Block

{
  "class": "domain",
  "identity": "D76FDAB0F9D31B265EDDBE77B6B516C844E71E93A720BEF5D892E6039BE4E38D",
  "confirmation": "007F81C6F991EACBAC1754311C10D9E5A332E00200767721829870483C7ECBF8",
  "signing": "0FD6DB8BEA6901A6498D39723EE07661EC22C2A75A15138D5676888BC4ACC4DE",
  "encryption": "AAB9726E514D4788BF327E7E5D1E23DF19C00E8F2BAA537EA10EC1D524D84103",
  "data": {
    "encrypted": "E2AE762AA605C6DD3A22E6E3B656C237371B57DCC65F09D10D1C0B630E50564A695BF9872C49605557A7D764807642823778984D277BEC569010361999E485832E2687989B27E3E7",
    "zone": "merch",
    "info": "The Master and Margarita, BOOK 1, ch 11\nby Mikhail Bulgakov, 1891-1940\nTranslated by:\nRichard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky",
    "records": [
      {
        "type": "TXT",
        "domain": "maybe.merch",
        "data": "Chapter 11\nIvan Splits in Two.\n The woods on the opposite bank of the river, still lit up by the May sun an hour\nearlier, turned dull, smeary, and dissolved.\n Water fell down in a solid sheet outside the window. In the sky, threads flashed\nevery moment, the sky kept bursting open, and the patient\u2019s room was flooded\nwith a tremulous, frightening light.\n Ivan quietly wept, sitting on his bed and looking out at the muddy river boiling\nwith bubbles. At every clap of thunder, he cried out pitifully and buried his face in\nhis hands. Pages covered with Ivan\u2019s writing lay about on the floor. They had been\nblown down by the wind that flew into the room before the storm began.\n The poet\u2019s attempts to write a statement concerning the terrible consultant had\ngone nowhere. As soon as he got the pencil stub and paper from the fat attendant,\nwhose name was Praskovya Fyodorovna, he rubbed his hands in a business-like\nway and hastily settled himself at the little table. The beginning came out quite\nglibly.\n To the police. From Massolit member Ivan Nikolaevich Homeless. A statement.\nYesterday evening I came to the Patriarch\u2019s Ponds with the deceased M. A.\nBerlioz\u2026\u2018\n And right there the poet got confused, mainly owing to the word \u2018deceased\u2019.\nSome nonsensicality emerged at once: what\u2019s this came with the deceased? The\ndeceased don\u2019t go anywhere! Really, for all he knew, they might take him for a\nmadman!\n Having reflected thus, Ivan Nikolaevich began to correct what he had written.\nWhat came out this time was: \u2018\u2026with M. A. Berlioz, subsequently deceased\u2026\u2019 This\ndid not satisfy the author either. He had to have recourse to a third redaction,\nwhich proved still worse than the first two: \u2018Berlioz, who fell under the tramcar\u2026\u2019\u2014and that namesake composer, unknown to anyone, was also dangling\nhere, so he had to put in: \u2018not the composer\u2026\u2019\n After suffering over these two Berliozes, Ivan crossed it all out and decided to\nbegin right off with something very strong, in order to attract the reader\u2019s attention\nat once, so he wrote that a cat had got on a tram-car, and then went back to the\nepisode with the severed head. The head and the consultant\u2019s prediction led him\nto the thought of Pontius Pilate, and for greater conviction Ivan decided to tell the\nwhole story of the procurator in full, from the moment he walked out in his white\ncloak with blood-red lining to the colonnade of Herod\u2019s palace.\n Ivan worked assiduously, crossing out what he had written, putting in new\nwords, and even attempted to draw Pontius Pilate and then a cat standing on its\nhind legs. But the drawings did not help, and the further it went, the more\nconfusing and incomprehensible the poet\u2019s statement became.\n By the time the frightening cloud with smoking edges appeared from far off and\ncovered the woods, and the wind began to blow, Ivan felt that he was strengthless,\nthat he would never be able to manage with the statement, and he would not pick\nup the scattered pages, and he wept quietly and bitterly. The good-natured nurse\nPraskovya Fyodorovna visited the poet during the storm, became alarmed on\nseeing him weeping, closed the blinds so that the lightning would not frighten the\npatient, picked up the pages from the floor, and ran with them for the doctor.\n He came, gave Ivan an injection in the arm, and assured him that he would not\nweep any more, that everything would pass now, everything would change,\neverything would be forgotten.\n The doctor proved right. Soon the woods across the river became as before. It\nwas outlined to the last tree under the sky, which cleared to its former perfect\nblue, and the river grew calm. Anguish had begun to leave Ivan right after the\ninjection, and now the poet lay calmly and looked at the rainbow that stretched\nacross the sky.\n So it went till evening, and he did not even notice how the rainbow melted away,\nhow the sky saddened and faded, how the woods turned black.\n Having drunk some hot milk, Ivan lay down again and marvelled himself at how\nchanged his thinking was. The accursed, demonic cat somehow softened in his\nmemory, the severed head did not frighten him any more, and, abandoning all\nthought of it, Ivan began to reflect that, essentially, it was not so bad in the clinic,\nthat Stravinsky was a clever man and a famous one, and it was quite pleasant to\ndeal with him. Besides, the evening air was sweet and fresh after the storm.\n The house of sorrow was falling asleep. In quiet corridors the frosted white\nlights went out, and in their place, according to regulations, faint blue night-lights\nwere lit, and the careful steps of attendants were heard more and more rarely on\nthe rubber matting of the corridor outside the door.\n Now Ivan lay in sweet languor, glancing at the lamp under its shade, shedding a\nsoftened light from the ceiling, then at the moon rising behind the black woods,\nand conversed with himself.\n \u2018Why, actually, did I get so excited about Berlioz falling under a tram-car?\u2019 the\npoet reasoned. \u2018In the final analysis, let him sink! What am I, in fact, his chum or\nin-law? If we air the question properly, it turns out that, in essence, I really did not\neven know the deceased. What, indeed, did I know about him? Nothing except that\nhe was bald and terribly eloquent. And furthermore, citizens,\u2019 Ivan continued his\nspeech, addressing someone or other, \u2018let\u2019s sort this out: why, tell me, did I get\nfurious at this mysterious consultant, magician and professor with the black and\nempty eye? Why all this absurd chase after him in underpants and with a candle\nin my hand, and then those wild shenanigans in the restaurant?\u2019\n \u2018Uh-uh-uh!\u2019 the former Ivan suddenly said sternly somewhere, either inside or\nover his ear, to the new Ivan. \u2018He did know beforehand that Berlioz\u2019s head would\nbe cut off, didn\u2019t he? How could I not get excited?\u2019\n \u2018What are we talking about, comrades?\u2019 the new Ivan objected to the old, former\nIvan. That things are not quite proper here, even a child can understand. He\u2019s a\none-hundred-per-cent outstanding and mysterious person! But that\u2019s the most\ninteresting thing! The man was personally acquainted with Pontius Pilate, what\ncould be more interesting than that? And, instead of raising a stupid rumpus at\nthe Ponds, wouldn\u2019t it have been more intelligent to question him politely about\nwhat happened further on with Pilate and his prisoner Ha-Nozri? And I started\ndevil knows what! A major occurrence, really\u2014a magazine editor gets run over!\nAnd so, what, is the magazine going to shut down for that? Well, what can be done\nabout it? Man is mortal and, as has rightly been said, unexpectedly mortal. Well,\nmay he rest in peace! Well, so there\u2019ll be another editor, and maybe even more\neloquent than the previous one!\u2018\n After dozing for a while, the new Ivan asked the old Ivan sarcastically:\n \u2018And what does it make me, in that case?\u2019\n \u2018A fool!\u2019 a bass voice said distinctly somewhere, a voice not belonging to either of\nthe Ivans and extremely like the bass of the consultant.\n Ivan, for some reason not offended by the word \u2018fool\u2019, but even pleasantly\nsurprised at it, smiled and drowsily grew quiet. Sleep was stealing over Ivan, and\nhe was already picturing a palm tree on its elephant\u2019s leg, and a cat passing\nby not scary, but merry\u2014and, in short, sleep was just about to come over Ivan,\nwhen the grille suddenly moved noiselessly aside, and a mysterious figure\nappeared on the balcony, hiding from the moonlight, and shook its finger at Ivan.\n Not frightened in the least, Ivan sat up in bed and saw that there was a man on\nthe balcony. And this man, pressing a finger to his lips, whispered:\n \u2018Shhh!\u2026\u2019\n",
        "ttl": 3600
      }
    ]
  }
}