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  "identity": "D76FDAB0F9D31B265EDDBE77B6B516C844E71E93A720BEF5D892E6039BE4E38D",
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    "encrypted": "234BD899F2D65CD3F92F010B213133A4C96C7CB45E78770B83AF914A89DA98EEE70D81067A2565602E7774A6C3FA423254E8CEFBC498AA134787EFCAC24275EC4D7A938C00F02042",
    "zone": "merch",
    "info": "The Master and Margarita, BOOK 1, ch 4\nby Mikhail Bulgakov, 1891-1940\nTranslated by:\nRichard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky",
    "records": [
      {
        "type": "TXT",
        "domain": "maybe.merch",
        "data": "Chapter 4\nThe Chase.\n The hysterical women\u2019s cries died down, the police whistles stopped drilling, two\nambulances drove off one with the headless body and severed head, to the\nmorgue, the other with the beautiful driver, wounded by broken glass; street\nsweepers in white aprons removed the broken glass and poured sand on the pools\nof blood, but Ivan Nikolaevich just stayed on the bench as he had dropped on to it\nbefore reaching the turnstile. He tried several times to get up, but his legs would\nnot obey him\u2014something akin to paralysis had occurred with Homeless.\n The poet had rushed to the turnstile as soon as he heard the first scream, and\nhad seen the head go bouncing along the pavement. With that he so lost his\nsenses that, having dropped on to the bench, he bit his hand until it bled. Of\ncourse, he forgot about the mad German and tried to figure out one thing only:\nhow it could be that he had just been talking with Berlioz, and a moment\nlater the head\u2026\n Agitated people went running down the walk past the poet, exclaiming\nsomething, but Ivan Nikolaevich was insensible to their words. However, two\nwomen unexpectedly ran into each other near him, and one of them, sharp-nosed\nand bare-headed, shouted the following to the other, right next to the poet\u2019s ear:\n \u2018\u2026Annushka, our Annushka! From Sadovaya! It\u2019s her work\u2026 She bought\nsunflower oil at the grocery, and went and broke the whole litre-bottle on the\nturnstile! Messed her skirt all up, and swore and swore! \u2026 And he, poor man,\nmust have slipped and right on to the rails\u2026\u2019\n Of all that the woman shouted, one word lodged itself in Ivan Nikolaevich\u2019s\nupset brain: \u2018Annushka\u2019\u2026\n \u2018Annushka \u2026 Annushka?\u2019 the poet muttered, looking around anxiously. \u2018Wait a\nminute, wait a minute\u2026\u2019\n The word \u2018Annushka\u2019 got strung together with the words \u2019sunflower oil\u2018, and\nthen for some reason with \u2019Pontius Pilate\u2018. The poet dismissed Pilate and began\nlinking up the chain that started from the word \u2019Annushka\u2018. And this chain got\nvery quickly linked up and led at once to the mad professor.\n \u2018Excuse me! But he did say the meeting wouldn\u2019t take place because Annushka\nhad spilled the oil. And, if you please, it won\u2019t take place! What\u2019s more, he said\nstraight out that Berlioz\u2019s head would be cut off by a woman?! Yes, yes, yes! And\nthe driver was a woman! What is all this, eh?!\u2019\n There was not a grain of doubt left that the mysterious consultant had known\nbeforehand the exact picture of the terrible death of Berlioz. Here two thoughts\npierced the poet\u2019s brain. The first: \u2018He\u2019s not mad in the least, that\u2019s all nonsense!\u2019\nAnd the second: \u2018Then didn\u2019t he set it all up himself?\u2019\n \u2018But in what manner, may we ask?! Ah, no, this we\u2019re going to find out!\u2019\n Making a great effort, Ivan Nikolaevich got up from the bench and rushed back\nto where he had been talking with the professor. And, fortunately, it turned out\nthat the man had not left yet.\n The street lights were already lit on Bronnaya, and over the Ponds the golden\nmoon shone, and in the ever-deceptive light of the moon it seemed to Ivan\nNikolaevich that he stood holding a sword, not a walking stick, under his arm.\n The ex-choirmaster was sitting in the very place where Ivan Nikolaevich had sat\njust recently. Now the busybody had perched on his nose an obviously\nunnecessary pince-nez, in which one lens was missing altogether and the other\nwas cracked. This made the checkered citizen even more repulsive than he had\nbeen when he showed Berlioz the way to the rails.\n With a chill in his heart, Ivan approached the professor and, glancing into his\nface, became convinced that there were not and never had been any signs of\nmadness in that face.\n \u2018Confess, who are you?\u2019 Ivan asked in a hollow voice.\n The foreigner scowled, looked at the poet as if he were seeing him for the first\ntime, and answered inimically:\n \u2018No understand \u2026 no speak Russian\u2026\u2019\n \u2018The gent don\u2019t understand,\u2019 the choirmaster mixed in from the bench, though\nno one had asked him to explain the foreigner\u2019s words.\n \u2018Don\u2019t pretend!\u2019 Ivan said threateningly, and felt cold in the pit of his stomach.\n\u2018You spoke excellent Russian just now. You\u2019re not a German and you\u2019re not a\nprofessor! You\u2019re a murderer and a spy! \u2026 Your papers!\u2019 Ivan cried fiercely.\n The mysterious professor squeamishly twisted his mouth, which was twisted to\nbegin with, then shrugged his shoulders.\n \u2018Citizen!\u2019 the loathsome choirmaster butted in again. \u2018What\u2019re you doing\nbothering a foreign tourist? For that you\u2019ll incur severe punishment!\u2019\n And the suspicious professor made an arrogant face, turned, and walked away\nfrom Ivan. Ivan felt himself at a loss. Breathless, he addressed the choirmaster.\n \u2018Hey, citizen, help me to detain the criminal! It\u2019s your duty!\u2019\n The choirmaster became extraordinarily animated, jumped up and hollered:\n \u2018What criminal? Where is he? A foreign criminal?\u2019 The choirmaster\u2019s eyes\nsparkled gleefully. That one? If he\u2019s a criminal, the first thing to do is shout \u201cHelp!\u201d\nOr else he\u2019ll get away. Come on, together now, one, two!\u2018 and here the\nchoirmaster opened his maw.\n Totally at a loss, Ivan obeyed the trickster and shouted \u2018Help!\u2019 but the\nchoirmaster bluffed him and did not shout anything.\n Ivan\u2019s solitary, hoarse cry did not produce any good results. Two girls shied\naway from him, and he heard the word \u2018drunk\u2019.\n \u2018Ah, so you\u2019re in with him!\u2019 Ivan cried out, waxing wroth. \u2018What are you doing,\njeering at me? Out of my way!\u2019\n Ivan dashed to the right, and so did the choirmaster; Ivan dashed to the left,\nand the scoundrel did the same.\n \u2018Getting under my feet on purpose?\u2019 Ivan cried, turning ferocious. \u2018I\u2019ll hand you\nover to the police!\u2019\n Ivan attempted to grab the blackguard by the sleeve, but missed and caught\nprecisely nothing: it was as if the choirmaster fell through the earth.\n Ivan gasped, looked into the distance, and saw the hateful stranger. He was\nalready at the exit to Patriarch\u2019s Lane; moreover, he was not alone. The more than\ndubious choirmaster had managed to join him. But that was still not all: the third\nin this company proved to be a tom-cat, who appeared out of nowhere, huge as a\nhog, black as soot or as a rook, and with a desperate cavalryman\u2019s whiskers. The\ntrio set off down Patriarch\u2019s Lane, the cat walking on his hind legs.\n Ivan sped after the villains and became convinced at once that it would be very\ndifficult to catch up with them.\n The trio shot down the lane in an instant and came out on Spiridonovka. No\nmatter how Ivan quickened his pace, the distance between him and his quarry\nnever diminished. And before the poet knew it, he emerged, after the quiet of\nSpiridonovka, by the Nikitsky Gate, where his situation worsened. The place was\nswarming with people. Besides, the gang of villains decided to apply the favourite\ntrick of bandits here: a scattered getaway.\n The choirmaster, with great dexterity, bored his way on to a bus speeding\ntowards the Arbat Square and slipped away. Having lost one of his quarry, Ivan\nfocused his attention on the cat and saw this strange cat go up to the footboard of\nan \u2018A\u2019 tram waiting at a stop, brazenly elbow aside a woman, who screamed, grab\nhold of the handrail, and even make an attempt to shove a ten-kopeck piece into\nthe conductress\u2019s hand through the window, open on account of the stuffiness.\n Ivan was so struck by the cat\u2019s behaviour that he froze motionless by the\ngrocery store on the comer, and here he was struck for a second time, but much\nmore strongly, by the conductress\u2019s behaviour. As soon as she saw the cat getting\ninto the tram-car, she shouted with a malice that even made her shake:\n \u2018No cats allowed! Nobody with cats allowed! Scat! Get off, or I\u2019ll call the police!\u2019\n Neither the conductress nor the passengers were struck by the essence of the\nmatter: not just that a cat was boarding a tram-car, which would have been good\nenough, but that he was going to pay!\n The cat turned out to be not only a solvent but also a disciplined animal. At the\nvery first shout from the conductress, he halted his advance, got off the footboard,\nand sat down at the stop, rubbing his whiskers with the ten-kopeck piece. But as\nsoon as the conductress yanked the cord and the tram-car started moving off, the\ncat acted like anyone who has been expelled from a tram-car but still needs a ride.\nLetting all three cars go by, the cat jumped on to the rear coupling-pin of the last\none, wrapped its paws around some hose sticking out of the side, and rode off,\nthus saving himself ten kopecks.\n Occupied with the obnoxious cat, Ivan almost lost the main one of the three\u2014\nthe professor. But, fortunately, the man had not managed to slip away. Ivan saw\nthe grey beret in the throng at the head of Bolshaya Nikitskaya, now Herzen,\nStreet. In the twinkling of an eye, Ivan arrived there himself. However, he had no\nluck. The poet would quicken his pace, break into a trot, shove passers-by, yet not\nget an inch closer to the professor.\n Upset as he was, Ivan was still struck by the supernatural speed of the chase.\nTwenty seconds had not gone by when, after the Nikitsky Gate, Ivan Nikolaevich\nwas already dazzled by the lights of the Arbat Square. Another few seconds, and\nhere was some dark lane with slanting sidewalks, where Ivan Nikolaevich took a\ntumble and hurt his knee. Again a lit-up thoroughfare\u2014Kropotkin Street\u2014then a\nlane, then Ostozhenka, then another lane, dismal, vile and sparsely lit. And it was\nhere that Ivan Nikolaevich definitively lost him whom he needed so much. The\nprofessor disappeared.\n Ivan Nikolaevich was perplexed, but not for long, because he suddenly realized\nthat the professor must unfailingly be found in house no. 13, and most assuredly\nin apartment 47.\n Bursting into the entrance, Ivan Nikolaevich flew up to the second floor,\nimmediately found the apartment, and rang impatiently. He did not have to wait\nlong. Some little girl of about five opened the door for Ivan and, without asking\nhim anything, immediately went away somewhere.\n In the huge, extremely neglected front hall, weakly lit by a tiny carbon arc lamp\nunder the high ceiling, black with grime, a bicycle without tyres hung on the wall,\na huge iron-bound trunk stood, and on a shelf over the coat rack a winter hat lay,\nits long ear-flaps hanging down. Behind one of the doors, a resonant male voice\nwas angrily shouting something in verse from a radio set.\n Ivan Nikolaevich was not the least at a loss in the unfamiliar surroundings and\nrushed straight into the corridor, reasoning thus: \u2018Of course, he\u2019s hiding in the\nbathroom.\u2019 The corridor was dark. Having bumped into the wall a few times, Ivan\nsaw a faint streak of light under a door, felt for the handle, and pulled it gently.\nThe hook popped out, and Ivan found himself precisely in the bathroom and\nthought how lucky he was.\n However, his luck was not all it might have been! Ivan met with a wave of humid\nheat and, by the light of the coals smouldering in the boiler, made out big basins\nhanging on the walls, and a bath tub, all black frightful blotches where the enamel\nhad chipped off. And there, in this bath tub, stood a naked citizeness, all soapy\nand with a scrubber in her hand. She squinted near-sightedly at the bursting-in\nIvan and, obviously mistaking him in the infernal light, said softly and gaily:\n \u2018Kiriushka! Stop this tomfoolery! Have you lost your mind? ... Fyodor Ivanych\nwill be back any minute. Get out right now!\u2019 and she waved at Ivan with the\nscrubber.\n The misunderstanding was evident, and Ivan Nikolaevich was, of course, to\nblame for it. But he did not want to admit it and, exclaiming reproachfully: \u2018Ah,\nwanton creature!\u2026\u2019, at once found himself for some reason in the kitchen. No one\nwas there, and on the oven in the semi-darkness silently stood about a dozen\nextinguished primuses. A single moonbeam, having seeped through the\ndusty, perennially unwashed window, shone sparsely into the comer where, in\ndust and cobwebs, a forgotten icon hung, with the ends of two wedding candles\npeeking out from behind its casing. Under the big icon, pinned to it, hung a\nlittle one made of paper.\n No one knows what thought took hold of Ivan here, but before running out the\nback door, he appropriated one of these candles, as well as the paper icon. With\nthese objects, he left the unknown apartment, muttering something, embarrassed\nat the thought of what he had just experienced in the bathroom, involuntarily\ntrying to guess who this impudent Kiriushka might be and whether the disgusting\nhat with ear-flaps belonged to him.\n In the desolate, joyless lane the poet looked around, searching for the fugitive,\nbut he was nowhere to be seen. Then Ivan said firmly to himself:\n \u2018Why, of course, he\u2019s at the Moscow River! Onward!\u2019\n Someone ought, perhaps, to have asked Ivan Nikolaevich why he supposed that\nthe professor was precisely at the Moscow River and not in some other place. But\nthe trouble was that there was no one to ask him. The loathsome lane was\ncompletely empty.\n In the very shortest time, Ivan Nikolaevich could be seen on the granite steps of\nthe Moscow River amphitheatre.\n Having taken off his clothes, Ivan entrusted them to a pleasant, bearded fellow\nwho was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, sitting beside a torn white Tolstoy\nblouse and a pair of unlaced, worn boots. After waving his arms to cool off, Ivan\ndived swallow-fashion into the water. It took his breath away, so cold the water\nwas, and the thought even flashed in him that he might not manage to come up to\nthe surface. However, he did manage to come up, and, puffing and snorting, his\neyes rounded in terror, Ivan Nikolaevich began swimming through the black, oilsmelling water among the broken zigzags of street lights on the bank.\n When the wet Ivan came dancing back up the steps to the place where the\nbearded fellow was guarding his clothes, it became clear that not only the latter,\nbut also the former\u2014that is, the bearded fellow himself\u2014had been stolen. In the\nexact spot where the pile of clothes had been, a pair of striped drawers, the torn\nTolstoy blouse, the candle, the icon and a box of matches had been left. After\nthreatening someone in the distance with his fist in powerless anger, Ivan put on\nwhat was left for him.\n Here two considerations began to trouble him: first, that his Massolit\nidentification card, which he never parted with, was gone, and, second, whether he\ncould manage to get through Moscow unhindered looking the way he did now? In\nstriped drawers, after all\u2026 True, it was nobody\u2019s business, but still there might be\nsome hitch or delay.\n Ivan tore off the buttons where the drawers fastened at the ankle, figuring that\nthis way they might pass for summer trousers, gathered up the icon, the candle\nand the matches, and started off, saying to himself:\n \u2018To Griboedov\u2019s! Beyond all doubt, he\u2019s there.\u2018\n The city was already living its evening life. Trucks flew through the dust, chains\nclanking, and on their platforms men lay sprawled belly up on sacks. All windows\nwere open. In each of these windows a light burned under an orange lampshade,\nand from every window, every door, every gateway, roof, and attic, basement and\ncourtyard blared the hoarse roar of the polonaise from the opera Evgeny Onegin.\n Ivan Nikolaevich\u2019s apprehensions proved fully justified: passers-by did pay\nattention to him and turned their heads. As a result, he took the decision to leave\nthe main streets and make his way through back lanes, where people are not so\nimportunate, where there were fewer chances of them picking on a barefoot man,\npestering him with questions about his drawers, which stubbornly refused to look\nlike trousers.\n This Ivan did, and, penetrating the mysterious network of lanes around the\nArbat, he began making his way along the walls, casting fearful sidelong glances,\nturning around every moment, hiding in gateways from time to time, avoiding\nintersections with traffic lights and the grand entrances of embassy mansions.\n And all along his difficult way, he was for some reason inexpressibly tormented\nby the ubiquitous orchestra that accompanied the heavy basso singing about his\nlove for Tatiana. \n",
        "ttl": 3600
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}