broad-shouldered young man with tousled\nreddish hair, his checkered cap cocked back on his head, was wearing a cowboy\nshirt, wrinkled white trousers and black sneakers.\n The first was none other than Mikhail Alexandrovich Berlioz, editor of a fat\nliterary journal and chairman of the board of one of the major Moscow literary\nassociations, called Massolit for short, and his young companion was the poet\nIvan Nikolaevich Ponyrev, who wrote under the pseudonym of Homeless.\n Once in the shade of the barely greening lindens, the writers dashed first thing\nto a brightly painted stand with the sign: \u2018Beer and Soft Drinks.\u2019\n Ah, yes, note must be made of the first oddity of this dreadful May evening.\nThere was not a single person to be seen, not only by the stand, but also along the\nwhole walk parallel to Malaya Bronnaya Street. At that hour when it seemed no\nlonger possible to breathe, when the sun, having scorched Moscow, was collapsing\nin a dry haze somewhere beyond Sadovoye Ring, no one came under the lindens,\nno one sat on a bench, the walk was empty.\n \u2018Give us seltzer,\u2019 Berlioz asked.\n \u2018There is no seltzer,\u2019 the woman in the stand said, and for some reason became\noffended.\n \u2018Is there beer?\u2019 Homeless inquired in a rasping voice.\n \u2018Beer\u2019ll be delivered towards evening,\u2019 the woman replied.\n \u2018Then what is there?\u2019 asked Berlioz.\n \u2018Apricot soda, only warm,\u2019 said the woman.\n \u2018Well, let\u2019s have it, let\u2019s have it!\u2026\u2019\n The soda produced an abundance of yellow foam, and the air began to smell of a\nbarber-shop. Having finished drinking, the writers immediately started to hiccup,\npaid, and sat down on a bench face to the pond and back to Bronnaya.\n Here the second oddity occurred, touching Berlioz alone. He suddenly stopped\nhiccuping, his heart gave a thump and dropped away somewhere for an instant,\nthen came back, but with a blunt needle lodged in it. Besides that, Berlioz was\ngripped by fear, groundless, yet so strong that he wanted to flee the Ponds at once\nwithout looking back.\n Berlioz looked around in anguish, not understanding what had frightened him.\nHe paled, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, thought: \u2018What\u2019s the matter\nwith me? This has never happened before. My heart\u2019s acting up\u2026 I\u2019m\noverworked\u2026 Maybe it\u2019s time to send it all to the devil and go to Kislovodsk\u2026\u2019\n And here the sweltering air thickened before him, and a transparent citizen of\nthe strangest appearance wove himself out of it. A peaked jockey\u2019s cap on his little\nhead, a short checkered jacket also made of air ... A citizen seven feet tall, but\nnarrow in the shoulders, unbelievably thin, and, kindly note, with a jeering\nphysiognomy.\n The life of Berlioz had taken such a course that he was unaccustomed to\nextraordinary phenomena. Turning paler still, he goggled his eyes and thought in\nconsternation: \u2018This can\u2019t be!\u2026\u2019\n But, alas, it was, and the long, see-through citizen was swaying before him to\nthe left and to the right without touching the ground.\n Here terror took such possession of Berlioz that he shut his eyes. When he\nopened them again, he saw that it was all over, the phantasm had dissolved, the\ncheckered one had vanished, and with that the blunt needle had popped out of his\nheart.\n \u2018Pah, the devil!\u2019 exclaimed the editor. \u2018You know, Ivan, I nearly had heatstroke\njust now! There was even something like a hallucination\u2026\u2019 He attempted to smile,\nbut alarm still jumped in his eyes and his hands trembled. However, he gradually\ncalmed down, fanned himself with his handkerchief and, having said rather\ncheerfully: \u2018Well, and so\u2026\u2019 went on with the conversation interrupted by their\nsoda-drinking.\n This conversation, as was learned afterwards, was about Jesus Christ. The\nthing was that the editor had commissioned from the poet a long anti-religious\npoem for the next issue of his journal. Ivan Nikolaevich had written this poem, and\nin a very short time, but unfortunately the editor was not at all satisfied with it.\nHomeless had portrayed the main character of his poem\u2014that is, Jesus\u2014in very\ndark colours, but nevertheless the whole poem, in the editor\u2019s opinion, had to be\nwritten over again. And so the editor was now giving the poet something of a\nlecture on Jesus, with the aim of underscoring the poet\u2019s essential error.\n It is hard to say what precisely had let Ivan Nikolaevich down\u2014the descriptive\npowers of his talent or a total unfamiliarity with the question he was writing\nabout\u2014but his Jesus came out, well, completely alive, the once-existing Jesus,\nthough, true, a Jesus furnished with all negative features.\n Now, Berlioz wanted to prove to the poet that the main thing was not how Jesus\nwas, good or bad, but that this same Jesus, as a person, simply never existed in\nthe world, and all the stories about him were mere fiction, the most ordinary\nmythology.\n It must be noted that the editor was a well-read man and in his conversation\nvery skilfully pointed to ancient historians\u2014for instance, the famous Philo of\nAlexandria and the brilliantly educated Flavius Josephus\u2014who never said a\nword about the existence of Jesus. Displaying a solid erudition, Mikhail\nAlexandrovich also informed the poet, among other things, that the passage in the\nfifteenth book of Tacitus\u2019s famous Annals,\n the forty-fourth chapter, where\nmention is made of the execution of Jesus, was nothing but a later spurious\ninterpolation.\n The poet, for whom everything the editor was telling him was new, listened\nattentively to Mikhail Alexandrovich, fixing his pert green eyes on him, and merely\nhiccuped from time to time, cursing the apricot soda under his breath.\n There\u2019s not a single Eastern religion,\u2018 Berlioz was saying, \u2019in which, as a rule, an\nimmaculate virgin did not give birth to a god. And in just the same way, without\ninventing anything new, the Christians created their Jesus, who in fact never\nlived. It\u2019s on this that the main emphasis should be placed\u2026\u2018\n Berlioz\u2019s high tenor rang out in the deserted walk, and as Mikhail Alexandrovich\nwent deeper into the maze, which only a highly educated man can go into without\nrisking a broken neck, the poet learned more and more interesting and useful\nthings about the Egyptian Osiris, a benevolent god and the son of Heaven and\nEarth, and about the Phoenician god Tammuz, and about Marduk, and\neven about a lesser known, terrible god, Vitzliputzli, once greatly venerated by\nthe Aztecs in Mexico. And just at the moment when Mikhail Alexandrovich was\ntelling the poet how the Aztecs used to fashion figurines of Vitzliputzli out of\ndough\u2014the first man appeared in the walk.\n Afterwards, when, frankly speaking, it was already too late, various institutions\npresented reports describing this man. A comparison of them cannot but cause\namazement. Thus, the first of them said that the man was short, had gold teeth,\nand limped on his right leg. The second, that the man was enormously tall, had\nplatinum crowns, and limped on his left leg. The third laconically averred that the\nman had no distinguishing marks. It must be acknowledged that none of these\nreports is of any value.\n First of all, the man described did not limp on any leg, and was neither short\nnor enormous, but simply tall. As for his teeth, he had platinum crowns on the left\nside and gold on the right. He was wearing an expensive grey suit and imported\nshoes of a matching colour. His grey beret was cocked rakishly over one ear; under\nhis arm he carried a stick with a black knob shaped like a poodle\u2019s head. He\nlooked to be a little over forty. Mouth somehow twisted. Clean-shaven. Darkhaired. Right eye black, left\u2014for some reason\u2014green. Dark eyebrows, but one\nhigher than the other. In short, a foreigner.\n Having passed by the bench on which the editor and the poet were placed, the\nforeigner gave them a sidelong look, stopped, and suddenly sat down on the next\nbench, two steps away from the friends.\n \u2018A German\u2026\u2019 thought Berlioz. \u2018An Englishman\u2026\u2019 thought Homeless. \u2018My, he\nmust be hot in those gloves.\u2019\n And the foreigner gazed around at the tall buildings that rectangularly framed\nthe pond, making it obvious that he was seeing the place for the first time and that\nit interested him. He rested his glance on the upper floors, where the glass\ndazzlingly reflected the broken-up sun which was for ever departing from Mikhail\nAlexandrovich, then shifted it lower down to where the windows were beginning to\ndarken before evening, smiled condescendingly at something, narrowed his eyes,\nput his hands on the knob and his chin on his hands.\n \u2018For instance, Ivan,\u2019 Berlioz was saying, \u2018you portrayed the birth of Jesus, the\nson of God, very well and satirically, but the gist of it is that a whole series of sons\nof God were born before Jesus, like, say, the Phoenician Adonis, the Phrygian\nAttis, the Persian Mithras. And, to put it briefly, not one of them was\nborn or ever existed, Jesus included, and what\u2019s necessary is that, instead of\nportraying his birth or, suppose, the coming of the Magi, you portray the\nabsurd rumours of their coming. Otherwise it follows from your story that he\nreally was born!\u2026\u2019\n Here Homeless made an attempt to stop his painful hiccuping by holding his\nbreath, which caused him to hiccup more painfully and loudly, and at that same\nmoment Berlioz interrupted his speech, because the foreigner suddenly got up and\nwalked towards the writers. They looked at him in surprise.\n \u2018Excuse me, please,\u2019 the approaching man began speaking, with a foreign accent\nbut without distorting the words, \u2018if, not being your acquaintance, I allow myself\u2026\nbut the subject of your learned conversation is so interesting that\u2026\u2019\n Here he politely took off his beret, and the friends had nothing left but to stand\nup and make their bows.\n \u2018No, rather a Frenchman\u2026\u2019 thought Berlioz.\n \u2018A Pole?\u2026\u2019 thought Homeless.\n It must be added that from his first words the foreigner made a repellent\nimpression on the poet, but Berlioz rather liked him\u2014that is, not liked but \u2026 how\nto put it \u2026 was interested, or whatever.\n \u2018May I sit down?\u2019 the foreigner asked politely, and the friends somehow\ninvoluntarily moved apart; the foreigner adroitly sat down between them and at\nonce entered into the conversation:\n \u2018Unless I heard wrong, you were pleased to say that Jesus never existed?\u2019 the\nforeigner asked, turning his green left eye to Berlioz.\n \u2018No, you did not hear wrong,\u2019 Berlioz replied courteously, \u2018that is precisely what I\nwas saying.\u2019\n \u2018Ah, how interesting!\u2019 exclaimed the foreigner.\n \u2018What the devil does he want?\u2019 thought Homeless, frowning.\n \u2018And you were agreeing with your interlocutor?\u2019 inquired the stranger, turning to\nHomeless on his right.\n \u2018A hundred per cent!\u2019 confirmed the man, who was fond of whimsical and\nfigurative expressions.\n \u2018Amazing!\u2019 exclaimed the uninvited interlocutor and, casting a thievish glance\naround and muffling his low voice for some reason, he said: \u2018Forgive my\nimportunity, but, as I understand, along with everything else, you also do not\nbelieve in God?\u2019 He made frightened eyes and added: \u2018I swear I won\u2019t tell anyone!\u2019\n \u2018No, we don\u2019t believe in God,\u2019 Berlioz replied, smiling slightly at the foreign\ntourist\u2019s fright, \u2018but we can speak of it quite freely.\u2019\n The foreigner sat back on the bench and asked, even with a slight shriek of\ncuriosity:\n \u2018You are\u2014atheists?!\u2019\n \u2018Yes, we\u2019re atheists,\u2019 Berlioz smilingly replied, and Homeless thought, getting\nangry: \u2018Latched on to us, the foreign goose!\u2019\n \u2018Oh, how lovely!\u2019 the astonishing foreigner cried out and began swivelling his\nhead, looking from one writer to the other.\n \u2018In our country atheism does not surprise anyone,\u2019 Berlioz said with diplomatic\npoliteness. \u2018The majority of our population consciously and long ago ceased\nbelieving in the fairy tales about God.\u2019\n Here the foreigner pulled the following stunt: he got up and shook the amazed\neditor\u2019s hand, accompanying it with these words:\n \u2018Allow me to thank you with all my heart!\u2019\n \u2018What are you thanking him for?\u2019 Homeless inquired, blinking.\n \u2018For some very important information, which is of great interest to me as a\ntraveller,\u2019 the outlandish fellow explained, raising his finger significantly.\n The important information apparently had indeed produced a strong impression\non the traveller, because he passed his frightened glance over the buildings, as if\nafraid of seeing an atheist in every window.\n \u2018No, he\u2019s not an Englishman\u2026\u2019 thought Berlioz, and Homeless thought: \u2018Where\u2019d\nhe pick up his Russian, that\u2019s the interesting thing!\u2019 and frowned again.\n \u2018But, allow me to ask you,\u2019 the foreign visitor spoke after some anxious\nreflection, \u2018what, then, about the proofs of God\u2019s existence, of which, as is known,\nthere are exactly five?\u2019\n \u2018Alas!\u2019 Berlioz said with regret. \u2018Not one of these proofs is worth anything, and\nmankind shelved them long ago. You must agree that in the realm of reason there\ncan be no proof of God\u2019s existence.\u2019\n Bravo!\u2018 cried the foreigner. \u2019Bravo! You have perfectly repeated restless old\nImmanuel\u2018s thought in this regard. But here\u2019s the hitch: he roundly\ndemolished all five proofs, and then, as if mocking himself, constructed a sixth of\nhis own.\u2019\n \u2018Kant\u2019s proof,\u2019 the learned editor objected with a subtle smile, \u2018is equally\nunconvincing. Not for nothing did Schiller say that the Kantian reasoning on\nthis question can satisfy only slaves, and Strauss simply laughed at this\nproof.\u2019\n Berlioz spoke, thinking all the while: \u2018But, anyhow, who is he? And why does he\nspeak Russian so well?\u2019\n They ought to take this Kant and give him a three-year stretch in Solovki\n\nfor such proofs!\u2018 Ivan Nikolaevich plumped quite unexpectedly.\n \u2018Ivan!\u2019 Berlioz whispered, embarrassed.\n But the suggestion of sending Kant to Solovki not only did not shock the\nforeigner, but even sent him into raptures.\n \u2018Precisely, precisely,\u2019 he cried, and his green left eye, turned to Berlioz, flashed.\n\u2018Just the place for him! Didn\u2019t I tell him that time at breakfast: \u201cAs you will,\nProfessor, but what you\u2019ve thought up doesn\u2019t hang together. It\u2019s clever, maybe,\nbut mighty unclear. You\u2019ll be laughed at.\u201d\u2019\n Berlioz goggled his eyes. \u2018At breakfast \u2026 to Kant? \u2026 What is this drivel?\u2019 he\nthought.\n \u2018But,\u2019 the outlander went on, unembarrassed by Berlioz\u2019s amazement and\naddressing the poet, \u2018sending him to Solovki is unfeasible, for the simple reason\nthat he has been abiding for over a hundred years now in places considerably\nmore remote than Solovki, and to extract him from there is in no way possible, I\nassure you.\u2019\n Too bad!\u2018 the feisty poet responded.\n \u2018Yes, too bad!\u2019 the stranger agreed, his eye flashing, and went on: \u2018But here is a\nquestion that is troubling me: if there is no God, then, one may ask, who governs\nhuman life and, in general, the whole order of things on earth?\u2019\n \u2018Man governs it himself,\u2019 Homeless angrily hastened to reply to this admittedly\nnone-too-clear question.\n \u2018Pardon me,\u2019 the stranger responded gently, \u2018but in order to govern, one needs,\nafter all, to have a precise plan for a certain, at least somewhat decent, length of\ntime. Allow me to ask you, then, how can man govern, if he is not only deprived of\nthe opportunity of making a plan for at least some ridiculously short period\u2014well,\nsay, a thousand years\u2014but cannot even vouch for his own tomorrow?\n \u2018And in fact,\u2019 here the stranger turned to Berlioz, \u2018imagine that you, for instance,\nstart governing, giving orders to others and yourself, generally, so to speak,\nacquire a taste for it, and suddenly you get \u2026 hem \u2026 hem \u2026 lung cancer\u2026\u2019\u2014here\nthe foreigner smiled sweetly, as if the thought of lung cancer gave him pleasure\u2014\n\u2018yes, cancer\u2019\u2014narrowing his eyes like a cat, he repeated the sonorous word\u2014\u2019and\nso your governing is over!\n \u2018You are no longer interested in anyone\u2019s fate but your own. Your family starts\nlying to you. Feeling that something is wrong, you rush to learned doctors, then to\nquacks, and sometimes to fortune-tellers as well. Like the first, so the second and\nthird are completely senseless, as you understand. And it all ends tragically: a\nman who still recently thought he was governing something, suddenly winds up\nlying motionless in a wooden box, and the people around him, seeing that the man\nlying there is no longer good for anything, burn him in an oven.\n \u2018And sometimes it\u2019s worse still: the man has just decided to go to Kislovodsk\u2019\u2014\nhere the foreigner squinted at Berlioz\u2014\u2019a trifling matter, it seems, but even this he\ncannot accomplish, because suddenly, no one knows why, he slips and falls under\na tram-car! Are you going to say it was he who governed himself that way? Would\nit not be more correct to think that he was governed by someone else entirely?\u2018\nAnd here the unknown man burst into a strange little laugh.\n Berlioz listened with great attention to the unpleasant story about the cancer\nand the tram-car, and certain alarming thoughts began to torment him. \u2018He\u2019s not a\nforeigner\u2026 he\u2019s not a foreigner\u2026\u2019 he thought, \u2018he\u2019s a most peculiar specimen\u2026\nbut, excuse me, who is he then?\u2026\u2019\n \u2018You\u2019d like to smoke, I see?\u2019 the stranger addressed Homeless unexpectedly.\n\u2018Which kind do you prefer?\u2019\n \u2018What, have you got several?\u2019 the poet, who had run out of cigarettes, asked\nglumly.\n \u2018Which do you prefer?\u2019 the stranger repeated.\n \u2018Okay\u2014Our Brand,\u2019 Homeless replied spitefully.\n The unknown man immediately took a cigarette case from his pocket and\noffered it to Homeless:\n \u2018Our Brand\u2026\u2019\n Editor and poet were both struck, not so much by Our Brand precisely turning\nup in the cigarette case, as by the cigarette case itself. It was of huge size, made of\npure gold, and, as it was opened, a diamond triangle flashed white and blue fire on\nits lid.\n Here the writers thought differently. Berlioz: \u2018No, a foreigner!\u2019, and Homeless:\n\u2018Well, devil take him, eh!\u2026\u2019\n The poet and the owner of the cigarette case lit up, but the non-smoker Berlioz\ndeclined.\n \u2018I must counter him like this,\u2019 Berlioz decided, \u2018yes, man is mortal, no one\ndisputes that. But the thing is\u2026\u2019\n However, before he managed to utter these words, the foreigner spoke:\n \u2018Yes, man is mortal, but that would be only half the trouble. The worst of it is\nthat he\u2019s sometimes unexpectedly mortal\u2014there\u2019s the trick! And generally he\u2019s\nunable to say what he\u2019s going to do this same evening.\u2019\n \u2018What an absurd way of putting the question\u2026\u2019 Berlioz thought and objected:\n \u2018Well, there\u2019s some exaggeration here. About this same evening I do know more\nor less certainly. It goes without saying, if a brick should fall on my head on\nBronnaya\u2026\u2019\n \u2018No brick,\u2019 the stranger interrupted imposingly, \u2018will ever fall on anyone\u2019s head\njust out of the blue. In this particular case, I assure you, you are not in danger of\nthat at all. You will die a different death.\u2019\n \u2018Maybe you know what kind precisely?\u2019 Berlioz inquired with perfectly natural\nirony, getting drawn into an utterly absurd conversation. \u2018And will tell me?\u2019\n \u2018Willingly,\u2019 the unknown man responded. He looked Berlioz up and down as if he\nwere going to make him a suit, muttered through his teeth something like: \u2018One,\ntwo \u2026 Mercury in the second house \u2026 moon gone \u2026 six\u2014disaster \u2026 evening\u2014\nseven\u2026\u2019 then announced loudly and joyfully: \u2018Your head will be cut off!\u2019\n Homeless goggled his eyes wildly and spitefully at the insouciant stranger, and\nBerlioz asked, grinning crookedly:\n \u2018By whom precisely? Enemies? Interventionists?\u2019\n \u2018No,\u2019 replied his interlocutor, \u2018by a Russian woman, a Komsomol girl.\u2019\n \u2018Hm ...\u2019 Berlioz mumbled, vexed at the stranger\u2019s little joke, \u2018well, excuse me, but\nthat\u2019s not very likely.\u2019\n \u2018And I beg you to excuse me,\u2019 the foreigner replied, \u2018but it\u2019s so. Ah, yes, I wanted\nto ask you, what are you going to do tonight, if it\u2019s not a secret?\u2019\n \u2018It\u2019s not a secret. Right now I\u2019ll stop by my place on Sadovaya, and then at ten\nthis evening there will be a meeting at Massolit, and I will chair it.\u2019\n \u2018No, that simply cannot be,\u2019 the foreigner objected firmly.\n \u2018Why not?\u2019\n \u2018Because,\u2019 the foreigner replied and, narrowing his eyes, looked into the sky,\nwhere, anticipating the cool of the evening, black birds were tracing noiselessly,\n\u2018Annushka has already bought the sunflower oil, and has not only bought it, but\nhas already spilled it. So the meeting will not take place.\u2019\n Here, quite understandably, silence fell under the lindens.\n \u2018Forgive me,\u2019 Berlioz spoke after a pause, glancing at the drivel-spouting\nforeigner, \u2018but what has sunflower oil got to do with it \u2026 and which Annushka?\u2019\n \u2018Sunflower oil has got this to do with it,\u2019 Homeless suddenly spoke, obviously\ndeciding to declare war on the uninvited interlocutor. \u2018Have you ever happened,\ncitizen, to be in a hospital for the mentally ill?\u2019\n \u2018Ivan!\u2026\u2019 Mikhail Alexandrovich exclaimed quietly.\n But the foreigner was not a bit offended and burst into the merriest laughter.\n \u2018I have, I have, and more than once!\u2019 he cried out, laughing, but without taking\nhis unlaughing eye off the poet. \u2018Where haven\u2019t I been! Only it\u2019s too bad I didn\u2019t get\naround to asking the professor what schizophrenia is. So you will have to find that\nout from him yourself, Ivan Nikolaevich!\u2019\n \u2018How do you know my name?\u2019\n \u2018Gracious, Ivan Nikolaevich, who doesn\u2019t know you?\u2019 Here the foreigner took out\nof his pocket the previous day\u2019s issue of the Literary Gazette, and Ivan Nikolaevich\nsaw his own picture on the very first page and under it his very own verses. But\nthe proof of fame and popularity, which yesterday had delighted the poet, this time\ndid not delight him a bit.\n \u2018Excuse me,\u2019 he said, and his face darkened, \u2018could you wait one little moment?\nI want to say a couple of words to my friend.\u2019\n \u2018Oh, with pleasure!\u2019 exclaimed the stranger. \u2018It\u2019s so nice here under the lindens,\nand, by the way, I\u2019m not in any hurry.\u2019\n \u2018Listen here, Misha,\u2019 the poet whispered, drawing Berlioz aside, \u2018he\u2019s no foreign\ntourist, he\u2019s a spy. A Russian \u00e9migr\u00e9 who has crossed back over. Ask for his\npapers before he gets away...\u2019\n \u2018You think so?\u2019 Berlioz whispered worriedly, and thought: \u2018Why, he\u2019s right\u2026\u2019\n \u2018Believe me,\u2019 the poet rasped into his ear, \u2018he\u2019s pretending to be a fool in order to\nfind out something or other. Just hear how he speaks Russian.\u2019 As he spoke, the\npoet kept glancing sideways, to make sure the stranger did not escape. \u2018Let\u2019s go\nand detain him, or he\u2019ll get away\u2026\u2019\n And the poet pulled Berlioz back to the bench by the arm.\n The unknown man was not sitting, but was standing near it, holding in his\nhands some booklet in a dark-grey binding, a sturdy envelope made of good paper,\nand a visiting card.\n \u2018Excuse me for having forgotten, in the heat of our dispute, to introduce myself.\nHere is my card, my passport, and an invitation to come to Moscow for a\nconsultation,\u2019 the stranger said weightily, giving both writers a penetrating glance.\n They were embarrassed. \u2018The devil, he heard everything ...\u2019 Berloz thought, and\nwith a polite gesture indicated that there was no need to show papers. While the\nforeigner was pushing them at the editor, the poet managed to make out the word\n\u2018Professor\u2019 printed in foreign type on the card, and the initial letter of the last\nname\u2014a double \u2019V\u2019\u2014\u2018W\u2019.\n \u2018My pleasure,\u2019 the editor meanwhile muttered in embarrassment, and the\nforeigner put the papers back in his pocket.\n Relations were thus restored, and all three sat down on the bench again.\n \u2018You\u2019ve been invited here as a consultant, Professor?\u2019 asked Berlioz.\n \u2018Yes, as a consultant.\u2019\n \u2018You\u2019re German?\u2019 Homeless inquired.\n \u2018I?\u2026\u2019 the professor repeated and suddenly fell to thinking. \u2018Yes, perhaps I am\nGerman\u2026\u2019 he said.\n \u2018You speak real good Russian,\u2019 Homeless observed.\n \u2018Oh, I\u2019m generally a polyglot and know a great number of languages,\u2019 the\nprofessor replied.\n \u2018And what is your field?\u2019 Berlioz inquired.\n \u2018I am a specialist in black magic.\u2019\n \u2018There he goes!\u2026\u2019 struck in Mikhail Alexandrovich\u2019s head.\n \u2018And \u2026 and you\u2019ve been invited here in that capacity?\u2019 he asked, stammering.\n \u2018Yes, in that capacity,\u2019 the professor confirmed, and explained: \u2018In a state library\nhere some original manuscripts of the tenth-century necromancer Gerbert of\nAurillac have been found. So it is necessary for me to sort them out. I am the\nonly specialist in the world.\u2019\n \u2018Aha! You\u2019re a historian?\u2019 Berlioz asked with great relief and respect.\n \u2018I am a historian,\u2019 the scholar confirmed, and added with no rhyme or reason:\n\u2018This evening there will be an interesting story at the Ponds!\u2019\n Once again editor and poet were extremely surprised, but the professor\nbeckoned them both to him, and when they leaned towards him, whispered:\n \u2018Bear in mind that Jesus did exist.\u2019\n \u2018You see, Professor,\u2019 Berlioz responded with a forced smile, \u2018we respect your\ngreat learning, but on this question we hold to a different point of view.\u2019\n There\u2019s no need for any points of view,\u2018 the strange professor replied, \u2019he simply\nexisted, that\u2019s all.\u2018\n \u2018But there\u2019s need for some proof\u2026\u2019 Berlioz began.\n \u2018There\u2019s no need for any proofs,\u2019 replied the professor, and he began to speak\nsoftly, while his accent for some reason disappeared: \u2018It\u2019s all very simple: In a\nwhite cloak with blood-red lining, with the shuffling gait of a cavalryman, early in\nthe morning of the fourteenth day of the spring month of Nisan\u2026\u2019\n",
        "ttl": 3600
      }
    ]
  }
}