Chapter 18 Chapter 18 The visitor who hit the wall

When the conscientious and hard-working accounting director took a taxi to meet the empty suit of the higher authority who could write, an express train from Kyiv had just stopped at the Moscow station, and there was a rather decent passenger carrying a steel paper suitcase , walking out of the No. 9 car with soft berths together with other passengers.This gentleman was none other than the late Berlioz's uncle, Maximilian Andreyevich Popravsky.He is an economic planner who lives on the Old Academy Street in Kyiv, and is now in Moscow because late the night before he had received the following telegram:

I just got run over by a tram at Patriarch Lake.A funeral is scheduled for 3 p.m. Friday.please come. Berlioz. In Kyiv, Maximilian Andreyevich is one of the recognized smarts, and indeed deservedly so.But even the smartest person would be in the dark when receiving such a telegram: since he can still send a telegram, it means that although he was run over by a tram, he is not dead.But how could there be a mention of a funeral?Maybe the situation is serious, and death is foreseeable?This is not impossible, but it is puzzling that it can be said with such certainty.How did he himself know that people were going to bury him at three o'clock on a Friday afternoon?What a strange telegram!

But the cleverness of smart people lies in their ability to analyze complex situations.Quite simply, something went wrong: the operator had messed up the telegram.The first word "I" in the telegram was obviously mixed with words from other telegrams, and the three words "Berlioz" at the end should have been placed where the word "I" was at the beginning.After such a revision, the meaning of the message became quite clear, which, of course, was distressing. Then suddenly Maximilian Andreevich let out a cry of mourning.Seeing him crying so heartbroken, even his wife was somewhat surprised.After crying for a while, he started packing for Moscow.

Here, a secret of Maximilian Popravsky must be revealed.No doubt he was sorry to hear of the sudden death of his nephew in the prime of his life.But, being a practical man, he knew, of course, that no one particularly needed him to attend the funeral.Nevertheless, Popravsky was anxious to go to Moscow.What is the reason?There is only one reason: housing.Own an apartment in Moscow?This is no small matter. 2 I don't know why, but Poplanansky dislikes the city of Kyiv very much, and has been fantasizing about moving to Moscow, and recently he has often been unable to sleep because of this idea.Many scenery in Kyiv can not make him happy: every year when the spring tide floods and the Dnieper River submerges all the small islands in the lower part, the sight of the water and the sky and a vast ocean in the distance, from the monument of Grand Duke Vladimir The majestic vistas from below, the brick roads on the windy Vladimir Mountains dappled and radiant in the spring sun - none of this interested Popravsky. There was only one thing on his mind: moving to Moscow.

He published several notices in the newspapers about changing houses—willing to exchange a house on College Road in Kyiv for a smaller house in Moscow, but all to no avail.Although there are occasional individuals who come to negotiate, the conditions of the other party seem to be deceiving. A call from Moscow lifted Maximilian Popravsky's spirits.It would be a crime to miss such an opportunity in vain!Anyone who messes around in society understands that this kind of opportunity is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. In short, no matter how difficult it may be, the nephew's apartment on Moscow Garden Street must be inherited.Yes, it is difficult, very complicated.But even against all odds, the goal must be achieved.The wily Maximilian Popravsky understood that the first step must be taken: no matter what, the nephew's three houses must be registered, even if it is a temporary one.

On Friday morning, Popravsky came to the office of the housing management agency in Building B, No. 302, Moscow Garden Street, opened the door and walked in. This is a long and narrow room with an old poster on the wall, which introduces the method of first aid for drowning in several steps.There was only one unshaven middle-aged man sitting alone at a wooden table, his eyes looked anxious. "Can I see the director of the Housing Management Office?" the economic planner from Kyiv took off his top hat and asked politely, while putting the small suitcase in his hand on the wooden bench.

For some reason, this seemingly ordinary question made the man sitting at the table very sad. His face immediately changed, he glanced sideways at the person, and muttered something, which meant that the director was not here. "Is he at home?" asked Popravsky again. "I have something urgent to do." The person sitting there faltered and muttered a few more words, but anyway, it could be clear that the meaning was: the director is not at home. "Then when will he come?" The man simply refused to answer the question, and simply turned his melancholy eyes out of the window.

The shrewd Maximilian Popravsky thought to himself: "Oh, I see!" and he asked the secretary of the building management office again. At this question, I didn't expect the strange person sitting at the table to be so nervous that his face turned red, but his answer was still vague, meaning: the secretary is not here... When will he come?I don't know...and...the secretary is sick... Poplavsky said "Ah" to himself, and asked again; "Then, there must be someone in the housing management office, right?" "I'm here," the man replied listlessly.

"The thing is," said Poplavsky solemnly, "that Berlioz, who has just died, is my nephew. You know, he died on the Patriarch's Lake. I am his only heir, according to Law, I am obliged to inherit his estate, which is our house No. 50..." "I don't understand, comrade," the man interrupted impatiently. "But, please excuse me, since you are a member of the Housing Management Office," Poplanansky said loudly, "you should..." At this time, a man pushed the door open and entered.The face of the man at the table turned pale when he saw someone coming.

"Are you Piadonashk, member of the housing management bureau?" came the person sitting at the table. "It's me." The answering voice was just audible. The person who came whispered something in the ear of the sitting person, and the sitting person's face became even uglier, and he stood up immediately.A few seconds later, Poplananski was alone in the Housing Management Office. Popravsky walked briskly across the asphalted courtyard to House No. 50 at the sixth gate, thinking angrily as he walked: "Oh, trouble! They should all be..." No sooner had Popravski rang the bell than the door opened.When he walked into the dim front room, he couldn't help being a little surprised: he didn't know who opened the door for him, and there was no one in the front room, just a strangely big black cat squatting on the stool.

Maximilian Andreevich coughed twice and stamped his foot when the door of the study opened and Karloviev came out.Popravsky nodded to him politely, but without losing his dignity: "My name is Popravsky, of the late Berlioz..." But before he finished his sentence, Karloviev took out a dirty handkerchief from his pocket, covered his nose, and began to cry intermittently. "...'s uncle..." "Don't say it, don't say it," Karloviev interrupted him, taking off the handkerchief that blocked his nose and said, "I saw it right away, and I guessed it must be you!" He said, sobbing again Crying loudly, crying loudly: "It's really bad, huh? What's this called? Huh?" "Runned by a tram?" asked Popravsky in a low voice. "Exactly!" answered Karloviev loudly, tears streaming from under his pince-nez, "exactly! I saw it with my own eyes. Believe it or not, all at once, the head moved! The right leg, with a click, was cut in two It’s gone! Left leg, with a bang, it’s broken in two! Look, what these trams are doing!” Then he seemed to be unable to control himself any longer, bumping his head against the wall next to the full-length mirror, and simply leaning on it. He cried loudly against the wall, shaking all over from crying. Berlioz's uncle was deeply moved by the stranger's sincerity, and thought to himself, "It is said that there are no warm-hearted people nowadays. Look, isn't that so!" He could not help but feel his nose sore.However, at the same time, there was also a dark cloud of displeasure hanging over his heart, and a thought suddenly flashed in his mind: Could this warm-hearted man have already registered his household registration at the deceased's house?There are many examples of this in life. "Excuse me, may I ask, are you a former friend of my dear nephew Misha?" Popravsky wiped his tearless left eye with his sleeve, and at the same time carefully studied the sad Karloviev with his right eye. .But Karloviev, who was crying bitterly, couldn't hear what he was saying at all. He could only hear the repeated words "Gappa, it's cut in two!"After crying heartily, Karloviev turned his head away from the wall and said to himself: "No, I can't take it any more! I have to drink three hundred drops of ether herbal medicine!" He turned his tearful face to Popravsky and said, "Look, it's all because of these gangsters." tram!" "Excuse me, may I ask, is it you who sent me the telegram?" asked Popravsky, still pondering: who is this strange "bereaved"? "He did it!" Karloviev said, pointing to the big black cat. Poplavski's eyes widened, thinking he had heard wrong. "No, I can't take it! I can't take it anymore!" Karloviev gasped loudly through his nose, "I keep thinking about the scene where the wheel crushed my leg...a wheel weighs 150 to 60 kilograms...a squeak ! I have to lie down and sleep for a while." With that, he left the front room. At this moment, the black cat moved a bit, jumped down from the stool, stood upright on its hind legs, put its front legs on its waist, opened its mouth, and said: "Well, it was my telegram. So what?" Maximilian Popravsky was dizzy and his hands and feet were numb. When he let go, the suitcase fell to the ground with a "groan", and he himself sat on the stool opposite the black cat. "I seem to be asking you in Russian," the big cat said sternly, "so what?" But Poplavsky made no answer. "Citizenship certificate!" The black cat stretched out a furry paw and screamed, demanding to see the citizenship certificate. Popravsky was so dazed that he could see nothing but the two sparks in the black cat's eyes.Involuntarily, he pulled out his citizenship certificate from his pocket like a knife and handed it over.The black cat picked up a pair of black wide-rimmed glasses from the dressing table, put them on his nose, put on a more airy look, and snatched the citizenship certificate from Popravsky's trembling hand. Poplavsky thought to himself: "It's interesting, will I faint?" Karlovyev's sobs could be heard in the distance, and the whole front room was filled with the smell of ethanol and young grass and another smell. A disgusting smell. The black cat flipped over the citizenship certificate, looked at it and asked: "Which sub-bureau issued your certificate?" Poplavsky made no reply. "Well, the 412th branch," answered the black cat to itself, pointing to the citizenship certificate it was holding upside down with its paw, "well, yes! I know this branch! They issue citizenship certificates to anyone! If I , I won’t issue citizenship certificates to people like you! Absolutely not! Seeing your appearance, I will immediately refuse to issue you!” The black cat became more and more angry as he spoke, and threw his paw on the ground with a flick of his paw, and immediately He said in an official tone: "Your qualification to attend the funeral has been disqualified! Please go back to your original address!" Then it yelled at the door: "Azazelle!" A lame dwarf ran into the front room at the sound.This man has brown-red hair, a yellow fang protruding from the corner of his mouth, and a white cloud over his left eye. He is wearing a black tights, with a steel knife stuck in his waist belt. Poplavsky felt that there was not enough air and that it was difficult to breathe. He stood up involuntarily, and stepped back with his hands on his chest. "Azazeller, send him off!" the black cat ordered, and then walked out of the front room. "Poplavsky!" said the dwarf who came in in a nasty voice, "I think you've got the hang of it?" Poplavski nodded. "Go back to Kyiv at once!" Azazeller went on, "stay there quietly! Be respectful, behave yourself! Don't dream of a Moscow house! Do you understand?" This squint-eyed man with fangs and a steel knife almost scared Poplavski to death.In terms of size, he can't reach the shoulders of Kyiv economic workers, but his movements are methodical and firm. The man known as Azazeller first picked up the citizenship certificate on the ground and handed it to Popravsky's trembling hands. Then he lifted the steel cardboard box with one hand, opened the door with the other, and took Poplar Velvetsky's arm drew him to the landing outside the door.Poplaransky was leaning limply against the wall, but without any key the man opened Poplarevsky's suitcase and took out a missing pair of bags wrapped in oily newspaper. Chicken Legs.He put the roast chicken bag next to the stairs, and took out two sets of shirts, shaving utensils, a thin book and a small box from the suitcase.He put these things on the ground and kicked them all up the stairs, leaving only the roast chicken behind.The empty suitcase also rolled down, and when it thumped downstairs, it was known that the lid of the suitcase had fallen off. Then, the red-haired robber grabbed the leg of the roast chicken, swung it violently, and hit Popravsky hard on the neck.The body of the roast chicken jumped out, leaving only one chicken leg in Azazeller's hand.Tenth, as the famous writer Leo Tolstoy truly described, "Everything is in chaos at Oblonsky's house." ① Tolstoy would certainly say the same when he saw the situation before him of.yes!Everything was confused in Popravsky's eyes.He felt a long spark flashing before his eyes, and then a long black snake sprang up, dimming the bright mid-May day for a moment.Holding his citizenship certificate in his hand, he rolled down the stairs.Rolling to the corner of the stairs, his foot kicked and shattered a piece of window glass, and then his body stopped on the stairs.The roast chicken without legs also jumped, jumped and rolled down, and fell into the middle of the stair railing beside him.Azazeller, who stayed upstairs, had already gnawed off the chicken thigh in two bites, inserted a thigh bone into the side pocket of his tights, went back to the door, and slammed the door behind him.At that moment Popravski heard footsteps approaching cautiously upstairs. The second sentence of the opening paragraph of ①. Popravski ran down another floor, sat down on a wooden chair on the landing, and took a breath. A little old man with short stature came up the stairs.He was wearing an old-fashioned suit made of cocoon silk and a hard straw hat with a green belt. He looked very sad with a frown.He stopped by Popravsky and asked sadly: "I want to ask you, citizen, where is house number 50?" "Up!" Popravsky answered curtly. "Thank you very much, citizen," the man thanked, still sadly, and walked up, while Popravsky got up and ran down. Here the reader may ask: Did Popravsky go to the police station to accuse some robbers of brutal violence against him in broad daylight?No.It's safe to say: absolutely not.Could Popravsky have gone into the police station to report such a thing?That a black cat with glasses just checked his citizenship certificate?Then there was another in black tights.A man with a knife in his waist? ... No, he won't!Maximilian Popravsky is a real smart guy! He had already run downstairs, and suddenly found a small door next to the main door on the first floor.The door glass has been broken, and there is a small room inside.He pocketed his citizenship papers and looked back, hoping to see his kicked-off stuff.But he saw nothing, and, strange to himself, he was not very sorry.Another interesting and tempting idea was in his mind-to use the little old man who asked for directions to check this damned house No. 50 again.He thought: Since this person inquired about the address, it must be his first time here, that is to say, at this moment he is directly falling into the clutches of the group entrenched in No. 50.Poplavski had a hunch that the little old man would come out of No. 50 soon.Now he didn't think about attending his nephew's funeral at all; the train to Kyiv was hours away and he had plenty of time.So the economic planner looked back and went into the hut.Then he heard a door closing far above. "He's in!" Popravsky couldn't help sweating for the little old man secretly.The hut where he stayed was shady and smelled of rats and old boots.He sat down on a wooden pier, determined to wait to see what happened.He sat in a good position, with a clear view of the sixth door. But the Kyiv visitor waited longer than he expected.There was no movement on the stairs.He could hear very well.At last the door on the fifth floor rang.Poplavsky held his breath.Yes, it was the man's footsteps. "He's going downstairs." There was another door opening on the floor below.The footsteps ceased.There is a woman's voice.The sad little old man's voice... yes, yes, his voice... as if he said "Forgive me, for God's sake..." Poplavsky stuck his ear through the broken glass Go out and listen.He heard a woman laughing.Quick, clean footsteps descending the stairs.Look, a woman's back flashed for a moment.The woman walked out the gate with a green leatherette handbag and out into the yard.I heard the little old man's footsteps again. "Strange, he seems to be walking up, going back to No. 50. Listen, there is another door opening from above. Well, okay, wait and see." This time the wait was not long.The door opened.footsteps.The footsteps stopped.A cry of despair.mew.Hasty, small footsteps, down, down, down! Poplavski finally arrived.The sad little old man kept making the sign of the sign of the sign of the cross, humming, and ran past him in horror. The straw hat on his head was gone, there were several wounds on his bald head that were still bleeding, and his trouser legs were wet.He grabbed the handle of the door tightly, but in his panic, he forgot whether the door should be opened in or out.He finally opened the door and ran out into the sunshine in the courtyard. This home has been inspected.Maximilian Popravsky no longer dared to think about inheriting the house, or his late nephew.Thinking back to his dangerous situation just now, he shuddered.He hurried to the courtyard, muttering: "No wonder! No wonder!" A few minutes later, the tram was already carrying the Kyiv city economic planner to the railway station bound for Kyiv. What happened to the sad little old man upstairs was extremely unpleasant, while Popravsky sat observing in the downstairs cabin.The man was Andrei Fukic Sokov, the restaurant manager of the Variety Variety.When the police station went to the theater to investigate, Sokov hid beside him without saying a word.We only see that his eyebrows are drawn more tightly than usual, and that he asked the correspondent Karpov where foreign magicians live. So he found it.He thanked Popravsky at the top of the stairs, went straight up to the fifth floor, and rang the bell number 50. The door opened immediately, but the restaurant manager Sokov did not go in immediately, but took a step back.This was understandable, since the door was opened to him by a young girl, naked except for a little lace apron flirtatiously tied around her waist, and a white knot in her hair.However, she was wearing a pair of glittering embroidered shoes on her feet.The girl was slender and well-proportioned, and if there was one defect in her appearance it was a purple scar on her neck. "Hey, what's the matter? Now that you've rang the bell, please come in!" said the girl, staring at the administrator with lustful green eyes. Andrey Sokov said "Ah!", blinked, took off his straw hat, and walked into the front room.At this time, the phone in the front room happened to ring.I saw that shameless maid put one leg on the chair, took off the phone earphone, and said: "Hey!" Sokoff didn't know where to hide his eyes. He stood aside and kept switching his feet, thinking to himself: "Hey! These foreign maids are so hard! Bah! Disgusting! Nasty!" So, To avoid the obscenity, he turned his face to the side and looked at the rest of the front room. The dimly lit front room is huge, filled with odd props and costumes.For example, there is a bright red village black cloak on the back of the chair, a long sword with a shiny gold hilt on the large dressing mirror, and three silver-handled swords thrown in the corner, like ordinary umbrellas or walking sticks like.There were also some deer antlers, from which hung round caps with goshawk feathers. "Yes," the maid said into the microphone, "what? You are Baron McGuire? Please tell me. Yes! Mr. Actor is at home today. Yes, he will be very happy to see you. Yes, there is The guest...wears a tuxedo or a black suit. What? Before twelve o'clock at night." The maid put down the receiver and turned to Suokefu, "What is more valuable to you?" "I need to meet Actor Citizen." "What? You must see him in person?" "See him in person." Sokov replied sadly. "I'll ask." The maid seemed to be hesitant, and then opened the door of Berlioz's study a little, and reported inside, "Righteous man, there is a little old man here who says he wants to see the lord." "Let him in." Karloviev's hoarse voice came from the study. "Please go to the living room." The girl said generously, as if she, too, was dressed and looked human.She pushed open the door of the living room, but left the front room by herself. As soon as Sokov entered the room, he was frightened by the scene in the living room, and even forgot what he had to do.The sunlight that filtered in through the stained glass in the large windows (the whimsy left behind by a lost jeweler) was unusual and gave a sense of cathedral mystery.Also, despite the heat of late spring, the house was still burning brightly in the big old-fashioned fireplace.However, not only is it not hot here, it was like walking into a cellar when I first entered, feeling a gloomy dampness.A tiger skin was spread in front of the fireplace, and on the tiger skin lay a huge black cat, squinting peacefully at the firewood burning in the furnace.There is a table next to it.The God-fearing Sokov shuddered when he saw it: the table was covered with a piece of church damask, and on the damask were many dusty, moldy pot-bellied wine bottles.There is a large plate in the middle of the bottle, which can be seen to be made of pure gold.A short man with red hair and a short knife in his waist was sitting near the fireplace, holding a large piece of meat with a long sword and roasting it on the fire.Not only does the oven smell of barbecue, but there is also a strong smell of perfume and incense.Sokov had already read the news about Berlioz being run over to death in the newspaper, and he knew where he lived, so the smell here even made him think: maybe this is a ceremony of recommending Berlioz to save Berlioz's soul.However, he dismissed the apparently absurd idea immediately. Suokefu was dumbfounded and was standing there not knowing what to do when he suddenly heard a deep bass voice saying: "Excuse me, what advice do you have?" Only then did Suokefu see that the person he was going to meet was staying in the shadow of the light. The magician is sprawled on his back on a wide, low sofa bed with pillows scattered about.It seemed to Sokoff that the magician was only wearing black underwear and a pair of black moccasins. "I am the steward of the Vallett Theatre..." began Sokoff in a sad tone. As if wanting to gag Sokov, the magician stretched out a hand with several diamond rings in front of him, and interrupted him excitedly: "No, no, no! Don't say a word! In any case, don't say more, never say such words again! I will never take a bite of your restaurant! Dear citizen, I came from your restaurant yesterday. I still can't forget the smell of sturgeon meat and goat cheese when I passed by the door. Dear sir! Goat cheese has never been green. You must have been deceived and taken in. The cheese should be White. Yes, and the tea? It’s slop! I saw a girl with dirty clothes pour cold water into a large samovar with a bucket, and then pour tea from the samovar for the guests. No, my dear, This is absolutely unbearable!" "Excuse me," explained the administrator, stupefied by the sudden attack, "I'm not here for this. It's nothing to do with the sturgeon meat." "The sturgeon meat is stinky, how can I say it's okay? Ah?!" "The butcher gave us second-grade fresh sturgeon meat," the administrator explained. "Honey, you're bullshit!" "How is it nonsense?" "The so-called 'secondary freshness' is nonsense! Freshness cannot be divided into grades. It stinks!" "Please forgive me..." The administrator wanted to explain again that he didn't know how to get rid of the foreign actor's entanglement. "I can't forgive!" The magician's tone was severe. "I'm not here for this!" The administrator also said anxiously. "Not for this matter?..." the foreign magician wondered, "other than that, what else would you come to me for? If my memory serves me well, I used to know only one person in your profession." , that was a food and drink vendor with the army. But that was a long time ago, before you were born. But I am glad to see you too. Azazelle! Bring a stool to this Monsieur Administrator!" The dwarf who was grilling meat by the fireplace turned his head, and his fangs surprised Sokov again.The dwarf moved over a small dark oak wooden square stool with quick movements.There is no other seat in the room. "Thank you very much!" Suokefu thanked, and sat up, only to hear a stool leg snapped behind him, and he sat down on the ground with a groan of pain.When he fell down, his legs caught the small stool in front of him, and he spilled a large glass of red wine on the stool onto his pants. The foreign actor said loudly: "Ah! You didn't fall, did you?" Azazeller helped Sokov up and brought him another small stool.The master asked him to take off his trousers and bake in front of the stove, but he declined sadly.Embarrassedly dressed in wet clothes, he sat cautiously on another small stool. "I just love the low seats," said the actor, "and it's not so scary to fall in. Yes, we were talking about sturgeon, right? Dear! Any restaurateur's motto should be: FRESH , fresh, fresh! Do you understand? Well, come on, would you like to have a taste?  …” By the red light of the fire, Sokov saw the long sword flashing in front of him, Azazeller put a piece of sizzling roast meat on a gold plate, added a little lemon juice, and took a handful of two-toothed gold Pass it to him. "Thank you very much...I don't..." "No, no, try it!" In order to be polite, the administrator had to fork a small piece and put it in his mouth.He immediately felt that the meat was indeed very fresh and extremely delicious.However, Sokoff was chewing the fragrant and delicious roast meat, but he almost choked and fell down, because a big black bird flew in from the next room and rubbed his bald head lightly with its wings.The black bird landed by the big clock on the mantelpiece, and it turned out to be an owl.All restaurant managers are neurotic, and Sokoff is no exception.He thought to himself: "My God! This house is so unbearable!" "Will you have a glass of wine? White? Red? Which domestic wine do you like to drink at this time?" "Thank you very much...I don't know how to drink..." "Why? Would you like to roll the dice, then? Perhaps you like some other game? Dominoes? Poker?" "I don't play these," the administrator replied wearily. "That's even worse," commented the host. "I don't know what advice you have, but in my opinion, if a man doesn't drink, doesn't play cards, doesn't like to deal with beautiful women, and doesn't like to chat at the table, then he will There must be something bad about you: either a serious illness, or a deep hatred for the people around you. Of course, there may be exceptions. Among the people I have eaten and drunk in the past, there have been some downright nasty Guy! Well, tell me what's your business." "You performed a magic trick yesterday..." "Me?" the foreign actor asked loudly in surprise, "it's nothing, don't say that. This kind of thing doesn't quite match my identity!" "Please forgive me," the administrator panicked, "However, that magic show..." "Oh! Yes, yes! My dear! Let me tell you a secret: I am not an actor at all, I just want to observe most Muscovites, and there is no better place for such observation than the theater. So, I Some of my followers," he said, pointing to the black cat with his chin, "just performed a show in the theater, and I just sat on the sidelines and observed the Muscovites. However, you also Don't worry about it, tell me, how did that show bring you to me?" "Look, here's what happened: there was a scene in the show where banknotes were dropped from the ceiling," the administrator said in a low voice, looking back embarrassedly, "those banknotes were snatched by the audience. After a while, someone A young man came to my shop and took out a ten-rouble note to buy something, and I gave him eight and a half rubles... Then someone else came." "A young man too?" "No, this time it's a middle-aged man. Then came the third and the fourth. I gave them all change. I had to settle the accounts this morning. I saw that those were not money, but some notes. The commissary was losing money One hundred and nine rubles." "Oops!" cried the foreign actor. "Do they think it's real money? I don't believe they did it on purpose." The administrator frowned, pouted, looked back, and said nothing. "Could it be some liars?" the magician asked anxiously the guest in front of him. "Could there be liars among Muscovites?" Regarding this question, the administrator just smiled wryly.But this smile dispelled all the host's doubts: yes, there are liars among Muscovites. "That's despicable!" said the master Woland angrily. "I've cheated you, a poor poor man... Am I right? Aren't you very poor?" Sokoff tucked his neck into his shoulders, and it was obvious at a glance that he was indeed a poor poor man. "How much deposit do you have?" Although Wallander asked this question in a tone of infinite sympathy, such a question cannot but be said to be too inappropriate.The administrator didn't know what to say for a while. "There are two hundred and forty-nine thousand rubles in five savings offices," answered a voice like a broken gong from an adjoining study, "and there are two hundred ten-rouble gold coins hidden under the floor in the house." Administrator Sokov's body seemed to be glued to the stool. "Well, of course, that's nothing," Woland said magnanimously to his visitor, "but, to tell you the truth, even that is of no use to you. When will you die?" The administrator is really angry this time: "No one knows about this kind of thing, and it has nothing to do with anyone!" "Hmph, no, I don't know," said the annoying voice in the study next door, "Actually, this kind of thing is not difficult to know, and it's not Newton's binomial theorem! In February next year, he died of liver cancer in Ward No. 4 of the First Affiliated Hospital of Moscow State University." Sokov's face turned sallow. "Nine months," Woland said thoughtfully, "two hundred and forty-nine thousand . It's always enough. There are also those gold coins." "He can't exchange those gold coins," said the voice that made Sokov chill in his heart. "After Andrei Fukic's death, his house will be demolished soon, and the gold coins will be dug up." Send it to the National Bank." "So, I advise you not to be admitted to the hospital," the foreign actor continued. "Think about it, how boring it is to die in the ward amidst the painful groans of hopeless patients! Why don't you spend 270,000 yuan?" Throw a grand banquet for a thousand rubles. Wouldn’t it be better to take some poison and go to [the other world] amidst the sound of playing and singing, surrounded by drunken beauties and bold friends?” 管理员坐在椅子上纹丝不动。他立刻显得苍老了许多：眼睛周围出现了黑圈，两腮塌陷下去，下巴也耷拉下来。 “不过，我们想象得太多了，”主人大声说，“还是谈正事吧。您把您收到的纸条给我看看。” 管理员激动地从口袋里掏出一个报纸包，打开一看，愣住了：纸包里是一沓好好的钞票。 “亲爱的朋友，看来您确实是身体不大好。”沃兰德耸耸肩说。 索克夫奇怪地笑着站起来，结结巴巴地问道： “可是，要是它再……” “嗯……”沃兰德沉思着说，“那您就再来找我。欢迎光临！和您认识，我很高兴。” 这时卡罗维夫从书房里跑出来，抓住索克夫的胳膊，摇晃着请求安德烈·福基奇代他问候所有的人，向大家致意。管理员昏昏沉沉地向前室走去。 “赫勒①！送客人！”卡罗维夫喊道。 ①这个名字与希腊神话中的赫勒相同。据希腊神话，国王的女儿赫勒因不堪继母虐待，同弟弟一起乘有翼山羊出逃，飞行中坠海死去。 红头发裸体女郎又出现在前室了！索克夫轻轻地说了声“再见！”从门缝挤出来，醉汉似的踉踉跄跄往楼下走。他下到四层楼停下来，坐在楼梯上，掏出纸包来检查了一下：钞票还都在。 这时，从四层的一家房门里走出来一个拿绿色手提包的妇女。她看见有个小老头儿坐在楼梯上傻乎乎地盯着钞票，撇嘴笑了笑，若有所思地自言自语说： “我们这座楼是怎么搞的？一大早就有醉鬼。楼道里的玻璃也给打碎了。”她仔细看了看索克夫，又说，“喂，这位公民，你要那么多钱干吗！你呀，还不如分给我点儿！啊？” 管理员吓了一跳，麻利地把钞票收起来说： “饶了我吧，看在上帝分上！” “见你的鬼去！守财奴！我不过是开了句玩笑。”妇女放声大笑，下楼去了。 索克夫慢慢站起来，举起手想扶扶草帽，这才发现头上没有帽子。他非常不想再返回去，可又舍不得那顶草帽，犹豫了一下，还是走上楼去，又按了一下门铃。 “您还有什么事？”还是那个该死的裸体赫勒问他。 “我忘了拿草帽。”索克夫指着自己的秃头说。赫勒转过身去，管理员索克夫心里骂了一句，闭上了眼睛。当他再睁开眼时，赫勒正拿着一顶草帽和一把黑柄宝剑递给他。 “这不是我的。”管理员推开宝剑，迅速抓过草帽戴上。 “难道您来的时候没带宝剑？”赫勒像是感到奇怪。 管理员嘟囔了一句什么，快步向楼下走去。戴上草帽后他觉得头有些不舒服，像是太热，便把帽子摘了下来。这一来他吓坏了，不禁轻轻喊了一声：拿在他手里的是一顶天鹅绒的圆软帽，上面还插着一根磨坏了的鸡翎。索克夫不由得画了个十字。但这时小绒帽忽然瞄地叫了一声，变成了一只小黑猫，从他手里一下又跳上头顶，四只爪子使劲抓住了他的秃头。管理员没命地喊了一声，朝楼下跑去，小猫则跳下来顺楼梯跑上去。 索克夫跑出楼门，穿过院子，飞快地跑出了大门，永远地离开了这所魔鬼的房子——第302号乙楼。 他后来的情况我们也很清楚。跑出大门后，他贼眉鼠眼地回头望了望，好像在寻找什么。一分钟后他就站在街对面的一家药房里了。他刚刚说出“请问……”两个字，柜台里的女售货员便大喊大叫地说： “公民！您的头上全是伤啊！……” 五分钟后管理员头上缠好了纱布。他打听到两位治疗肝脏病最有名的专家：贝尔纳德斯基和库兹明。他还问明了其中住得最近的是库兹明大夫——往前走过一栋房子，有座独门独院的白色小楼就是他的诊所。索克夫欣喜若狂，一分钟后便来到了这座小楼。小楼相当古老，但它仍使人觉得非常舒适。索克夫只记得首先接待他的是个老年妇女，她迎上来想接过他的帽子，见他没戴帽子，便吧喀着干瘪的嘴唇走开了。 随后出现在大穿衣镜旁的小拱门下的是一位中年妇女，她告诉他：现在只能挂十九日的号，在这之前没有号了。管理员马上就想出了办法：他眯起眼装出无精打采的样子，望着拱门内前室里候诊的三个人，用耳语般的声音说： “我病得快死了……” 那妇女困惑不解地看了看索克夫头上的纱布，犹豫了一下说： “行啊，没办法……”她让索克夫进了小拱门。 与此同时对面的房门打开，一副金丝边夹鼻眼镜一闪，一个穿白罩衫的妇女说： “各位公民，让这位病人提前进来吧。” 索克夫还没有来得及四下看一眼，便站到库兹明教授的诊室了。这是个普通的狭长房间，里面并不显得庄严可怕，也没有一点医院的气氛。 “您怎么啦？”库兹明教授用悦耳的声音问，同时关切地看着索克夫头上的绷带。 “我刚才从可靠方面获悉，”索克夫瞪起眼睛，呆痴地看着玻璃镜框里的一张集体照片回答说，“我将在明年二月死于肝癌。我恳求您制止病情的发展。” 库兹明教授仰身靠在哥特式座椅的高椅背上，问道： “对不起，我没听懂您的意思……怎么，您已经请医生看过？您头上为什么缠着绷带？” “请什么医生？！……您还没见过这样的医生呢！……”这时索克夫的牙齿忽然格格地响起来，“请您别管头上的绷带，这都没关系。您别管脑袋！脑袋跟这毫无关系，我是请求您制止肝癌的发展。” “可是，请问，这是谁告诉您的？” “请您相信他吧，”管理员恳切地请求，“他肯定是知道的。” “我一点也不明白，”教授耸耸肩膀，同时把座椅向后一推，离开了桌子，“那个人怎么会知道您什么时候死呢？他又不是医生！” “而且知道死在第四号病房！”管理员回答说。 库兹明教授看看眼前的病人，再看看他的头和两条湿裤腿，心想：“麻烦事够多了！又来了这么个疯子！” “您喝酒吗？'墩授问道。 “从来不沾边儿。”管理员回答。 一分钟后他已脱去外衣躺在冰凉的人造革卧榻上，教授揉着他的肚子。经这一揉，管理员的情绪大大好转了。于是，教授绝对肯定地说：现在，至少就目前的检查来看，没有任何癌症迹象。但是，既然来了……既然受到江湖骗子的吓唬，自己又有些担心，最好作一次全面化验……教授迅速地开着各种化验单，一面对他解释着哪一张该拿到什么地方去，该送去什么化验物……另外还写了一张字条交给他，叫他去找神经科专家布勒教授，并且告诉他：您的神经已经完全失调了。 “我该付给您多少钱，教授？”索克夫掏出鼓鼓囊囊的钱夹子，用颤抖的声音和颜悦色地问。 “您随便。”教授生硬而冷淡地回答。 管理员掏出三张十卢布钞票放在桌上，然后又用异常柔软的、像猫爪子似的动作在钞票上面放了一小摞用报纸包着的东西，放下时它发出轻微的金属声。 “这是怎么回事？”库兹明教授捻着两撇小胡子问道。 “请别见笑，教授，”管理员小声说，“我求求您想法制止我的癌症发展吧！” “请马上把您的金币收起来！”教授态度高傲而严峻，“您最好还是去治治您的神经！明天送尿来化验。不要多喝茶，完全不要吃盐！” “菜汤里也不能放盐？”索克夫问。 “什么都不要放！”教授命令道。 “嗨！”管理员忧郁地叹了口气，用深受感动的目光望着教授，收起报纸包着的金币，一步步倒着退向门口。 这天下午教授的病人不多。黄昏前最后一位病人也走了。教授一边脱自罩衫，一边无意中朝索克夫放下三十卢布的桌角看了一眼，他看到：桌上根本不是十卢布钞票，而是三张“阿布劳一久尔索”香槟酒①的商标。 ①阿布劳一久尔索是苏联北高加索地区克拉斯诺达尔市附近的一个城镇，有个著名酒厂，生产名牌香槟酒“阿布劳—久尔索”。 “鬼晓得是怎么回事！”库兹明教授嘟哝了一句，在地上拖着已脱下一只袖子的白罩衫走过来，摸了摸那几张纸，“看来，刚才这人不仅有精神病，还是个骗子手！可他来找我干什么呢？叫人纳闷儿！难道就为了弄到一张化验尿的化验单？噢，他一定是把大衣偷走了！”于是教授只穿着白罩衫的一只袖子急忙跑向前室，站在前室门口尖声喊道：“克谢尼娅·尼基季什娜！你快看看，大衣是不是还都挂在那儿？” 大衣一件不少。但是，当教授脱下白罩衫又回到桌前时，他的两脚却像在地板上生了根，眼睛盯着自己的办公桌怔住了；在刚才还放着几张酒瓶商标的地方，蹲着一只可怜巴巴的小黑猫，它正冲着一小盘牛奶在喵喵叫。 “这是怎么回事，请问？！这太……”教授突然感到自己的后脑勺发凉。 听到库兹明教授有气无力的喊声，女护士克谢尼娅·尼基季什娜急忙跑过来安慰他：小猫必然是哪个患者有意扔下的，这种事别的教授也遇到过。 “大概是因为它的主人家生活不富裕吧，”克谢尼娅·尼基季什娜对教授解释说，“他们以为咱们这里当然会……” 两人开始猜测扔小猫的人。怀疑最后落到一个患胃溃疡的老太太身上。 “是她，当然是她，”克谢尼娅·尼基季什娜说，“她准是想：我反正快死了，可这只小猫怪可怜的。” “那也不对呀！”库兹明教授大声说，“牛奶呢？牛奶也是她带来的？还有这个小盘子？” “她用个小胶皮口袋装了来，在这儿倒在盘子里的。”克谢尼娅·尼基季什娜解释说。 “不管怎么样，您先把这小猫和盘子拿掉吧。”库兹明命令说，并亲自把女护士送出了门。可是他再回到办公桌前时，又发生了新的情况。 教授正往墙上挂白罩衫，听到院子里有人大笑，往窗外一看，又惊呆了：一个只穿内衣的妇女正穿过院子向对面的平房跑去，院里的小男孩在冲她大笑。教授甚至认出了这位妇女是玛利亚·亚历山德罗夫娜。 “怎么搞的？！”库兹明教授显然对这种行为十分鄙视。 这时从女儿住的隔壁房间里传来了留声机的声音，放的是狐步舞曲《阿利路亚》。同时还听见身后有麻雀的唧唧喳喳声。回头一看——一只很大的麻雀正在他的办公桌上跳来跳去。 教授暗自想：“嗯，要镇静！……这麻雀想必是在我离开窗子的时候飞进来的。一切都是正常现象。”但是，他确实感觉到一切都不正常了，主要是因为这只可恶的麻雀。教授再定睛一看，麻雀也非同寻常：它拖着左腿，好像有点瘸，但显然是故意装的，歪着头，眼睛亿斜着……总之，它正踩着留声机的音乐节拍在跳狐步舞，像小酒馆柜台旁那些醉汉一样。它极力做出各种丑态，还不时地朝教授这边瞟上一眼。库兹明一把抓住电话机，想打电话给老同学神经科医生布勒教授，问问他：人到了六十岁的年纪出现这种麻雀幻视，还突然感到头晕，这意味着什么。 这时麻雀跳到别人送给教授的大墨水瓶上，拉了一泡屎（我不是开玩笑），飞起来，在空中一动不动地停了一会儿，然后猛地冲向墙上的镜框——医科大学一八九四届毕业生的全体合影。它用钢铁般的嘴只轻轻一啄，便把玻璃啄得粉碎，然后才从窗口飞了出去。库兹明教授没有给布勒教授打电话，而是拨了另一个号码——水蛙室①的电话。他报了自己的姓名，请他们立即送些水蛙到自己家来。 ①指医院中培养医用水蛭（医蛭）的房间。水蛭用于吸取患者的脓或血。 教授放下电话，刚转过身，又不禁惊叫了一声：办公桌对面坐着一位包着护士头巾的妇女，拿着个手提包，提包上写着“水蛭”两个字。再一看她那张脸，教授简直嚎叫起来：一张男人的大嘴歪斜着，嘴角几乎连着耳朵根，嘴角处伸出一颗黄色獠牙，两只眼睛像死人一样呆滞无神。 “这些钱我收回去，”那护士用男低音说，“放在这儿也没有用。”她用鸟爪似的手把几张酒瓶标签收起来，她本人也随即消融在空气中了。 两小时后，库兹明教授躺在家中卧室的床上，他的两太阳穴上、两耳后面和颈部挂满了水蛙。灰白胡子的布勒教授坐在他脚旁的一床绗过的绸面被子上，用同情的目光望着他，不断地安慰说：这一切都是无稽之谈。窗外夜已深了。 这天夜里，莫斯科是否还发生了别的什么怪事，我们不得而知；而且，当然，也不打算再作进一步的探索，因为我们该转入这个真实故事的第二部了。亲爱的读者，请随我来！