The Master and Margarita

CHAPTER 8. The Combat between the Professor and the Poet       At  the  same  time  that consciousness left Styopa in  Yalta, that is,around half past  eleven in  the morning,  it  returned to Ivan  NikolaevichHomeless,  who woke  up  after a long  and  deep  sleep.  He spent some timepondering how it was that he had wound  up in an  unfamiliar room with whitewalls, with an astonishing  night table made of  some light metal,  and withwhite blinds behind which one could sense the sun.     Ivan  shook his head, ascertained that it  did not ache, and rememberedthat  he  was  in  a clinic. This thought drew  after it  the remembrance ofBerlioz's death, but today it did not provoke a strong shock in Ivan. Havinghad a good sleep, Ivan  Nikolaevich became calmer  and  began to  think moreclearly. After  lying motionless for  some time in this most clean, soft andcomfortable spring bed, Ivan noticed a bell button beside him.  From a habitof touching things needlessly, Ivan pressed it.  He expected the pressing ofthe  button  to be followed  by some  ringing  or appearance,  but somethingentirely different  happened. A frosted glass cylinder with the word 'Drink'on it lit  up  at  the foot of Ivan's bed. After  pausing for a  while,  thecylinder began to rotate until the word 'Nurse'  popped out. It goes withoutsaying that the clever  cylinder amazed Ivan.  The word 'Nurse' was replacedby the words 'Call the Doctor.'     'Hm . .  .'  said  Ivan, not knowing how to proceed  further with  thiscylinder. But here he happened to be lucky. Ivan pressed the button a secondtime  at  the  word  'Attendant'.  The cylinder  rang  quietly in  response,stopped, the light went out, and a plump, sympathetic woman in a clean whitecoat came into the room and said to Ivan:     'Good morning!'     Ivan did not reply, considering such a greeting inappropriate under thecircumstances.  Indeed,  they lock up a healthy man in a clinic, and pretendthat that is how it ought to be!     The  woman  meanwhile,  without  losing  her  good-natured  expression,brought the blinds up with  one push of a button,  and sun flooded the  roomthrough  a  light and  wide-meshed grille which reached right  to the floor.Beyond  the grille  a  balcony came  into  view,  beyond that the  bank of ameandering river, and on its other bank a cheerful pine wood.     'Time for our bath,' the woman invited, and  under her hands the  innerwall parted, revealing behind it a bathroom and splendidly equipped toilet.     Ivan,  though he had resolved not to talk to the woman, could  not helphimself and, on seeing the water gush into the tub in a wide stream from thegleaming faucet, said ironically:     'Looky there! Just like the Metropol! . . .'     'Oh, no,' the woman answered proudly, 'much  better. There  is no  suchequipment even anywhere abroad.  Scientists  and doctors  come especially tostudy our clinic. We have foreign tourists every day.'     At  the words 'foreign tourists', Ivan at  once remembered  yesterday'sconsultant. Ivan darkened, looked sullen, and said:     'Foreign  tourists .. . How  you all adore foreign tourists! But  amongthem,  incidentally, you come  across  all sorts. I, for  instance, met  oneyesterday -- quite something!'     And  he almost  started telling about  Pontius  Pilate, but  restrainedhimself, realizing that the woman had no use for  these stories, that in anycase she could not help him.     The  washed  Ivan  Nikolaevich  was  straight  away  issued   decidedlyeverything a man needs  after a  bath:  an ironed shirt, drawers, socks. Andnot only that: opening the door of a cupboard,  the woman pointed inside andasked:     'What would you like to put on--a dressing gown or some nice pyjamas?'     Attached to his new dwelling by force, Ivan almost clasped his hands atthe woman's casualness and silendy pointed his finger at the crimson flannelpyjamas.     After this,  Ivan  Nikolaevich was led  down  the  empty and  noiselesscorridor and brought to an  examining room of huge  dimensions. Ivan, havingdecided  to take  an  ironic attitude towards everything to be found in thiswondrously  equipped building, at once  mentally  christened  this  room the'industrial kitchen'.     And with good reason. Here stood cabinets and glass cases with gleamingnickel-plated  instruments.  There  were  chairs of extraordinarily  complexconstruction, some pot-bellied  lamps with shiny shades, a myriad of phials,Bunsen burners, electric cords and appliances quite unknown to anyone.     In the examining room Ivan was taken over by three persons - two  womenand  a man  - all  in white.  First, they  led Ivan to a corner, to a littletable, with the obvious purpose of getting something or other out of him.     Ivan began to ponder the  situation. Three  ways stood before him.  Thefirst  was extremely  tempting: to  hurl  himself  at all  these  lamps  andsophisticated little things, make the devil's own wreck of them, and therebyexpress his protest at being detained  for nothing. But today's Ivan alreadydiffered  significantly  from  the Ivan  of yesterday,  and this  first  wayappeared dubious to  him: for all he knew, the thought might get  rooted  inthem that he was a violent madman. Therefore  Ivan rejected  the first  way.There was a second: immediately to begin his  account of the  consultant andPontius  Pilate.  However,  yesterday's experience  showed  that  this storyeither  was  not believed  or was taken somehow perversely.  Therefore  Ivanrenounced this second  way as  well,  deciding  to  choose the  third  way -withdrawal into proud silence.     He  did  not  succeed  in realizing it  fully, and  had  willy-nilly toanswer, though charily and  glumly, a whole series of  questions. Thus  theygot out of Ivan decidedly everything about his  past life, down to  when andhow he  had  fallen  ill with scarlet fever fifteen  years ago. A whole pagehaving  been covered  with writing about  Ivan,  it was turned over, and thewoman  in  white went on to questions about Ivan's relatives.  Some  sort ofhumdrum started: who died when and why, and whether he drank or had venerealdisease,  and more  of the  same. In conclusion  he  was asked to tell aboutyesterday's events at the Patriarch's Ponds, but they did not pester him toomuch, and were not surprised at the information about Pontius Pilate.     Here the  woman yielded  Ivan up to the  man,  who went  to work on himdifferently and no longer asked  any questions.  He  took the temperature ofIvan's body, counted his pulse, looked  in Ivan's eyes,  directing some sortof lamp into them. Then the  second woman  came to the man's assistance, andthey pricked Ivan in  the back with something, but  not painfully, drew somesigns on the skin of his  chest  with  the handle of a little hammer, tappedhis knees with the hammer, which  made Ivan's  legs jump, pricked his fingerand took  his  blood,  pricked him inside  his bent elbow, put  some  rubberbracelets on his arms ...     Ivan just smiled  bitterly to himself and reflected on how stupidly andstrangely it had all happened. Just think! He had wanted to warn them all ofthe danger threatening from the unknown  consultant,  had intended  to catchhim, and all he had achieved was to wind up in some mysterious room, tellingall sorts of hogwash about Uncle Fyodor, who had done some hard  drinking inVologda. Insufferably stupid!     Finally Ivan was released. He was escorted back  to  his room, where hewas given a cup of coffee, two soft-boiled eggs and white bread with butter.Having  eaten  and drunk all that was offered him, Ivan decided to  wait forwhoever was chief of this  institution,  and  from this chief to obtain bothattention for himself and justice.     And he did come,  and very soon  after Ivan's  breakfast. Unexpectedly,the door of Ivan's room opened,  and in came a lot of people in white coats.At their head walked a  man of about forty-five,  as carefully shaven  as anactor,  with  pleasant but quite  piercing eyes and  courteous  manners. Thewhole  retinue  showed him tokens of attention and respect, and his entrancetherefore came out very solemn. 'Like Pontius Pilate!' thought Ivan.     Yes, this  was unquestionably the chief.  He sat down on a stool, whileeveryone else remained standing.     'Doctor Stravinsky,' the seated man introduced himself to Ivan and gavehim a friendly look.     'Here, Alexander Nikolaevich,' someone with a trim beard  said in a lowvoice, and handed the chief Ivan's chart, all covered with writing.     They've  sewn up a whole case!' Ivan thought. And the chief ran throughthe chart with a practised eye, muttered 'Mm-hm,  mm-hm . ..', and exchangeda few phrases  with those  around  him in a  little-known  language. 'And hespeaks  Latin like Pilate,' Ivan thought sadly. Here one word made him jump;it  was  the  word 'schizophrenia' - alas,  already uttered yesterday by thecursed  foreigner  at  the  Patriarch's  Ponds,  and  now repeated today  byProfessor Stravinsky. 'And he knew that, too!' Ivan thought anxiously.     The  chief apparently  made it  a  rule to agree  with and rejoice overeverything said to him by those  around  him, and to express  this with  thewords 'Very nice, very nice ...'     'Very nice!' said Stravinsky, handing the chart back to someone, and headdressed Ivan:     'You are a poet?'     'A  poet,' Ivan  replied glumly, and for  the  first time suddenly feltsome inexplicable loathing for poetry, and his own verses, coming to mind atonce, seemed to him for some reason distasteful.     Wrinkling his face, he asked Stravinsky in turn:     'You are a professor?'     To this, Stravinsky, with obliging courtesy, inclined his head.     'And you're the chief here?' Ivan continued.     Stravinsky nodded to this as well.     'I must speak with you,' Ivan Nikolaevich said meaningly.     That is what I'm here for,' returned Stravinsky.     'The thing is,' Ivan began, feeling his hour had come, 'that  I've beengot up as a madman, and nobody wants to listen to me!...'     'Oh, no, we  shall hear you out  with great attention,' Stravinsky saidseriously and  soothingly, 'and by  no means allow  you  to  be  got up as amadman.'     'Listen,  then:  yesterday  evening  I met a  mysterious person at  thePatriarch's Ponds,  maybe a  foreigner, maybe not, who knew beforehand aboutBerlioz's death and has seen Pontius Pilate in person.'     The retinue listened to the poet silently and without stirring.     'Pilate? The Pilate who lived in the time  of Jesus Christ?' Stravinskyasked, narrowing his eyes at Ivan.     "The same.'     'Aha,' said Stravinsky, 'and this Berlioz died under a tram-car?'     'Precisely, he's the  one who in my presence  was killed by a  tram-caryesterday at the Ponds, and this same mysterious citizen .. .'     The  acquaintance  of  Pontius  Pilate?'  asked  Stravinsky, apparentlydistinguished by great mental alacrity.     'Precisely him,' Ivan confirmed, studying Stravinsky. 'Well, so he saidbeforehand that Annushka had  spilled the sunflower  oil ... And  he slippedright  on  that  place! How do you like that?'  Ivan inquired significantly,hoping to produce a great effect with his words.     But  the  effect  did not ensue,  and Stravinsky quite simply asked thefollowing question:     'And who is this Annushka?'     This question upset Ivan a little; his face twitched.     'Annushka  is of absolutely  no  importance  here,'  he said nervously."Devil knows who she  is. Just some  fool from Sadovaya. What's important isthat he knew  beforehand, you  see, beforehand, about the sunflower  oil! Doyou understand me?'     'Perfectly,'  Stravinsky  replied  seriously  and,  touching the poet'sknee, added: 'Don't get excited, just continue.'     To continue,' said Ivan, trying to  fall in with Stravinsky's tone, andknowing already  from bitter experience that only  calm would help him, 'so,then,  this horrible  type (and he's lying that he's a  consultant) has someextraordinary  power!  ..  .  For instance,  you chase  after him  and  it'simpossible to catch up with him . . . And  there's also  a little pair  withhim - good ones, too,  but in their own way: some long one in broken glassesand, besides  him, a  cat  of incredible size  who  rides  the  tram  all byhimself. And besides,' interrupted by no one, Ivan went on talking with everincreasing  ardour and  conviction, 'he  was personally  on Pontius Pilate'sbalcony, there's  no doubt  of  it.  So  what is all this, eh?  He  must  bearrested immediately, otherwise he'll do untold harm.'     'So  you're  trying  to  get   him  arrested?  Have  I  understood  youcorrectly?' asked Stravinsky.     'He's intelligent,' thought Ivan. "You've  got  to  admit,  even  amongintellectuals you come across some of  rare intelligence, there's no denyingit,' and he replied:     'Quite  correctly! And  how  could  I not be trying,  just consider foryourself! And  meanwhile I've been  forcibly  detained here, they poke lampsinto my eyes,  give  me baths,  question me for some reason  about my  UncleFedya!  . .. And  he departed this world  long ago! I demand  to be releasedimmediately!'     'Well,  there,  very  nice,  very  nice!'  Stravinsky  responded.  'Noweverything's  clear. Really, what's the sense of  keeping a healthy man in aclinic? Very well, sir, I'll check you out of here right now, if you tell meyou're normal. Not prove, but merely tell. So, then, are you normal?'     Here complete  silence fell, and  the  fat woman who had taken  care ofIvan in  the  morning looked at the  professor  with awe. Ivan  thought onceagain: 'Positively intelligent!'     The  professor's offer pleased  him very  much, yet  before replying hethought very, very hard, wrinkling his forehead, and at last said firmly:     'I am normal.'     'Well, how very nice,'  Stravinsky exclaimed with relief, 'and  if  so,let's  reason logically. Let's  take your day yesterday.' Here he turned andIvan's chart was immediately handed to him. 'In search of an unknown man whorecommended himself as an acquaintance of Pontius Pilate,  you performed thefollowing  actions yesterday.'  Here Stravinsky began holding  up  his  longfingers, glancing now at the chart, now at Ivan. 'YOU hung a  little icon onyour chest. Did you?'     'I did,' Ivan agreed sullenly.     'YOU fell off  a  fence  and  hurt  your face. Right? Showed  up  in  arestaurant  carrying  a  burning candle in  your  hand, in  nothing but yourunderwear, and in the restaurant you  beat somebody. You  were  brought heretied up. Having come here,  you called the police and asked them to send outmachine-guns.  Then you  attempted to throw  yourself out the window. Right?The question is: can one, by acting in such fashion, catch or arrest anyone?And if  you're a normal man, you yourself will answer: by no means. You wishto leave here? Very well, sir.  But allow me  to ask, where are you going togo?'     'To the  police,  of course,'  Ivan replied,  no  longer so firmly, andsomewhat at a loss under the professor's gaze.     'Straight from here?'     'Mm-hm . . .'     'Without stopping at your place?' Stravinsky asked quickly.     'I have  no time to  stop anywhere! While I'm stopping at places, he'llslip away!'     'So. And what will you tell the police to start with?'     'About Pontius Pilate,' Ivan Nikolaevich replied, and his  eyes cloudedwith a gloomy mist.     'Well, how very nice!' the won-over  Stravinsky exclaimed  and, turningto the  one  with  the  little  beard, ordered: 'Fyodor Vassilyevich, pleasecheck Citizen Homeless out for town. But don't  put anyone  in  his  room orchange the  linen. In two  hours.  Citizen Homeless will  be back here.  So,then,' he  turned  to the poet, 'I won't wish you success,  because  I don'tbelieve  one iota  in  that  success. See you soon!'  He stood up,  and  hisretinue stirred.     'On what grounds will I be back here?' Ivan asked anxiously.     Stravinsky was as if waiting  for this  question, immediately sat down,and began to speak:     'On  the grounds that as soon  as you  show up at the police station inyour  drawers and  tell them you've seen  a  man  who  knew  Pontius  Pilatepersonally, you'll instandy be brought here, and you'll find yourself  againin this very same room.'     'What have  drawers  got to do with it?' Ivan asked,  gazing around  inbewilderment.     'It's mainly Pontius Pilate. But  the drawers, too. Because  we'll takethe clinic underwear  from you and give you back your  clothes. And you weredelivered here in  your drawers. And yet vou were by no means  going to stopat  your  place, though  I  dropped you a hint. Then  comes Pilate . . . andthat's it.'     Here something strange happened with  Ivan Nikolaevich. His will seemedto crack, and he felt himself weak, in need of advice.     'What am I to do, then?' he asked, timidly this time.     "Well, how very nice!' Stravinsky replied. 'A most reasonable question.Now I am going to tell you what actually happened  to you. Yesterday someonefrightened you badly  and upset you  with  a story about Pontius Pilate  andother things. And so you,  a very nervous and high-strung man, started goingaround  the city,  telling about Pontius  Pilate.  It's quite  natural  thatyou're  taken for a madman. Your salvation  now  lies  in  just one thing  -complete peace. And you absolutely must remain here.'     'But he has to be caught!' Ivan exclaimed, imploringly now.     'Very good, sir, but why should you go running around yourself? Explainall your suspicions and accusations against this man on paper. Nothing couldbe  simpler than to send your declaration to the proper quarters, and if, asyou  think, we are  dealing  with a  criminal,  it  will be  clarified  veryquickly. But only on one condition: don't strain your head, and try to thinkless about  Pontius Pilate. People say  all  kinds of  things!  One  mustn'tbelieve everything.'     'Understood!'  Ivan declared resolutely. 'I  ask  to  be given  pen andpaper.'     'Give him paper and a  short pencil,' Stravinsky ordered the fat woman,and to Ivan he said: 'But I don't advise you to write today.'     'No, no, today, today without fail!' Ivan cried out in alarm.     'Well, all right. Only don't  strain  your head. If it doesn't come outtoday, it will tomorrow.'     'He'll escape.'     'Oh, no,' Stravinsky objected confidently, 'he won't escape anywhere, Iguarantee  that. And  remember  that  here with  us you'll  be helped in allpossible  ways, and without  us nothing will  come of  it.  Do you hear me?'Stravinsky suddenly asked meaningly and took Ivan Nikolaevich by both hands.Holding them in his  own,  he repeated  for a long  time, his  eyes fixed onIvan's: 'You'll be helped here  ... do  you  hear me? .. .  You'll be helpedhere . . .  you'll get relief ... it's quiet here, all peaceful . ..  you'llbe helped here ...'     Ivan  Nikolaevich unexpectedly yawned, and  the expression on his  facesoftened.     'Yes, yes,' he said quietly.     'Well,  how  very  nice!' Stravinsky concluded  the conversation in hisusual way and stood up: 'Goodbye!' He shook Ivan's hand and, on his way out,turned to the one with the little beard and said: 'Yes, and try oxygen . . .and baths.'     A few moments later there was no Stravinsky or his retinue before Ivan.Beyond the window grille, in the noonday sun, the joyful and springtime pinewood stood beautiful on the other bank and, closer by, the river sparkled.