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    "encrypted": "BE902271390EE601F162DE7BC6F880458426226BAEDBB23268452B973B8F8247F8792ED0920A0148AA66CB739EC236B5D242036D5771BDE34EB019559A6F43C879F0DE0CC2BD4DA8",
    "zone": "merch",
    "info": "The Master and Margarita, BOOK 1, ch 15\nby Mikhail Bulgakov, 1891-1940\nTranslated by:\nRichard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky",
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        "data": "hapter 15\nNikanor Ivanovich\u2018s Dream.\n It is not difficult to guess that the fat man with the purple physiognomy who\nwas put in room 119 of the clinic was Nikanor Ivanovich Bosoy.\n He got to Professor Stravinsky not at once, however, but after first visiting\nanother place. Of this other place little remained in Nikanor Ivanovich\u2019s\nmemory. He recalled only a desk, a bookcase and a sofa.\n There a conversation was held with Nikanor Ivanovich, who had some sort of\nhaze before his eyes from the rush of blood and mental agitation, but the\nconversation came out somehow strange, muddled, or, better to say, did not come\nout at all.\n The very first question put to Nikanor Ivanovich was the following \n \u2018Are you Nikanor Ivanovich Bosoy, chairman of the house committee at no. 302-\nbis on Sadovaya Street?\u2019\n To this Nikanor Ivanovich, bursting into terrible laughter, replied literally thus:\n \u2018I\u2019m Nikanor, of course I\u2019m Nikanor! But what the deuce kind of chairman am I?\u2019\n \u2018Meaning what?\u2019 the question was asked with a narrowing of eyes.\n \u2018Meaning,\u2019 he replied, \u2018that if I was chairman, I should have determined at once\nthat he was an unclean power! Otherwise\u2014what is it? A cracked pince-nez, all in\nrags \u2026 what kind of foreigner\u2019s interpreter could he be?\u2019\n \u2018Who are you talking about?\u2019 Nikanor Ivanovich was asked.\n \u2018Koroviev!\u2019 Nikanor Ivanovich cried out. \u2018Got himself lodged in our apartment\nnumber fifty. Write it down\u2014Koroviev! He must be caught at once. Write it down\u2014\nthe sixth entrance. He\u2019s there.\u2019\n \u2018Where did you get the currency?\u2019 Nikanor Ivanovich was asked soulfully.\n \u2018As God is true, as God is almighty,\u2019 Nikanor Ivanovich began, \u2018he sees\neverything, and it serves me right. I never laid a finger on it, never even suspected\nwhat it was, this currency! God is punishing me for my iniquity,\u2019 Nikanor\nIvanovich went on with feeling, now buttoning, now unbuttoning his shirt, now\ncrossing himself. \u2018I took! I took, but I took ours, Soviet money! I\u2019d register people\nfor money, I don\u2019t argue, it happened. Our secretary Bedsornev is a good one, too,\nanother good one! Frankly speaking, there\u2019s nothing but thieves in the house\nmanagement\u2026 But I never took currency!\u2019\n To the request that he stop playing the fool and tell how the dollars got into the\nventilation, Nikanor Ivanovich went on his knees and swayed, opening his mouth\nas if he meant to swallow a section of the parquet.\n \u2018If you want,\u2019 he mumbled, \u2018I\u2019ll eat dirt that I didn\u2019t do it! And Koroviev he\u2019s the\ndevil!\u2019\n All patience has its limits, and the voice at the desk was now raised, hinting to\nNikanor Ivanovich that it was time he began speaking in human language.\n Here the room with that same sofa resounded with Nikanor Ivanovich\u2019s wild\nroaring, as he jumped up from his knees:\n \u2018There he is! There, behind the bookcase! He\u2019s grinning! And his pince-nez\u2026\nHold him! Spray the room with holy water!\u2019\n The blood left Nikanor Ivanovich\u2019s face. Trembling, he made crosses in the air,\nrushing to the door and back, intoned some prayer, and finally began spouting\nsheer gibberish.\n It became perfectly clear that Nikanor Ivanovich was unfit for any conversation.\nHe was taken out and put in a separate room, where he calmed down somewhat\nand only prayed and sobbed.\n They did, of course, go to Sadovaya and visit apartment no. 50. But they did not\nfind any Koroviev there, and no one in the house either knew or had seen any\nKoroviev. The apartment occupied by the late Berlioz, as well as by the Yaltavisiting Likhodeev, was empty, and in the study wax seals hung peacefully on the\nbookcases, unbroken by anyone. With that they left Sadovaya, and there also\ndeparted with them the perplexed and dispirited secretary of the house\nmanagement, Bedsornev.\n In the evening Nikanor Ivanovich was delivered to Stravinsky\u2019s clinic. There he\nbecame so agitated that an injection, made according to Stravinsky\u2019s recipe, had\nto be given him, and only after midnight did Nikanor Ivanovich fall asleep in room\n119, every now and then emitting a heavy, painful moan.\n But the longer he slept, the easier his sleep became. He stopped tossing and\ngroaning, his breathing became easy and regular, and he was left alone. Then\nNikanor Ivanovich was visited by a dream, at the basis of which undoubtedly lay\nthe experience of that day. It began with Nikanor Ivanovich seeing as it were some\npeople with golden trumpets in their hands leading him, and very solemnly, to a\nbig lacquered door. At this door his companions played as it were a flourish for\nNikanor Ivanovich, and then from the sky a resounding bass said merrily:\n \u2018Welcome, Nikanor Ivanovich, turn over your currency!\u2019\n Exceedingly astonished, Nikanor Ivanovich saw a black loudspeaker above him.\n Then he found himself for some reason in a theatre house, where crystal\nchandeliers blazed under a gilded ceiling and Quinquet lamps on the walls.\nEverything was as it ought to be in a small-sized but very costly theatre. There\nwas a stage closed off by a velvet curtain, its dark cerise background spangled, as\nif with stars, with oversized gold pieces, there was a prompter\u2019s box, and there was\neven an audience.\n What surprised Nikanor Ivanovich was that this audience was all of the same\nsex male and all for some reason bearded. Besides that, it was striking that\nthere were no seats in the theatre, and the audience was all sitting on the floor,\nsplendidly polished and slippery.\n Abashed in this new and big company, Nikanor Ivanovich, after a brief\nhesitation, followed the general example and sat down on the parquet Turkishfashion, huddled between some stalwart, bearded redhead and another citizen,\npale and quite overgrown. None of the sitters paid any attention to the newly\narrived spectator.\n Here the soft ringing of a bell was heard, the lights in the house went out, and\nthe curtain opened to reveal a lighted stage with an armchair, a little table on\nwhich stood a golden bell, and a solid black velvet backdrop.\n An artiste came out from the wings in an evening jacket, smoothly shaven, his\nhair neatly parted, young and with very pleasant features. The audience in the\nhouse livened up, and everyone turned towards the stage. The artiste advanced to\nthe prompter\u2019s box and rubbed his hands.\n \u2018All sitting?\u2019 he asked in a soft baritone and smiled to the house.\n \u2018Sitting, sitting,\u2019 a chorus of tenors and basses answered from the house.\n \u2018Hm\u2026\u2019 the artiste began pensively, \u2018and how you\u2019re not sick of it I just don\u2019t\nunderstand! Everybody else is out walking around now, enjoying the spring sun\nand the warmth, and you\u2019re stuck in here on the floor of a stuffy theatre! Is the\nprogramme so interesting? Tastes differ, however,\u2019 the artiste concluded\nphilosophically.\n Then he changed both the timbre of his voice and its intonation, and announced\ngaily and resoundingly:\n \u2018And now for the next number on our programme Nikanor Ivanovich Bosoy,\nchairman of a house committee and director of a dietetic kitchen. Nikanor\nIvanovich, on-stage!\u2019\n General applause greeted the artiste. The surprised Nikanor Ivanovich goggled\nhis eyes, while the master of ceremonies, blocking the glare of the footlights with\nhis hand, located him among the sitters and tenderly beckoned him on-stage with\nhis finger. And Nikanor Ivanovich, without knowing how, found himself on-stage.\nBeams of coloured light struck his eyes from in front and below, which at once\ncaused the house and the audience to sink into darkness.\n \u2018Well, Nikanor Ivanovich, set us a good example, sir,\u2019 the young artiste said\nsoulfully, \u2018turn over your currency.\u2019\n Silence ensued. Nikanor Ivanovich took a deep breath and quietly began to\nspeak:\n \u2018I swear to God that I\u2026\u2019\n But before he had time to get the words out, the whole house burst into shouts\nof indignation. Nikanor Ivanovich got confused and fell silent.\n \u2018As far as I understand you,\u2019 said the programme announcer, \u2018you wanted to\nswear to God that you haven\u2019t got any currency?\u2019, and he gazed sympathetically at\nNikanor Ivanovich.\n \u2018Exactly right, I haven\u2019t,\u2018 replied Nikanor Ivanovich.\n \u2018Right,\u2019 responded the artiste, \u2018and \u2026 excuse the indiscretion, where did the four\nhundred dollars that were found in the privy of the apartment of which you and\nyour wife are the sole inhabitants come from?\u2019\n \u201cMagic!\u2018 someone in the dark house said with obvious irony.\n \u2018Exactly right\u2014magic,\u2019 Nikanor Ivanovich timidly replied, vaguely addressing\neither the artiste or the dark house, and he explained: \u2018Unclean powers, the\ncheckered interpreter stuck me with them.\u2019\n And again the house raised an indignant roar. When silence came, the artiste\nsaid:\n \u2018See what La Fontaine fables I have to listen to! Stuck him with four hundred\ndollars! Now, all of you here are currency dealers, so I address you as experts: is\nthat conceivable?\u2019\n \u2018We\u2019re not currency dealers,\u2019 various offended voices came from the theatre,\n\u2018but, no, it\u2019s not conceivable!\u2019\n \u2018I\u2019m entirely of the same mind,\u2019 the artiste said firmly, \u2018and let me ask you: what\nis it that one can be stuck with?\u2019\n \u2018A baby!\u2019 someone cried from the house.\n \u2018Absolutely correct,\u2019 the programme announcer confirmed, \u2018a baby, an\nanonymous letter, a tract, an infernal machine, anything else, but no one will stick\nyou with four hundred dollars, for such idiots don\u2019t exist in nature.\u2019 And turning\nto Nikanor Ivanovich, the artiste added reproachfully and sorrowfully: \u2018You\u2019ve\nupset me, Nikanor Ivanovich, and I was counting on you. So, our number didn\u2019t\ncome off.\u2019\n Whistles came from the house, addressed to Nikanor Ivanovich.\n \u2018He\u2019s a currency dealer,\u2019 they shouted from the house, \u2018and we innocent ones\nhave to suffer for the likes of him!\u2019\n \u2018Don\u2019t scold him,\u2019 the master of ceremonies said softly, \u2018he\u2019ll repent.\u2019 And\nturning to Nikanor Ivanovich, his blue eyes filled with tears, he added: \u2018Well,\nNikanor Ivanovich, you may go to your place.\u2019\n After that the artiste rang the bell and announced loudly:\n \u2018Intermission, you blackguards!\u2019\n The shaken Nikanor Ivanovich, who unexpectedly for himself had become a\nparticipant in some sort of theatre programme, again found himself in his place on\nthe floor. Here he dreamed that the house was plunged in total darkness, and fiery\nred words leaped out on the walls: \u2018Turn over your currency!\u2019 Then the curtain\nopened again and the master of ceremonies invited:\n \u2018I call Sergei Gerardovich Dunchil to the stage.\u2019\n Dunchil turned out to be a fine-looking but rather unkempt man of about fifty.\n \u2018Sergei Gerardovich,\u2019 the master of ceremonies addressed him, \u2018you\u2019ve been\nsitting here for a month and a half now, stubbornly refusing to turn over the\ncurrency you still have, while the country is in need of it, and you have no use for\nit whatsoever. And still you persist. You\u2019re an intelligent man, you understand it\nall perfectly well, and yet you don\u2019t want to comply with me.\u2019\n \u2018To my regret, there is nothing I can do, since I have no more currency,\u2019 Dunchil\ncalmly replied.\n \u2018Don\u2019t you at least have some diamonds?\u2019 asked the artiste.\n \u2018No diamonds either.\u2019\n The artiste hung his head and pondered, then clapped his hands. A middle-aged\nlady came out from the wings, fashionably dressed that is, in a collarless coat\nand a tiny hat. The lady looked worried, but Dunchil glanced at her without\nmoving an eyebrow.\n \u2018Who is this lady?\u2019 the programme announcer asked Dunchil.\n That is my wife,\u2018 Dunchil replied with dignity and looked at the lady\u2019s long neck\nwith a certain repugnance.\n \u2018We have troubled you, Madame Dunchil,\u2019 the master of ceremonies adverted to\nthe lady, \u2018with regard to the following: we wanted to ask you, does your husband\nhave any more currency?\u2019\n \u2018He turned it all over the other time,\u2019 Madame Dunchil replied nervously.\n \u2018Right,\u2019 said the artiste, \u2018well, then, if it\u2019s so, it\u2019s so. If he turned it all over, then\nwe ought to part with Sergei Gerardovich immediately, there\u2019s nothing else to do! If\nyou wish, Sergei Gerardovich, you may leave the theatre.\u2019 And the artiste made a\nregal gesture.\n Dunchil turned calmly and with dignity, and headed for the wings.\n \u2018Just a moment!\u2019 the master of ceremonies stopped him. \u2018Allow me on parting to\nshow you one more number from our programme.\u2019 And again he clapped his\nhands.\n The black backdrop parted, and on to the stage came a young beauty in a ball\ngown, holding in her hands a golden tray on which lay a fat wad tied with candybox ribbon and a diamond necklace from which blue, yellow and red fire leaped in\nall directions.\n Dunchil took a step back and his face went pale. The house froze.\n \u2018Eighteen thousand dollars and a necklace worth forty thousand in gold,\u2019 the\nartiste solemnly announced, \u2018kept by Sergei Gerardovich in the city of Kharkov, in\nthe apartment of his mistress, Ida Herkulanovna Vors, whom we have the pleasure\nof seeing here before us and who so kindly helped in discovering these treasures\u2014\npriceless, yet useless in the hands of a private person. Many thanks, Ida\nHerkulanovna!\u2019\n The beauty smiled, flashing her teeth, and her lush eyelashes fluttered.\n \u2018And under your so very dignified mask,\u2019 the artiste adverted to Dunchil, \u2018is\nconcealed a greedy spider and an astonishing bamboozler and liar. You wore\neveryone out during this month and a half with your dull obstinacy. Go home now,\nand let the hell your wife sets up for you be your punishment.\u2019\n Dunchil swayed and, it seems, wanted to fall down, but was held up by\nsomeone\u2019s sympathetic hands. Here the front curtain dropped and concealed all\nthose on-stage.\n Furious applause shook the house, so much so that Nikanor Ivanovich fancied\nthe lights were leaping in the chandeliers. When the front curtain went up, there\nwas no one on-stage except the lone artiste. Greeted with a second burst of\napplause, he bowed and began to speak:\n \u2018In the person of this Dunchil, our programme has shown you a typical ass. I\ndid have the pleasure of saying yesterday that the concealing of currency is\nsenseless. No one can make use of it under any circumstances, I assure you. Let\u2019s\ntake this same Dunchil. He gets a splendid salary and doesn\u2019t want for anything.\nHe has a splendid apartment, a wife and a beautiful mistress. But no, instead of\nliving quietly and peacefully without any troubles, having turned over the currency\nand stones, this mercenary blockhead gets himself exposed in front of everybody,\nand to top it off contracts major family trouble. So, who\u2019s going to turn over? Any\nvolunteers? In that case, for the next number on our programme, a famous\ndramatic talent, the actor Kurolesov, Savva Potapovich, especially invited here, will\nperform excerpts from The Covetous Knight by the poet Pushkin.\u2019\n The promised Kurolesov was not slow in coming on stage and turned out to be a\nstrapping and beefy man, clean-shaven, in a tailcoat and white tie. Without any\npreliminaries, he concocted a gloomy face, knitted his brows, and began speaking\nin an unnatural voice, glancing sidelong at the golden bell:\n \u2018As a young scapegrace awaits a tryst with some sly strumpet\u2026\u2019\n And Kurolesov told many bad things about himself. Nikanor Ivanovich heard\nKurolesov confess that some wretched widow had gone on her knees to him,\nhowling, in the rain, but had failed to move the actor\u2019s callous heart.\n Before his dream, Nikanor Ivanovich had been completely ignorant of the poet\nPushkin\u2019s works, but the man himself he knew perfectly well and several times a\nday used to say phrases like: And who\u2019s going to pay the rent\u2014Pushkin? or\nThen who did unscrew the bulb on the stairway\u2014Pushkin? or So who\u2019s going to buy\nthe fuel\u2014Pushkin?\n Now, having become acquainted with one of his works, Nikanor Ivanovich felt\nsad, imagined the woman on her knees, with her orphaned children, in the rain,\nand involuntarily thought: \u2018What a type, though, this Kurolesov!\u2019\n And the latter, ever raising his voice, went on with his confession and got\nNikanor Ivanovich definitively muddled, because he suddenly started addressing\nsomeone who was not on-stage, and responded for this absent one himself, calling\nhimself now dear sir, now baron, now father, now son, now formally, and now\nfamiliarly.\n Nikanor Ivanovich understood only one thing, that the actor died an evil death,\ncrying out: \u2018Keys! My keys!\u2019, after which he collapsed on the floor, gasping and\ncarefully tearing off his tie.\n Having died, Kurolesov got up, brushed the dust from his trousers, bowed with\na false smile, and withdrew to the accompaniment of thin applause. And the\nmaster of ceremonies began speaking thus:\n \u2018We have just heard The Covetous Knight wonderfully performed by Savva\nPotapovich. This knight hoped that frolicking nymphs would come running to him,\nand that many other pleasant things in the same vein would occur. But, as you\nsee, none of it happened, no nymphs came running to him, and the muses paid\nhim no tribute, and he raised no mansions, but, on the contrary, ended quite\nbadly, died of a stroke, devil take him, on his chest of currency and jewels. I warn\nyou that the same sort of thing, if not worse, is going to happen to you if you don\u2019t\nturn over your currency!\u2019\n Whether Pushkin\u2019s poetry produced such an effect, or it was the prosaic speech\nof the master of ceremonies, in any case a shy voice suddenly came from the\nhouse:\n \u2018I\u2019ll turn over my currency.\u2019\n \u2018Kindly come to the stage,\u2019 the master of ceremonies courteously invited, peering\ninto the dark house.\n On-stage appeared a short, fair-haired citizen, who, judging by his face, had not\nshaved in about three weeks.\n \u2018Beg pardon, what is your name?\u2019 the master of ceremonies inquired.\n \u2018Kanavkin, Nikolai,\u2019 the man responded shyly.\n \u2018Ah! Very pleased, Citizen Kanavkin. And so?\u2026\u2019\n \u2018I\u2019ll turn it over,\u2019 Kanavkin said quietly.\n \u2018How much?\u2019\n \u2018A thousand dollars and twenty ten-rouble gold pieces.\u2019\n \u2018Bravo! That\u2019s all, then?\u2019\n The programme announcer stared straight into Kanavkin\u2019s eyes, and it even\nseemed to Nikanor Ivanovich that those eyes sent out rays that penetrated\nKanavkin like X-rays. The house stopped breathing.\n \u2018I believe you!\u2019 the artiste exclaimed finally and extinguished his gaze. \u2018I do!\nThese eyes are not lying! How many times have I told you that your basic error\nconsists in underestimating the significance of the human eye. Understand that\nthe tongue can conceal the truth, but the eyes\u2014never! A sudden question is put to\nyou, you don\u2019t even flinch, in one second you get hold of yourself and know what\nyou must say to conceal the truth, and you speak quite convincingly, and not a\nwrinkle on your face moves, but\u2014alas\u2014the truth which the question stirs up from\nthe bottom of your soul leaps momentarily into your eyes, and it\u2019s all over! They\nsee it, and you\u2019re caught!\u2019\n Having delivered, and with great ardour, this highly convincing speech, the\nartiste tenderly inquired of Kanavkin:\n \u2018And where is it hidden?\u2019\n \u2018With my aunt, Porokhovnikova, on Prechistenka.\u2019\n \u2018Ah! That\u2019s \u2026 wait \u2026 that\u2019s Klavdia Ilyinishna, isn\u2019t it?\u2019\n \u2018Yes.\u2019\n \u2018Ah, yes, yes, yes, yes! A separate little house? A little front garden opposite? Of\ncourse, I know, I know! And where did you put it there?\u2019\n \u2018In the cellar, in a candy tin\u2026\u2019\n The artiste clasped his hands.\n \u2018Have you ever seen the like?\u2019 he cried out, chagrined. \u2018Why, it\u2019ll get damp and\nmouldy there! Is it conceivable to entrust currency to such people? Eh? Sheer\nchildishness! By God!\u2026\u2019\n Kanavkin himself realized he had fouled up and was in for it, and he hung his\ntufty head.\n \u2018Money,\u2019 the artiste went on, \u2018must be kept in the state bank, in special dry and\nwell-guarded rooms, and by no means in some aunt\u2019s cellar, where it may, in\nparticular, suffer damage from rats! Really, Kanavkin, for shame! You\u2019re a grownup!\u2019\n Kanavkin no longer knew what to do with himself, and merely picked at the\nlapel of his jacket with his finger.\n \u2018Well, all right,\u2019 the artiste relented, \u2018let bygones be ...\u2019 And he suddenly added\nunexpectedly: \u2018Ah, by the way \u2026 so that in one \u2026 to save a trip \u2026 this same aunt\nalso has some, eh?\u2019\n Kanavkin, never expecting such a turn of affairs, wavered, and the theatre fell\nsilent.\n \u2018Ehh, Kanavkin ...\u2019 the master of ceremonies said in tender reproach, \u2018and here I\nwas praising him! Look, he just went and messed it up for no reason at all! It\u2019s\nabsurd, Kanavkin! Wasn\u2019t I just talking about eyes? Can\u2019t we see that the aunt\nhas got some? Well, then why do you torment us for nothing?\u2019\n \u2018She has!\u2019 Kanavkin cried dashingly.\n \u2018Bravo!\u2019 cried the master of ceremonies.\n Bravo!\u2018 the house roared frightfully.\n When things quieted down, the master of ceremonies congratulated Kanavkin,\nshook his hand, offered him a ride home to the city in a car, and told someone in\nthe wings to go in that same car to fetch the aunt and ask her kindly to come for\nthe programme at the women\u2019s theatre.\n \u2018Ah, yes, I wanted to ask you, has the aunt ever mentioned where she hides\nhers?\u2019 the master of ceremonies inquired, courteously offering Kanavkin a cigarette\nand a lighted match. As he lit up, the man grinned somehow wistfully.\n \u2018I believe you, I believe you,\u2019 the artiste responded with a sigh. \u2018Not just her\nnephew, the old pinchfist wouldn\u2019t tell the devil himself! Well, so, we\u2019ll try to\nawaken some human feelings in her. Maybe not all the strings have rotted in her\nusurious little soul. Bye-bye, Kanavkin!\u2019\n And the happy Kanavkin drove off. The artiste inquired whether there were any\nothers who wished to turn over their currency, but was answered with silence.\n \u2018Odd birds, by God!\u2019 the artiste said, shrugging, and the curtain hid him.\n The lights went out, there was darkness for a while, and in it a nervous tenor\nwas heard singing from far away:\n \u2018There great heaps of gold do shine, and all those heaps of gold are Mine\u2026\u2019\n Then twice the sound of subdued applause came from somewhere.\n \u2018Some little lady in the women\u2019s theatre is turning hers over,\u2019 Nikanor\nIvanovich\u2019s red-bearded neighbour spoke up unexpectedly, and added with a sigh:\n\u2018Ah, if it wasn\u2019t for my geese! \u2026 I\u2019ve got fighting geese in Lianozovo, my dear fellow\n\u2026 they\u2019ll die without me, I\u2019m afraid. A fighting bird\u2019s delicate, it needs care\u2026 Ah, if\nit wasn\u2019t for my geese! \u2026 They won\u2019t surprise me with Pushkin\u2026\u2019 And again he\nbegan to sigh.\n Here the house lit up brightly, and Nikanor Ivanovich dreamed that cooks in\nwhite chef\u2019s hats and with ladles in their hands came pouring from all the doors.\nScullions dragged in a cauldron of soup and a stand with cut-up rye bread. The\nspectators livened up. The jolly cooks shuttled among the theatre buffs, ladled out\nbowls of soup, and distributed bread.\n \u2018Dig in, lads,\u2019 the cooks shouted, \u2018and turn over your currency! What\u2019s the point\nof sitting here? Who wants to slop up this swill! Go home, have a good drink, a\nlittle bite, that\u2019s the way!\u2019\n \u2018Now, you, for instance, what\u2019re you doing sitting here, old man?\u2019 Nikanor\nIvanovich was directly addressed by a fat cook with a raspberry-coloured neck, as\nhe offered him a bowl in which a lone cabbage leaf floated in some liquid.\n \u2018I don\u2019t have any! I don\u2019t! I don\u2018t!\u2019 Nikanor Ivanovich cried out in a terrible voice.\n\u2018You understand, I don\u2019t!\u2018\n \u2018You don\u2019t?\u2019 the cook bellowed in a menacing bass. \u2018You don\u2019t?\u2019 he asked in a\ntender woman\u2019s voice. \u2018You don\u2019t, you don\u2018t,\u2019 he murmured soothingly, turning\ninto the nurse Praskovya Fyodorovna.\n She was gently shaking Nikanor Ivanovich by the shoulder as he moaned in his\nsleep. Thn the cooks melted away, and the theatre with its curtain broke up.\nThrough his tears, Nikanor Ivanovich made out his room in the hospital and two\npeople in white coats, who were by no means casual cooks getting at people with\ntheir advice, but the doctor and that same Praskovya Fyodorovna, who was\nholding not a bowl but a little dish covered with gauze, with a syringe lying on it.\n \u2018What is all this?\u2019 Nikanor Ivanovich said bitterly, as they were giving him the\ninjection. \u2018I don\u2019t have any and that\u2019s that! Let Pushkin turn over his currency for\nthem. I don\u2019t have any!\u2019\n \u2018No, you don\u2019t, you don\u2018t,\u2019 the kind-hearted Praskovya Fyodorovna soothed him,\n\u2018and if you don\u2019t, there\u2019s no more to be said.\u2018\n After the injection, Nikanor Ivanovich felt better and fell asleep without any\ndreams.\n But, thanks to his cries, alarm was communicated to room 120, where the\npatient woke up and began looking for his head, and to room 118, where the\nunknown master became restless and wrung his hands in anguish, looking at the\nmoon, remembering the last bitter autumn night of his life, a strip of light under\nthe basement door, and uncurled hair.\n From room 118, the alarm flew by way of the balcony to Ivan, and he woke up\nand began to weep.\n But the doctor quickly calmed all these anxious, sorrowing heads, and they\nbegan to fall asleep. Ivan was the last to become oblivious, as dawn was already\nbreaking over the river. After the medicine, which suffused his whole body, calm\ncame like a wave and covered him. His body grew lighter, his head basked in the\nwarm wind of reverie. He fell asleep, and the last waking thing he heard was the\npre-dawn chirping of birds in the woods. But they soon fell silent, and he began\ndreaming that the sun was already going down over Bald Mountain, and the\nmountain was cordoned off by a double cordon\u2026 \n\n",
        "ttl": 3600
      }
    ]
  }
}