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  "identity": "D76FDAB0F9D31B265EDDBE77B6B516C844E71E93A720BEF5D892E6039BE4E38D",
  "confirmation": "007F81C6F991EACBAC1754311C10D9E5A332E00200767721829870483C7ECBF8",
  "signing": "0FD6DB8BEA6901A6498D39723EE07661EC22C2A75A15138D5676888BC4ACC4DE",
  "encryption": "AAB9726E514D4788BF327E7E5D1E23DF19C00E8F2BAA537EA10EC1D524D84103",
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    "encrypted": "C29731A1B746A6F92889E3EE1BE030F87A537668C57216B0DEAD5399976B989617CE5C7F07AE28531CA4B728238C3E7E3B9C161284E338B655EB8E1EE6B14FC468B357AB9DC03CBA",
    "zone": "merch",
    "info": "The Master and Margarita, BOOK 1, ch 6\nby Mikhail Bulgakov, 1891-1940\nTranslated by:\nRichard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky",
    "records": [
      {
        "type": "TXT",
        "domain": "maybe.merch",
        "data": "Chapter 6\nSchizophrenia, as was Said.\n It was half past one in the morning when a man with a pointed beard and\nwearing a white coat came out to the examining room of the famous psychiatric\nclinic, built recently on the outskirts of Moscow by the bank of the river. Three\norderlies had their eyes fastened on Ivan Nikolaevich, who was sitting on a couch.\nThe extremely agitated poet Riukhin was also there. The napkins with which Ivan\nNikolaevich had been tied up lay in a pile on the same couch. Ivan Nikolaevich\u2019s\narms and legs were free.\n Seeing the entering man, Riukhin turned pale, coughed, and said timidly:\n \u2018Hello, Doctor.\u2019\n The doctor bowed to Riukhin but, as he bowed, looked not at him but at Ivan\nNikolaevich. The latter sat perfectly motionless, with an angry face and knitted\nbrows, and did not even stir at the doctor\u2019s entrance.\n \u2018Here, Doctor,\u2019 Riukhin began speaking, for some reason, in a mysterious\nwhisper, glancing timorously at Ivan Nikolaevich, \u2018is the renowned poet Ivan\nHomeless \u2026 well, you see \u2026 we\u2019re afraid it might be delirium tremens\u2026\u2019\n \u2018Was he drinking hard?\u2019 the doctor said through his teeth.\n \u2018No, he drank, but not really so\u2026\u2019\n \u2018Did he chase after cockroaches, rats, little devils, or slinking dogs?\u2019\n \u2018No,\u2019 Riukhin replied with a shudder, \u2018I saw him yesterday and this morning \u2026\nhe was perfectly well.\u2019\n \u2018And why is he in his drawers? Did you get him out of bed?\u2019\n \u2018No, Doctor, he came to the restaurant that way\u2026\u2019\n \u2018Aha, aha,\u2019 the doctor said with great satisfaction, \u2018and why the scratches? Did\nhe have a fight?\u2019\n \u2018He fell off a fence, and then in the restaurant he hit somebody\u2026 and then\nsomebody else\u2026\u2019\n \u2018So, so, so,\u2019 the doctor said and, turning to Ivan, added: \u2018Hello there!\u2019\n \u2018Greetings, saboteur!\u2019 Ivan replied spitefully and loudly.\n Riukhin was so embarrassed that he did not dare raise his eyes to the\ncourteous doctor. But the latter, not offended in the least, took off his glasses with\na habitual, deft movement, raised the skirt of his coat, put them into the back\npocket of his trousers, and then asked Ivan:\n \u2018How old are you?\u2019\n \u2018You can all go to the devil!\u2019 Ivan shouted rudely and turned away.\n \u2018But why are you angry? Did I say anything unpleasant to you?\u2019\n \u2018I\u2019m twenty-three years old,\u2019 Ivan began excitedly, \u2018and I\u2019ll file a complaint\nagainst you all. And particularly against you, louse!\u2019 he adverted separately to\nRiukhin.\n \u2018And what do you want to complain about?\u2019\n \u2018About the fact that I, a healthy man, was seized and dragged by force to a\nmadhouse!\u2019 Ivan replied wrathfully.\n Here Riukhin looked closely at Ivan and went cold: there was decidedly no\ninsanity in the man\u2019s eyes. No longer dull as they had been at Griboedov\u2018s, they\nwere now clear as ever.\n \u2018Good God!\u2019 Riukhin thought fearfully. \u2018So he\u2019s really normal! What nonsense!\nWhy, in fact, did we drag him here? He\u2019s normal, normal, only his mug got\nscratched\u2026\u2019\n \u2018You are,\u2019 the doctor began calmly, sitting down on a white stool with a shiny\nfoot, \u2018not in a madhouse, but in a clinic, where no one will keep you if it\u2019s not\nnecessary.\u2019\n Ivan Nikolaevich glanced at him mistrustfully out of the comer of his eye, but\nstill grumbled:\n \u2018Thank the Lord! One normal man has finally turned up among the idiots, of\nwhom the first is that giftless goof Sashka!\u2019\n \u2018Who is this giftless Sashka?\u2019 the doctor inquired.\n This one here Riukhin,\u2018 Ivan replied, jabbing his dirty finger in Riukhin\u2019s\ndirection.\n The latter flushed with indignation. \u2018That\u2019s the thanks I get,\u2019 he thought bitterly,\n\u2018for showing concern for him! What trash, really!\u2019\n \u2018Psychologically, a typical little kulak,\u2019 Ivan Nikolaevich began, evidently\nfrom an irresistible urge to denounce Riukhin, \u2018and, what\u2019s more, a little kulak\ncarefully disguising himself as a proletarian. Look at his lenten physiognomy, and\ncompare it with those resounding verses he wrote for the First of May\u2014heh,\nheh, heh\u2026 \u201cSoaring up!\u201d and \u201cSoaring down!!\u201d But if you could look inside him\nand see what he thinks \u2026 you\u2019d gasp!\u2019 And Ivan Nikolaevich burst into sinister\nlaughter.\n Riukhin was breathing heavily, turned red, and thought of just one thing, that\nhe had warmed a serpent on his breast, that he had shown concern for a man who\nturned out to be a vicious enemy. And, above all, there was nothing to be done:\nthere\u2019s no arguing with the mentally ill!\n \u2018And why, actually, were you brought here?\u2019 the doctor asked, after listening\nattentively to Homeless\u2019s denunciations.\n \u2018Devil take them, the numskulls! They seized me, tied me up with some rags,\nand dragged me away in a truck!\u2019\n \u2018May I ask why you came to the restaurant in just your underwear?\u2019\n \u2018There\u2019s nothing surprising about that,\u2019 Ivan replied. \u2018I went for a swim in the\nMoscow River, so they filched my clothes and left me this trash! I couldn\u2019t very\nwell walk around Moscow naked! I put it on because I was hurrying to Griboedov\u2019s\nrestaurant.\u2019\n The doctor glanced questioningly at Riukhin, who muttered glumly:\n \u2018The name of the restaurant.\u2019\n \u2018Aha,\u2019 said the doctor, \u2018and why were you in such a hurry? Some business\nmeeting?\u2019\n \u2018I\u2019m trying to catch the consultant,\u2019 Ivan Nikolaevich said and looked around\nanxiously.\n \u2018What consultant?\u2019\n \u2018Do you know Berlioz?\u2019 Ivan asked significantly.\n \u2018The \u2026 composer?\u2019\n Ivan got upset.\n \u2018What composer? Ah, yes\u2026 Ah, no. The composer has the same name as Misha\nBerlioz.\u2019\n Riukhin had no wish to say anything, but was forced to explain:\n \u2018The secretary of Massolit, Berlioz, was run over by a tram-car tonight at the\nPatriarch\u2019s Ponds.\u2019\n \u2018Don\u2019t blab about what you don\u2019t know!\u2019 Ivan got angry with Riukhin. \u2018I was\nthere, not you! He got him under the tram-car on purpose!\u2019\n \u2018Pushed him?\u2019\n \u2018\u201cPushed him\u201d, nothing!\u2019 Ivan exclaimed, angered by the general obtuseness.\n\u2018His kind don\u2019t need to push! He can perform such stunts\u2014hold on to your hat! He\nknew beforehand that Berlioz would get under the tram-car!\u2019\n \u2018And did anyone besides you see this consultant?\u2019\n \u2018That\u2019s the trouble, it was just Berlioz and I.\u2019\n \u2018So. And what measures did you take to catch this murderer?\u2019 Here the doctor\nturned and sent a glance towards a woman in a white coat, who was sitting at a\ntable to one side. She took out a sheet of paper and began filling in the blank\nspaces in its columns.\n \u2018Here\u2019s what measures: I took a little candle from the kitchen\u2026\u2019\n \u2018That one?\u2019 asked the doctor, pointing to the broken candle lying on the table in\nfront of the woman, next to the icon.\n That very one, and\u2026\u2018\n \u2018And why the icon?\u2019\n \u2018Ah, yes, the icon\u2026\u2019 Ivan blushed. \u2018It was the icon that frightened them most of\nall.\u2019 He again jabbed his finger in the direction of Riukhin. \u2018But the thing is that\nhe, the consultant, he \u2026 let\u2019s speak directly \u2026 is mixed up with the unclean\npowers \u2026 and you won\u2019t catch him so easily.\u2019\n The orderlies for some reason snapped to attention and fastened their eyes on\nIvan.\n \u2018Yes, sirs,\u2019 Ivan went on, \u2018mixed up with them! An absolute fact. He spoke\npersonally with Pontius Pilate. And there\u2019s no need to stare at me like that. I\u2019m\ntelling the truth! He saw everything - the balcony and the palm trees. In short, he\nwas at Pontius Pilate\u2019s, I can vouch for it.\u2018\n \u2018Come, come\u2026\u2019\n \u2018Well, so I pinned the icon on my chest and ran\u2026\u2019\n Here the clock suddenly struck twice.\n \u2018Oh-oh!\u2019 Ivan exclaimed and got up from the couch. \u2018It\u2019s two o\u2019clock, and I\u2019m\nwasting time with you! Excuse me, where\u2019s the telephone?\u2018\n \u2018Let him use the telephone,\u2019 the doctor told the orderlies.\n Ivan grabbed the receiver, and the woman meanwhile quietly asked Riukhin:\n \u2018Is he married?\u2019\n \u2018Single,\u2019 Riukhin answered fearfully.\n \u2018Member of a trade union?\u2019\n \u2018Yes.\u2019\n \u2018Police?\u2019 Ivan shouted into the receiver. \u2018Police? Comrade officer-on-duty, give\norders at once for five motor cycles with machine-guns to be sent out to catch the\nforeign consultant. What? Come and pick me up, I\u2019ll go with you\u2026 It\u2019s the poet\nHomeless speaking from the madhouse\u2026 What\u2019s your address?\u2019 Homeless asked\nthe doctor in a whisper, covering the receiver with his hand, and then again\nshouting into it: \u2018Are you listening? Hello! \u2026 Outrageous!\u2019 Ivan suddenly screamed\nand hurled the receiver against the wall. Then he turned to the doctor, offered him\nhis hand, said \u2018Goodbye\u2019 drily, and made as if to leave.\n \u2018For pity\u2019s sake, where do you intend to go?\u2019 the doctor said, peering into Ivan\u2019s\neyes. \u2018In the dead of night, in your underwear ... You\u2019re not feeling well, stay with\nus.\u2019\n \u2018Let me pass,\u2019 Ivan said to the orderlies, who closed ranks at the door. \u2018Will you\nlet me pass or not?\u2019 the poet shouted in a terrible voice.\n Riukhin trembled, but the woman pushed a button on the table and a shiny\nlittle box with a sealed ampoule popped out on to its glass surface.\n \u2018Ah, so?!\u2019 Ivan said, turning around with a wild and hunted look. \u2018Well, then\u2026\nGoodbye!\u2019 And he rushed head first into the window-blind.\n The crash was rather forceful, but the glass behind the blind gave no crack, and\nin an instant Ivan Nikolaevich was struggling in the hands of the orderlies. He\ngasped, tried to bite, shouted:\n \u2018So that\u2019s the sort of windows you\u2019ve got here! Let me go! Let me go!\u2026\u2019\n A syringe flashed in the doctor\u2019s hand, with a single movement the woman slit\nthe threadbare sleeve of the shirt and seized the arm with unwomanly strength.\nThere was a smell of ether, Ivan went limp in the hands of the four people, the deft\ndoctor took advantage of this moment and stuck the needle into Ivan\u2019s arm. They\nheld Ivan for another few seconds and then lowered him on to the couch.\n \u2018Bandits!\u2019 Ivan shouted and jumped up from the couch, but was installed on it\nagain. The moment they let go of him, he again jumped up, but sat back down by\nhimself. He paused, gazing around wildly, then unexpectedly yawned, then smiled\nmaliciously.\n \u2018Locked me up after all,\u2019 he said, yawned again, unexpectedly lay down, put his\nhead on the pillow, his fist under his head like a child, and muttered now in a\nsleepy voice, without malice: \u2018Very well, then \u2026 you\u2019ll pay for it yourselves\u2026 I\u2019ve\nwarned you, you can do as you like\u2026 I\u2019m now interested most of all in Pontius\nPilate\u2026 Pilate\u2026\u2019, and he closed his eyes.\n \u2018A bath, a private room, number 117, and a nurse to watch him,\u2019 the doctor\nordered as he put his glasses on. Here Riukhin again gave a start: the white door\nopened noiselessly, behind it a corridor could be seen, lit by blue night-lights. Out\nof the corridor rolled a stretcher on rubber wheels, to which the quieted Ivan was\ntransferred, and then he rolled off down the corridor and the door closed behind\nhim.\n \u2018Doctor,\u2019 the shaken Riukhin asked in a whisper, \u2018it means he\u2019s really ill?\u2019\n \u2018Oh, yes,\u2019 replied the doctor.\n \u2018But what\u2019s wrong with him, then?\u2019 Riukhin asked timidly.\n The tired doctor glanced at Riukhin and answered listlessly:\n \u2018Locomotor and speech excitation \u2026 delirious interpretations\u2026 A complex case,\nit seems. Schizophrenia, I suppose. Plus this alcoholism\u2026\u2019\n Riukhin understood nothing from the doctor\u2019s words, except that things were\nevidently not so great with Ivan Nikolaevich. He sighed and asked:\n \u2018But what\u2019s all this talk of his about some consultant?\u2019\n \u2018He must have seen somebody who struck his disturbed imagination. Or maybe\na hallucination\u2026\u2019\n A few minutes later the truck was carrying Riukhin off to Moscow. Day was\nbreaking, and the light of the street lights still burning along the highway was now\nunnecessary and unpleasant. The driver was vexed at having wasted the night,\ndrove the truck as fast as he could, and skidded on the turns.\n Now the woods dropped off, stayed somewhere behind, and the river went\nsomewhere to the side, and an omnium gatherum came spilling to meet the truck:\nfences with sentry boxes and stacks of wood, tall posts and some sort of poles,\nwith spools strung on the poles, heaps of rubble, the earth scored by canals\u2014in\nshort, you sensed that she was there, Moscow, right there, around the turn, and\nabout to heave herself upon you and engulf you.\n Riukhin was jolted and tossed about; the sort of stump he had placed himself\non kept trying to slide out from under him. The restaurant napkins, thrown in by\nthe policeman and Pantelei, who had left earlier by bus, moved all around the\nflatbed. Riukhin tried to collect them, but then, for some reason hissing spitefully:\n\u2018Devil take them! What am I doing fussing like a fool?\u2026\u2019, he spurned them aside\nwith his foot and stopped looking at them.\n The rider\u2019s state of mind was terrible. It was becoming clear that his visit to the\nhouse of sorrow had left the deepest mark on him. Riukhin tried to understand\nwhat was tormenting him. The corridor with blue lights, which had stuck itself to\nhis memory? The thought that there is no greater misfortune in the world than the\nloss of reason? Yes, yes, of course, that, too. But that that\u2019s only a general\nthought. There\u2019s something else. What is it? An insult, that\u2019s what. Yes, yes,\ninsulting words hurled right in his face by Homeless. And the trouble is not that\nthey were insulting, but that there was truth in them.\n The poet no longer looked around, but, staring into the dirty, shaking floor,\nbegan muttering something, whining, gnawing at himself.\n Yes, poetry\u2026 He was thirty-two years old! And, indeed, what then? So then he\nwould go on writing his several poems a year. Into old age? Yes, into old age. What\nwould these poems bring him? Glory? \u2018What nonsense! Don\u2019t deceive yourself, at\nleast. Glory will never come to someone who writes bad poems. What makes them\nbad? The truth, he was telling the truth!\u2019 Riukhin addressed himself mercilessly. \u2018I\ndon\u2019t believe in anything I write!\u2026\u2019\n Poisoned by this burst of neurasthenia, the poet swayed, the floor under him\nstopped shaking. Riukhin raised his head and saw that he had long been in\nMoscow, and, what\u2019s more, that it was dawn over Moscow, that the cloud was\nunderlit with gold, that his truck had stopped, caught in a column of other\nvehicles at the turn on to the boulevard, and that very close to him on a pedestal\nstood a metal man, his head inclined slightly, gazing at the boulevard with\nindifference.\n Some strange thoughts flooded the head of the ailing poet. There\u2019s an example\nof real luck\u2026\u2018 Here Riukhin rose to his full height on the flatbed of the truck and\nraised his arm, for some reason attacking the cast-iron man who was not\nbothering anyone. \u2019Whatever step he made in his life, whatever happened to him, it\nall turned to his benefit, it all led to his glory! But what did he do? I can\u2019t\nconceive\u2026 Is there anything special in the words: \u201cThe snowstorm covers\u2026\u201d? I\ndon\u2019t understand! \u2026 Luck, sheer luck!\u2018 Riukhin concluded with venom, and felt\nthe truck moving under him. \u2019He shot him, that white guard shot him, smashed\nhis hip, and assured his immortality\u2026\u2018\n The column began to move. In no more than two minutes, the completely ill and\neven aged poet was entering the veranda of Griboedov\u2019s. It was now empty. In a\ncomer some company was finishing its drinks, and in the middle the familiar\nmaster of ceremonies was bustling about, wearing a skullcap, with a glass of\nAbrau wine in his hand.\n Riukhin, laden with napkins, was met affably by Archibald Archibaldovich and\nat once relieved of the cursed rags. Had Riukhin not become so worn out in the\nclinic and on the truck, he would certainly have derived pleasure from telling how\neverything had gone in the hospital and embellishing the story with invented\ndetails. But just then he was far from such things, and, little observant though\nRiukhin was, now, after the torture on the truck, he peered keenly at the pirate for\nthe first time and realized that, though the man asked about Homeless and even\nexclaimed \u2018Ai-yai-yai!\u2019, he was essentially quite indifferent to Homeless\u2019s fate and\ndid not feel a bit sorry for him. \u2018And bravo! Right you are!\u2019 Riukhin thought with\ncynical, self-annihilating malice and, breaking off the story about the\nschizophrenia, begged:\n \u2018Archibald Archibaldovich, a drop of vodka ...\u2019\n The pirate made a compassionate face and whispered:\n \u2018I understand\u2026 this very minute\u2026\u2019 and beckoned to a waiter.\n A quarter of an hour later, Riukhin sat in complete solitude, hunched over his\nbream, drinking glass after glass, understanding and recognizing that it was no\nlonger possible to set anything right in his life, that it was only possible to forget.\n The poet had wasted his night while others were feasting and now understood\nthat it was impossible to get it back. One needed only to raise one\u2019s head from the\nlamp to the sky to understand that the night was irretrievably lost. Waiters were\nhurriedly tearing the tablecloths from the tables. The cats slinking around the\nveranda had a morning look. Day irresistibly heaved itself upon the poet.\n",
        "ttl": 3600
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