Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen The Protagonist Appears

The stranger raised a finger in warning to Ivan and gave a soft "Shh!" Ivan lowered his legs from the bed and took a closer look: the man was standing on the balcony carefully peeping into the room.He was clean-shaven, with a pointed nose, a frightened look in his eyes, and a head of black hair hanging down his forehead. He was about thirty-eight years old. After the mysterious visitor made sure that there was no one else in the room, he listened again, and then mustered up the courage to walk in.Then Ivan saw that the visitor was dressed in the clothes of the ward: only one underwear, bare feet in slippers, and a long brown blouse draped over the shoulders.

The visitor winked at Ivan, put a bunch of keys into his pocket, and asked softly, "Can you sit down and call me?" Seeing that the master nodded in agreement, he sat down on the sofa chair. "How did you get in?" Ivan followed the warning of the withered finger, and asked in a whisper, "Aren't the iron bars on the balcony locked?" "The fence is locked," the visitor affirmed, "but Praskovya Fedorovna is, alas, a very nice person, if a little careless. I put her down a month ago." I got a bunch of keys. In this way, I can come out of the ward and go to the common balcony, and the balcony of the whole first floor is connected, so I sometimes come out to see the neighbors."

"Since you can go to the balcony, can't you slip away? Maybe it's because our floor is so high?" Ivan asked curiously. "No," the guest replied clearly, "I can't slip away from here. It's not because of the height of the building, but because I have nowhere to go." He paused and added, "So, we will Are you squatting here?" "Squat down." Ivan also said helplessly, while examining the other's unusually disturbed dark brown eyes. "No..." the guest suddenly asked in panic, "but I don't think your illness is manic, right? Otherwise, you know, I can't stand other people's noise, nonsense, violence and Stuff like that. I absolutely hate people screaming, whether it's screaming in pain, screaming in anger, or anything else, I can't stand it. Please put me at ease and tell me you're not manic type?"

"Yesterday I punched a guy in the dog's head in the restaurant," bravely admits the transformed poet. "What's the reason?" asked the guest sternly. "Yes, to be honest, there is no reason." Ivan replied, and he also felt a little embarrassed. "Outrageous!" The guest criticized Ivan.Then he said, "Besides, what words did you use just now?! 'Aim at a guy's dog's head and punch it'? According to your statement, whether that person has a dog's head or a human head on his shoulder, isn't it? Don't you understand? Then, I think, it's probably always a human head. So, you know, it's not good to hit with your fist... Don't do it again, never again!"

After the guest taught Ivan a lesson, he questioned: "What about your profession?" "Poet." For some reason Ivan was reluctant to say this. The visitor felt sad and said loudly: "Cough! I'm so unlucky!" But he immediately realized his slip of the tongue, apologized, and asked again: "Then what's your name?" "Bezdomny." "Hey, hey..." The guest frowned and sighed twice. "Then you...don't like my poems?" Ivan asked curiously. "Very dislike." "Which ones have you read?" "I have never read any of your poems," the guest raised nervously.

"Then how do you say..." "Well, what's so strange about that? Haven't I read other people's poems?" replied the guest, "but... maybe there will be a miracle. Well, I can trust you, so please tell me: yours How about poetry?" "Unbelievable!" Ivan admitted suddenly bravely and frankly. "Don't write in the future!" The visitor's tone seemed to be pleading to the other party. "I promise not to write, I swear!" Ivan said solemnly. The two shook hands tightly to show that they would strictly abide by this promise.At this time, there were light footsteps and voices in the corridor.

"Shh!" The guest hissed softly, went to the balcony in time, and closed the iron fence. Praskovya Fedorovna looked into the ward, asked how Ivan was doing, and asked him whether he would like to sleep with the light off or with the light on.Ivan asked her to turn on the light.And Praskovya Fedorovna bade the patient good night and went away.After everything was quiet, the guests returned to the room. He told Ivan softly: Ward No. 119 had brought a new patient, a fat man with a red face, who was always muttering about the foreign currency in the vent, and swore that Huayuan Street was haunted.

"He scolded Pushkin like hell, and kept yelling: 'Kuroresov, one more! One more!'" the Kakhine told Ivan about the new patient, and his body twitched from time to time.After his mood gradually stabilized, he sat down again and said, "Actually, don't care!" Then he chatted with Ivan and asked, "Then why did you end up in such a place?" ①The surname of an actor at that time.According to the Russian homonym, it may be translated as; Hulaisov. "It's all because of Pontius Pilate." Ivan said, frowning and looking at the floor. "What's going on?!" The guest forgot to be cautious and asked loudly.But immediately he put his hand over his mouth and said, "What an amazing coincidence! I beg you, please, tell me!"

For some reason, Ivan felt that this stranger could be trusted, so he decided to tell him what happened by the Patriarch Lake yesterday.At first he was a little timid, he just murmured, and then he let go of his courage and talked freely.Ivan Nikolaevich finally found someone who was willing to listen to him.Yes, the mysterious key thief didn't see Ivan as a lunatic, and he showed great interest in the story he heard, and, as the story progressed, almost ecstatic at the end.He interrupted Ivan excitedly from time to time, urging: "Speak, speak! Please, please, please, please, don't miss anything!"

Ivan really didn't miss anything, and he himself found it easier to go on with the story.He speaks slowly to the point where Pontius Pilate, wearing a white cloak with a blood-red lining, ascends the verandah. At this time, the mysterious guest put his hands together as if praying, and whispered: "Ah, I guessed right! Ah, I expected it all!" When hearing the place where Berlioz died tragically, the guest inexplicably interjected two sentences, his eyes seemed to be ignited with flames of hatred: "It's a pity, how did the critic Latunsky and the writer Mustislav Lavrovich not meet Berlioz?!" he said angrily, and then again in a very low voice The voice urged: "Go on!"

①The surname Latongski (口) reminds people of 口 (brass).Brass has only the flash of gold, without the quality of gold. When talking about the big black cat holding up the money to buy tickets from the conductor on the tram, the guest was so happy that he couldn't help laughing and almost held his breath.Ivan was also encouraged by his successful description, and couldn't help imitating the way the tomcat held up a silver dime to its beard, squatting on the ground and jumping up.Then he told what happened in the "Griboyedov House".Finally, with a sad face, he ended his narrative very sadly: "In this way, I was sent to the hospital." The guest expressed his sympathy for him, held the poor poet's shoulders and said: "What a pity you are, poet! But, my dear, it's all your own fault. You shouldn't be so presumptuous, even insolent, in his presence. See, you've brought it on yourself. Thank you very much for it, It's a small price to pay for it." "You said 'he', who is he?" Ivan asked excitedly shaking his fists. The guest stared into Ivan's eyes and asked: "You won't panic when you hear that, right? Those of us who live in mental hospitals are not very reliable... There will be no troubles such as calling a doctor or administering a sedative?" "No! No!" Ivan raised his voice. "Tell me, who is he?" "Okay then." The guest agreed.He said solemnly and word by word: "The one you met yesterday at Patriarch Lake was Satan."① ①Satan, transliterated in Hebrew, is the name of the devil and the devil in Judaism and Christian stories.However, in the Book of Job in the Bible, Satan is also represented as one of God's servants. His job is to come to the world to observe the world with God's consent, and to conduct various tests on people. Ivan did what he said, and he did not panic, but he still felt a great shock. "That's impossible! Satan doesn't exist." "Forget it! No matter what others say, you can't say that again. It seems that you are one of the first victims. You know that now you have fallen into a mental hospital, but you still What are you talking about without Satan. How strange!" Ivan was so dazed by what he said, he stopped talking.Just listen to the guest continue to say: "As soon as you began to describe the man with whom you had the honor of speaking yesterday, I guessed who it was. To be honest, I was surprised by Berlioz's behavior! Ordinarily, you, of course, also In a state of innocence," the guest apologized again at this point, "but he Berlioz, as far as I heard, was a man who had read a lot of books! The first few words of the professor's words made me feel so sad. My friends, how could you fail to recognize him?! Then again, you... With all due respect, you are ignorant, I did not say wrong?" "Indeed." The new Ivan, who has changed his mind, agreed. "Isn't it... Even his face you describe - two different eyes, one high and one low eyebrows, are all obvious! Excuse me, I ask by the way, you may not even have Faust in the past." Have you never heard of this opera?" For some reason, Ivan felt extremely embarrassed, his face flushed, and he muttered something about going to the Yalta Sanatorium... "That's right, that's right... that's not surprising! But Berlioz's behavior, I repeat, really surprised me, because he is not only well-read, but also very cunning. Of course, Woland, who is more cunning than him, can hide it, so it should be said that Berlioz is justifiable." "Really?!" Ivan exclaimed himself. "Keep down!" Ivan slapped his forehead vigorously, and said in a hoarse voice: "I see, I see! The first letter on his business card is 'B'! Oh my! Look at this!" Ivan was flustered.He was silent for a moment, staring at the moon floating outside the window and said, "According to this, it is indeed possible that he once stood beside Pontius Pilate? He was born at that time, wasn't he? But these people," Yi said. Wan pointed at the door angrily, "These people insist that I'm mentally ill!" There was a wry smile on the corner of the guest's mouth. "We still have to face the reality!" The guest turned his face out of the window and said, looking at a round of jade plate passing through the clouds, "You and I are both crazy, why not admit it?! You see, he touched you a little One moment, you go crazy, obviously you have the basis for this. However, there is no doubt that what you just said happened exactly. However, it is so unusual that even the talented psychiatrist Stella Professor Vinsky certainly doesn't believe it either. Has he seen you? (Ivan nodded.) The man you're talking to visited Pilate and had breakfast with Kant, and now he's here to visit Moscow." "Then he will definitely make a mess here! We have to try to catch him, right?" The old Ivan on the new Ivan who has not been completely defeated raised his head again, although his words were not so confident. "You've already tried it, forget it!" the guest said sarcastically, "I don't advise others to do this kind of thing. As for saying that he will make some tricks, just rest assured. Alas, alas, let you meet Yes, I did not meet, what a pity! Although I have suffered so much, and now I am discouraged about everything, I can swear that in order to see him, I would rather take Praskovya Fedo Give Rovna this bunch of keys, because I really have nothing else to give. I'm so poor!" "Why do you want to see him?" The guest kept sighing, twitching from time to time, and it took him a long time to say: "You see, how strange this is! I am here because of the same man, Pontius Pilate," added the guest, looking around cautiously, "I wrote about it a year ago. A novel about Pilate, something went wrong." "Are you a writer?" the poet asked with interest. The visitor lowered his face, threatened Ivan with his fist, and said: "I'm the master!" he said, becoming extremely serious, and he took out from the pocket of his overalls a small, oily black cap with the letter "M" ① embroidered on the front with yellow silk thread.He put on the black cap, turned his head to show Ivan his profile, and then let him look at his front, to prove that he was indeed a master.In the end, he added mysteriously: "She sewed this for me herself!" ①Mactep (Master) prefix. "May I ask your surname?" "I don't have a surname any more," replied the strange visitor with bitterness and contempt. "I have renounced everything in life, and I have renounced my surname as well. Forget it." "Then you can even tell me about that novel!" Ivan begged politely. "Well, my story is indeed unusual..." the guest began. ... He studied history at university.Two years ago he was working in a museum in Moscow.Do some translation in my spare time. "Which language do you translate?" Ivan asked curiously. "I know five languages ​​besides my own," replied the visitor, "English, French, German, Latin, and Greek. I also have a rough command of Italian." "Hey, look at you!" whispered Ivan, enviously. The historian lived a lonely life in Moscow without relatives or relatives.But one day, guess what, he hit the lottery and got a hundred thousand rubles! "Can you imagine my astonishment?" whispered the visitor in the black cap, "I put my hand into the laundry basket, and suddenly saw: the number on it was the same as the number in the newspaper! I'm talking about the prize bond," he explained, "that was issued to me by the museum." Here's what Ivan, the mysterious guest, did when he got a hundred thousand rubles: he bought a lot of books, moved out of the rented house on Butcher Street . . . "Oh, that wretched place!" exclaimed the visitor angrily. ...then he rented two rooms from the landlord in a small alley on the Arbat Street... ① At that time, the government allowed some people to obtain lots from the government to build houses, and a small part could be rented out.Arbat Street is located in the central district of Moscow. "Do you know what a landowner is?" the guest asked Ivan, and then explained himself: "This is one of the few crooks who managed to survive in Moscow somehow..." ... What he rented from the landlord were the two ground floors of a small building located in a small garden, which was a semi-basement.He quit his job at the museum and started writing a novel about Pontius Pilate here. "Ah! That was the golden age!" The narrator's voice was low, but his eyes were shining brightly. "That small building is completely independent. My two rooms have a front hall, and one has a water pipe. water basin." I don't know why he emphasized this point with special pride, "Under the two small windows is a narrow path leading to the small garden gate. Four paces away from the window is planted along the foot of the fence wall. Lots of lilacs, and a linden tree and a wood tree. Ah, how wonderful! In winter I seldom see the black feet of passers-by outside the little window, and rarely hear the crunch of the snow. The stove in my house The fire is always blazing! However, spring came suddenly, and through the gray windowpanes, I saw that the lilac bushes were bare at first, and then gradually covered with green. At this time, last spring, something happened It is far more intoxicating than winning a hundred thousand rubles in the lottery. But one hundred thousand rubles, you know, is a huge sum of money!" "That's true." Ivan, who had been listening carefully, echoed. "That day, I opened both small windows and sat in the second room, which was a very small room," the guest gestured with his hands. There is also a sofa, a small table in the middle, a beautiful lamp on the table, some books near the window, and a small writing desk. My first room was very large, with fourteen square meters. Lots of books against the walls and a fireplace. Ah, what a setting! "Lilacs are wonderfully fragrant! It lightens my weary mind. The novel about Pilate is rapidly drawing to a close..." "He's wearing a white cloak with a blood-red lining! I know that!" Ivan interjected excitedly. "Exactly! Pilate is fast approaching the end, and it's almost time to write the end, and I have already thought about the last sentence of the book: '...the fifth governor of Judaea, Pontius Pilate the knight'. So, of course Well, in my spare time I go for a walk. One hundred thousand rubles is a lot of money! I have already made a nice gray suit. Sometimes I go to a cheap restaurant nearby. There is A very good restaurant, don't know if it still exists." At this time, the guest suddenly opened his eyes wide, looked at the bright moon outside the window, and continued to whisper: "Suddenly, I saw her coming, holding a bouquet of nasty, unnerving yellow flowers. God knows what the name of that flower is, anyway, it always blooms first in Moscow. Against the backdrop of her black spring coat Now, the bouquet of yellow flowers was very eye-catching. The flowers she was holding were yellow! It was an ominous color. When she turned into the alley from Tverskaya Street, she looked back. I said, you know Tverskaya Street, right? There were thousands of passers-by on Tverskaya Street, but, I assure you, she only saw me, and that look contained not only anxiety, but even pain. I was not so much surprised by her Her beauty, or rather the extraordinary loneliness in her eyes that no one has ever seen before! "Under the guidance of this yellow signal, I also turned into the alley and followed her. It was a winding and secluded alley, we walked silently, I was on this side of the road, she was on the other side, please Imagine that there is no one in the alley! I am miserable, I feel that I must talk to her, but I am afraid that if she goes away before I can say a word, I will never see her again. "At this moment, think about it, she suddenly spoke first: 'Do you like my flowers?' "I distinctly remember her voice at the time, rather low and trembling, and, however absurd it may have sounded, I did feel an echo echoing through the alley, on the dirty yellow wall Reflected back. I quickly walked over to her, and only when I walked up to her did I answer: "'dislike.' "She looked at me in astonishment. And then, quite unexpectedly, I suddenly realized: this is the woman I've loved all my life! Look at that, huh? Of course, you'll call me crazy, won't you?" "I won't say anything," Ivan replied loudly, begging, "go on, please!" The guest continued: "Yes, she looked at me in surprise, and then, after another look, asked: 'You never liked flowers?' "There was something hostile in her voice. I walked alongside her, trying to keep pace with her. Strangely, I didn't feel restrained at all. "'No, I like flowers, just not this kind of flower,' I said. "'Which one do you like?' "'Like roses.' "As soon as I said this, I regretted it, because she smiled apologetically and threw the flower in her hand into the gutter. I was at a loss for a while, but I hurriedly picked it up and handed it to her. But She smiled and pushed the flower back, so I had to hold it by myself. "So we walked together for a while in silence. Then she took the flower out of my hand and threw it into the road, and took my arm with a hand in a black flared glove, and we walked side by side. stand up." "Go on," said Ivan, "please don't miss anything." "Go on?" The guest asked back, "What's there to talk about! You can imagine what happened later." He suddenly wiped the tears that came out of his eyes with the sleeve of his right hand, and continued: "It's like walking on the road. Like a murderer popping up from a quiet alley, the god of love suddenly came to us, and his sharp arrow pierced the hearts of both of us in no time! "That's how the thunder strikes, the Finnish dagger thrusts, come suddenly! "Well, she kept insisting afterwards that it wasn't so. She said we had of course loved each other a long time ago, though we didn't know each other and never saw each other. She was with someone else at the time. live together, and I live with... a woman, what's her name "With whom?" asked the homeless man. "It's the same name... that's the one, her name is..." The guest tried to recall, raised his hand and hit a torreya. "Are you married?" "Yeah, that's why I hit the torreya... The same... Varenka, or Manetchka is married... No, it's Varenka... I remember she was wearing a floral dress ...it was in the museum...but I really can't remember it. "Anyway, she explained to me that she came out of the house that day with a bouquet of yellow flowers so that I could finally find her. She said that if this hadn't happened, she would have taken poison and killed herself because her life was so empty up. "Yes, Eros conquered us in an instant. I realized that day, an hour later, as we wandered unknowingly through the city to the Moskva River outside the Kremlin walls. a little. "We talked like old acquaintances who had parted only yesterday. We agreed to meet in the same place the next day - on the banks of the Moscow River. We met. The May sun was shining on us. Then this woman was very, very soon Soon to be my secret wife. "She comes to me every day, and I always wait for her from early in the morning. What shows this waiting is that I keep moving things on the table. Every ten minutes, I sit on the small windowsill. Go up and listen for a while, to hear if there is any movement at the broken fence gate. It is strange to say: before I met her, few people came into the small courtyard where I lived. It can be said that no one came. Now I feel as if the whole city Everyone seems to be running here. My heart skipped a beat when the gate slammed, but, just think about it, what I saw outside the small window at the same level as my head was someone's dirty pair. Boots. A knife sharpener this time. Ugh, who needs a knife sharpener in our house?! What sharpener? What kind of knife sharpener is there?! "She only goes through the gate once a day, but my heart always beats a dozen times before that. Really, I'm not lying. And, every time the hour hand points to noon and she is about to appear, my heart beats." Even thumping, until almost completely silently, her shoes appeared outside my little window. They were leather shoes with black buckskin bows and fastened by steel buckles. Not a single choke. "Sometimes she is very naughty. She will stand in front of the second window and tap on the windowpane with her toes first. I ran to that window immediately, but the leather shoes were gone, and the black silk shirt that blocked the light was gone. I So he went to open the door for her. "No one knows about us, I can assure you, though there is never an impenetrable wall. Her husband doesn't know, and neither do her friends. Of course, in the old semi-subterranean house I rented In the private courtyard, people know about it, and some people have seen a woman who often comes to me, but no one knows her name." "So, who is she?" Ivan asked, seeming to be very interested in this love story. The visitor gestured that he would never tell this to anyone, and went on with his story. Ivan learned that the master and the unknown woman were in love with each other fiercely, to the point of being inseparable.Ivan could also clearly imagine the two rooms in the basement of the small building. He knew that the light in the rooms was always gray because of the lilacs and the fence.He seemed to see the worn-out mahogany furniture, the writing desk, the clock on the desk that chimed the time every half hour, a large number of books placed from the painted floor to the blackened ceiling, and the fireplace. Ivan also learned that this guest and his secret wife had come to the conclusion already in the first days of their acquaintance that their meeting at the corner of Tverskaya Street was fate itself, and that they would always be together. It was born only for the other party. From the conversation of the guests, Ivan also learned how the couple spent their daily time.Every day, as soon as she came, she would put on her apron and go into the narrow hall, where the big water basin of which the poor sick man was somehow proud, lit the kerosene stove on the little wooden table. Start to make breakfast, and then put the breakfast on the small oval table in the first room.During a May thunderstorm, the rain would noisily flow down the dimly lit windows and into the threshold, threatening to flood their last refuge.At this time, the lovers turned on the stove and baked potatoes in the stove.The potatoes were steaming, the skin of the potatoes was blackened, and the fingers were blackened, and there were bursts of laughter in the small basement.And in the yard outside, the big trees kept shaking down the dead branches and white flowers that were broken by the strong wind.When the thunderstorm season passed and the sultry summer arrived, the long-awaited red roses that both of them loved would be placed in the indoor vase. The self-proclaimed master wrote, and she ran her pointed fingers through her hair, read over and over what he had written, and then sewed the little round hat.Sometimes she also squatted in front of the bookshelf with a rag or stepped on a stool to wipe the hundreds of dusty backs of books on the lower or upper shelves of the bookshelf.She prophesied that he would have a bright future, encouraged him, and spurred him on.It was on this occasion that she started calling him a guru.She finally saw the long-awaited last words about the fifth Jewish governor, and she repeated aloud some of her favorite lines in a long voice, and said again and again: her whole life lived in this book. in the novel. The novel was finished in August, and a female typist was asked to type five copies.So the master finally had to get out of that secret comfort zone and enter life. "I really entered into life with this novel in both hands, but at the same time my life is over." The master murmured, lowering his head, the little black hat with the yellow "M" embroidered on it For a long time it swayed sadly before Ivan's eyes.The guest continued to talk, but what followed was somewhat fragmented.Only one thing is clear: Ivan's guest has suffered a catastrophe because of this novel. "That was the first time I stepped into the world of literature, but today, when everything is over and my destruction is clearly revealed, I still shudder in retrospect!" The master solemnly raised a hand and whispered Say. "Really, that man shocked me, oh, what a shock!" "Who?" Ivan's questioning voice was just audible, and he was afraid of interrupting the train of thought of the excited guest. "The editor, didn't I say it, the editor. Yes, he finished my novel, and he looked at my face as if I had a gum abscess and my cheeks were swollen up. Yes. He glanced around the corner again absent-mindedly, and even gave an awkward chuckle. He rubbed his body needlessly, and spoke in a voice like a duck. The questions he asked me, in my eyes It sounds like crazy talk. He didn't talk about the essence of the novel, but asked me a series of questions: who am I, where do I come from, have I been engaged in literary creation for a long time, why haven't I heard of me before? People? He even asks what I think is a stupid question: Who inspired me to choose such a strange subject to write a novel? “Then he annoyed me and I asked him straight up: Is my novel going to be published or not? "When he heard this, he panicked, muttered a few words, and then declared: he cannot personally decide this issue; my work still needs to be reviewed by other members of the editorial board, specifically, by literary critics. Latunsky and Aliman, and the writer Mstislav Lavrovitch. He told me to come back in a fortnight. ①The person's surname Ahriman is the same as Ahriman, the god of darkness and evil (also known as Angela Manyu), the origin of evil mentioned in ancient Zoroastrianism. "I went a fortnight later, and I was received by a young woman whose eyes were almost on her nose, and who must have lied a lot." "Her name is Lapshonnikova, and she is the secretary of the editorial department!" Ivan said with a smile. He was very familiar with the world that the guest so indignantly described. "Perhaps," said the guest, "that's how I took the manuscript of my novel from her. It was very soiled and rather disorganized. Lapushonnikova tried not to look at me as she spoke. eyes, she informed me; the editorial department has enough manuscripts for the next two years, so publishing my novel is, in her words, 'no longer necessary'..." "You ask me, what do I remember about the later events?" The master murmured, rubbing his temples with his hands, "Yes, I remember the red rose petals that fell on the title page of the novel and the eyes of my girlfriend. Yes Yes, I remember those eyes!" The narratives of Ivan's guests become increasingly incoherent, more evasive, and often hesitant to speak.He talked about the slanting rain, and the gloom and disappointment in the basement, and about other places he'd been to since then.He said earnestly, in as low a voice as possible, that he didn't blame her at all.She had pushed him to fight, but he didn't blame her, no, not! "I still remember, I remember that hideous newspaper supplement." The guest muttered, gesturing the size of the supplement with the fingers of both hands.From his incoherent narration, Ivan guessed that another editor had published chapters from The Master's novel in the newspaper. According to the guest, within two days a newspaper published a critical article by the critic Ahriman with the title: "The Enemy Under the Cover of the Editor".The author of the article accuses Ivan's present guest of taking advantage of the editor's insensitivity and ignorance to try to stuff our newspaper with smuggling glorification of Christ Jesus. "Oh, I remember it, I remember it!" exclaimed Ivan, "but I forgot your name!" "Well, I repeat, don't mention my name anymore, it doesn't exist anymore," said the guest, "it's not about my surname. A day later another newspaper published the name Mstislav Lavrovich's article, the author of the article asks: The outline of the sale of "Pilate bootlegs", the attempt to stuff such bootlegs into (the cursed word is used again - 'stuffed') in our press The guy with the icon must be hit, and he must be hit firmly! "I was petrified by the term 'Pilate's bootleg'. But I opened another newspaper and there were two articles: one by Latonicus and the other signed' Eh'. To tell you the truth, compared with Latunsky's article, the two articles mentioned above, Ahriman and Lavrovich, are just a joke. I only talk about the title of Latunsky's article , you will understand, the headline is: "The Rampant Old Religionist." I was so absorbed in reading the article in the newspaper that criticized me that I didn't realize that she was standing in front of me without knowing it (I forgot to close the door). She was holding an umbrella that was still dripping, holding some wet newspapers, her eyes were shooting flames, her hands were trembling, and they were icy cold. She first rushed over and kissed me, and then knocked on the table Said in a hoarse voice that she must poison this Latunsky." Hearing this, Ivan hummed a few times as if embarrassed, but said nothing.The guest continued: "There was no joy in our life from then on. The novel was finished, and there was nothing else to do, but the two of us sat on the rug by the fire all day long and watched the fire. By the way, during this period we There was more time apart than before. She often went out for walks, and I, as it happened more than once before: a strange change of character took place... I suddenly made a friend. Yes, yes, think about it Look, I'm a person who doesn't like to socialize very much. I have a strange problem: it's hard to get close to people, I don't trust people very much, and I'm suspicious. But, can you imagine, even so, there is always someone unexpected会钻进我的内心深处。这个人突如其来，表面上说不出什么道理，可我就是最喜欢他。 “这不，就在那个该死的时期，我记得是在一个爽朗的秋日，我们小院的栅栏门打开了。她当时没在家。进来一个男人，他到楼上去找我的房东办什么事。然后他下楼来，走到小院，不知怎么很快便和我认识了。他自称是新闻记者。这人一下子就使我产生了极大的好感，甚至，您想想看，现在我回忆起来还有些想他呢。后来就越来越喜欢他了，他时常到我家来。我了解到：他是单身，住在附近，住房和我的差不多，不过，他嫌窄小，等等。他从来没有请我到他家去过。我妻子对他非常反感，但我总为他辩护。她就说：'你愿意怎么办，就怎么办吧。不过，我告诉你，他给我的印象可是十分讨厌的。' “对她这些话我报之一笑。其实，话说回来，那个人究竟哪一点吸引了我呢？问题在于：假如一个人肚子里没有点奇货、内秀，这人就没有意思了。而阿洛伊吉肚子里就有这种内秀（噢，我忘了告诉您，我这位新交名字叫阿洛伊吉·莫加雷奇①）。的确是这样，在这之前我从未见过阿洛伊吉这么聪慧的人，我相信今后再也不会遇到了。有时候，我看不懂报上的某条消息，阿洛伊吉每次都能给我讲解得清清楚楚，而且，看得出，他解释起来一点也不费力气。生活中的各种现象和问题他都能解释。但这些也还不足以使我折服。征服了我的是他对文学的热爱。他执意请求我把那部小说从头到尾一字不漏地读给他听，直到我答应了，他才罢休。听完之后他大大赞扬了一番。但是，他也以惊人的确切程度把编辑对该书的意见全部对我重述了一遍，仿佛他当时在场听到了这些意见似的，讲得百分之百相符。此外，他还毫不含糊地向我说明了我的作品不能出版的原因。我想，他这些话也准是一点不差的。他还直截了当地告诉我：某章某章是绝对通不过的…… ①莫加雷奇，原文意为酬谢请客。同根动词的意思是：向他人勒索谢礼。因此这个名字听来有“勒索者”、“敲竹杠”之意。 “报上继续发表批判文章。起初一段时间，我对这些文章一概置之一笑。但随着篇数的增多，我对它们的态度也逐渐变了。第二个阶段可以说是我的惊讶阶段。我感到，尽管这些文章都是气势汹汹的，一副理直气壮的腔调，但每行字里都不折不扣地透着虚张声势、色厉内在的气息。我总觉得，这些文章的作者显然言不由衷。正因为心口不一，他们才越发做出怒不可遏的样子。后来，您知道吗，我便进入了第三个阶段——恐怖阶段。不，我倒不是害怕那些文章。我是害怕其他的、与那些文章和我的小说完全无关的某些东西。比方说，您想想看，我竟开始害怕起黑暗来了①。总而言之，我进入了一种心理病变的阶段。每天晚上，临睡前，只要把小房间的灯一关，我就觉得有一条人带鱼②似的东西，长着极长极长的冰冷的腕足，从小窗户往我屋里爬，虽然窗户关得很严实。因此，我不得不每晚都开着灯睡觉。 ①“黑暗”（Temhota）一同同时有愚昧无知之意。 ②章鱼，通称八带鱼。头上生有八条长腕足，腕上有吸盘。这个词同时有“贪残的怪物，吸血鬼”之意。 “我心上人的变化也很大（我当然没对她提过八带鱼的事，但她看出我的精神状态越来越不对头了）。她消瘦了，脸上失去血色，不再笑了，还一再请求我原谅她，因为是她劝我发表小说片断的。这时她建议我放弃一切，到南方去，到黑海海滨去休息一个时期，宁肯把十万卢布中剩余的钱全部用光。 “她固执地坚持这个意见。我呢，我总有某种预感，觉得自己去不成黑海海滨了。为了不同她争吵，我答应她近日内就动身去南方。于是她便说要亲自去给我买车票。我把全部余钱，也就是大约一万卢布，都取出来交给了她。 “'怎么给我这么多？'她惊奇地问。 “我解释了几句，大意是我怕被偷，请她暂时代我保存。她接过钱，装进小手提包，然后不住地吻我，边吻边说：看见我这种样子，她丢下我一个人走比去死还难受，可是，家里人等她回去，她不得不走，明天一定来。她一再哀求我什么也不要怕。 “那正是黄昏，是十月中旬。她走了，我躺到沙发上，没有开灯就昏睡过去。我惊醒了涸为觉得八带鱼已经爬进屋里。我勉强摸黑儿开了灯，看看怀表，时针才指着两点。躺下的时候我只是病。跃诉的，这时醒来已经完全是个病人了。我忽然觉得，晚秋的黑暗就要挤破窗玻璃，涌进屋里来，而我将在这黑暗中，就像在墨汁里一样，被呛死。我觉得自己已经无法控制自己。我大叫一声，忽然想跑出去找个什么人，哪怕到楼上去找房东也好。我疯狂地同自己搏斗，鼓足力气总算挣扎到了暖炉前，点着了炉里的劈柴，劈柴噼噼啪啪地着起来，震得炉门咯咯响；我感觉多少好些了……我又冲到前室，把那里的灯也打开。看到有瓶白葡萄酒，便打开它，对着瓶口喝了几口。这一来我的恐惧感似乎减退了些，至少我没有跑去找房东，而是回到了炉前。我打汗炉门，热气烘暖了我的脸和手。我小声念叨着：'愿你此刻能想到我上处在危难中，你来吧，来吧，快来吧！' “但是，谁也没有来。炉火燃得正旺，大雨敲打着玻璃窗。这时，便发生了最后那件事。我从抽屉里掏出一本本沉甸甸的小说打字稿，还有几个草稿本子，开始烧毁这些东西。这还很不容易呢，因为写满字的纸不易燃着。我就用力把本子撕开，撕得我手指甲都折断了，然后把它们竖着放进炉膛，塞到劈柴中间，再用火钩子把纸页打松。纸灰时而要占上风，要把火苗压灭，但我不停地同它斗争。我眼看着那部小说在毁灭，尽管它一直顽强抵抗，还是在一点点地毁灭。小说中熟悉的语句在我眼前闪动，金黄色的火舌不住地由下向上吞噬着每一页纸，势不可挡，但纸上的字迹却清晰可辨，直到纸页变黑之后才消失。我还不时恶狠狠地用火钩子把变黑的纸捣碎。 “这时，我听见有人轻轻地在窗上抓挠。我的心一惊，赶紧把最后一本草稿扔进炉膛，跑去开门。我顺着地下室的砖台阶跌跌撞撞地跑上去，到了门口，轻声问：'谁？' “一个声音，是她的声音，回答：'是我。' “我不记得怎样拉开了门上的铁链，怎样用钥匙开的门。她一迈进门槛就扑到我身上了，她浑身湿淋淋的，脸上也是水，头发披散着，浑身不住地打战。我只说出了一个字：'你……？'便再也说不出话来了。我们往下跑去。她在前室脱了大衣，我们快步走进第一个房间。她轻轻喊了一声，便不顾一切地用两只手直接从炉膛里掏出了剩下的最后一点东西，扔到地板上：那是压在最下面的一本原稿。屋里立即烟气弥漫。我急忙把火踩灭，她一头倒在沙发上，放声痛哭，双肩不住地抽动，哭得那么伤心。 “等她平静下来，我对她说：'我恨这部小说，而且我害怕。我病了。我感到恐怖。' “她站起来说：'上帝啊，看你病得多厉害。这都是因为什么？因为什么呀？！不要紧，我救你！我一定救你！这到底是怎么回事啊？！' “我看到她那双由于烟熏和哭泣而肿起来的眼睛，我感到她冰冷的双手在抚摸我的额头。 “'我一定把你的病治好，给你治好！'她使劲把脸埋在我的双肩中喃喃地说，'你一定得把这本书稿重新写出来。我为什么，为什么事先没有自己留下一份啊！' “她急得咬牙切齿，又嘟嘟哝哝地说了几句，然后，紧闭着嘴，开始收集那些周边烧焦了的原槁，把它一页一页地展平。那是小说中间的一章，我不记得是哪一章了。她把那些原稿一张张整理好，用纸包起来，用带子捆上。她的一切举动，都表明她已经毅然暗自下了某种决心，并且已经能够控制自己了。她要了一点葡萄酒喝，喝下去之后她讲话的语调平静多了。她说：'看，说谎话要付出什么样的代价！今后我再也不撒谎了。我本应该从现在起就留在你身边，但我不愿意用这种方式来做这件事。我不愿意让他永远认为我是深夜私奔的。他从来没有做过对不起我的事。他昨晚是被突然叫走的，因为他们工厂里起了火。但他很快就会回来。我天亮后一大早就对他全都解释清楚，告诉他：我爱着另外一个人。然后我就永远地回到你身边来。或许，你并不愿意这样？你回答我！' “'我可怜的人啊，可怜的人，'我对她说，'我不允许你这样做。我不会有好结果的，所以，我不希望你同我一起毁灭。' “'原因只此一点吗？'她问道，她的眼睛逼近我的眼睛。 “'只此一点。' “她突然变得精神百倍，倚偎在我身上，搂住我的脖子说： “'我决心同你毁灭在一起。今天上午我就到你这儿来！' “是的，我所记得的生活中最后的东西，就是从我的前室里透过来的一道光线。在这道光线中我看到一络散乱的头发、她头上的小圆帽和她那双毅然决然的眼睛。我还记得站在外屋门槛上的她那黑色身影和她捧着的一个白色纸包。 “'我本想送送你，可我已经没有力量独自走回来了，我害怕。'我对她说。 “'你不要怕。再忍耐几个小时吧。中午以前我就到你这儿来。'这就是她在我的生活中留下的最后几句话。” “嘘！”客人忽然自己打断了自己的话，又举起一个手指以示警告，“今天这个月圆之夜可真不安宁呀。”他说着，又躲到阳台上去了。伊万听到走廊上推过去一把轮椅，有人抽泣了一声，或许是有气无力地叫了一声。 病房里又静了下来；客人从阳台回到屋里，告诉伊万：第120号病房又住进了一个新病人，这个人直哀求大家把脑袋还给他。伊万和客人在不安中沉默了一会儿，定了定神，重新谈起原来的话题。可是，这的确是个令人不安的夜晚啊——走廊里又传来了人们的谈话声。客人只好对伊万耳语。他的声音极轻极轻，因此他后来所讲的一切，除了头一句之外，只有伊万一个人知道。那头一句话是： “她离开我的住处后，过了约摸一刻钟，就有人来敲我的窗户……” 看来，客人对伊万耳语的是一件使他非常激动的事。耳语时他的脸不时地抽搐着，他那飘忽不定的目光里游移、闪动着恐怖和愤恨。他一边说，一边用手指着月亮的方向，其实这时阳台上早已看不到月亮了。直到万籁俱寂、听不到门外有任何一点声音时，他的嘴才离开伊万的耳朵，用稍微大一点的声音说： “是的，就是这样，一月中旬的一天深夜，我还是穿着那件夹大衣（不过这时扣子已经全都扯掉了）蜷缩在我的小院里，冻得发抖。我身后是埋住了香花丛的雪堆，而面前，往下看，则是透出微弱灯光的、已经拉上窗帘的我那半地下室的两扇小窗。我俯身到第一扇窗前听了听，听见我的房间里正在放留声机。我只听清楚了这些。但什么也没有看见。我站了一会儿，走出栅栏门，来到胡同里。风很大，下着雪。一只狗向我脚前蹿过来，把我吓了一跳，我急忙躲开它，跑到街对面去。寒冷和恐怖早已成了我经常的伴侣，我几乎要发狂了。我无处可去。当然，最简单的办法是跑到胡同外的大街上，往有轨电车底下一钻了事。我已经从远处看见了那些灯光通明的、外面挂满白霜飞驰着的大箱子，听到了它们在严寒中发出的极讨厌的格格切齿声。但是，亲爱的邻居，问题是恐惧感控制了我全身的每个细胞，我不但怕狗，也怕那有轨电车——是啊，咱们这座大楼里再没有比我这种病更糟糕的了，真的。” “可您总该给她通个消息呀，”伊万说，对眼前这位可怜的病人很表同情，“再说，您的钱不是在她那儿吗？她当然会替您保存吧？” “这一点您不必怀疑，她当然会保存。不过，您好像没听懂我的话吧？不，更像是我自己丧失了从前那种描述事物的才能。不过，我对您说，丧失这种才能我也并不觉得遗憾，因为它对我再也没什么用处了……她的面前，”说到此处客人虔敬地朝着深夜的黑暗处望了一眼，“也许会摆上一封寄自疯人院的信。难道能往这种地方写回信吗？给精神病人写信？别开玩笑啦，我的朋友！告诉她？让她不幸？不。这我绝对做不到。” 伊万感到无力反驳这些话，但默默无语的伊万心里对他充满同情和怜悯。客人戴着他那顶黑小帽，沉浸在回忆引起的痛苦中，不住地点着头说： “那女人真可怜啊！不过，我指望，她现在已经把我忘掉了。” “可您还能够恢复健康啊……”伊万的语气显然毫无信心。 “我这病治不好，”客人心平气和地说，“斯特拉文斯基总说他能够使我重新回到生活中去，但我不相信他。他是仁爱为怀的，只是用这话安慰安慰我罢了。不过，我现在确实好多了，这我也不否认。可说呢，我刚才讲到什么地方了？对，讲到了严寒，还有飞驰的有轨电车。我当时就知道这所医院已经开业了，便想到这里来。可是要想步行穿过整个市区到这里来，简直是毫无理智了！十有八九我会冻死在城外。但是，却偶然得救了。恰巧有辆大卡车停在路上，是车上的什么零件坏了。那是在城外，离城关大约有四公里。我走到司机跟前。使我惊奇的是他竟然会可怜我。他的卡车恰好是到医院来的，便把我捎上了。我侥幸只冻伤了左脚的脚趾。医院给我治好了。这样，我在医院里已经呆了三个多月。而且，我对您说，我发现这个地方还非常非常的不错！在这儿无须自己订什么宏伟计划，真的，亲爱的邻居！就拿我来说吧，我曾经想周游全球。可是，有什么办法呢，命中注定做不到啊。我现在看到的只是这地球上一块小得微不足道的地方。我想，这一小块并不是地球上最好的地方，不过，我要再说一遍，它倒也并不那么糟。这不，眼看夏天就要光顾我们这里了，据普拉斯科维娅·费道罗夫娜说，常春藤会爬到阳台上来。再加上我有这串钥匙，它能给我创造更多的机会。夜间还可以看到月亮。噢，月亮已经落了！有些凉了。已经是后半夜，我该走了。” “请您告诉我，后来那个耶舒阿和波拉多怎么样了？讲讲吧，求求您！我很想知道。”伊万请求说。 “噢，不！不！”客人痛苦地抽搐了一下说，“一想起那部小说，我就不由得浑身打战。何况您在牧首湖畔认识的那个人一定会比我讲得更好。谢谢您同我谈了这么半天。再见！” 伊万还没有回味过来，便听见铁栅栏轻轻一声响，重新关上了。客人已经悄然隐去。