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At this point something strange happened to Ivan Nikolayevich. His will seemed to give way, and he felt that he was weak, that he needed advice.






" So what should I do? " he asked, but timidly this time.

" Now that's splendid! " Stravinsky replied. " A most reasonable question. Now I shall tell you what really happened to you. Someone gave you a real fright yesterday and upset you with that story about Pontius Pilate and other things. And so you, a morbidly sensitive and nervous individual, went around the city talking about Pilate. It's completely natural that you should be taken for a madman. Only one thing can save you now—and that's complete rest. You definitely need to stay here."

" But he has to be caught! " exclaimed Ivan imploringly.

" Fine, but why do you have to run after him yourself? Write down all your suspicions and accusations against this man on a piece of paper. There's nothing simpler than to send your statement to the proper authorities and if, as you claim, we are dealing with a criminal, that will soon be apparent. But there's one condition: don't overstrain yourself, and try to think less about Pontius Pilate. All sorts of stories can be told! Not all of them have to be believed."

" I understand! " Ivan announced decisively, " Please give me some paper and a pen."

" Give him some paper and a short pencil, " was Stravinsky's order to the fat woman, and to Ivan he said this, " I advise you not to write today."

" No, no, it has to be today, absolutely today, " Ivan squealed in agitation.

" Well, all right. Only don't overtire your brain. If it doesn't work out today, it will tomorrow."

" He'll escape! "

" Oh no, " Stravinsky retorted confidently. " He won't go anywhere, I assure you. And remember that here we shall assist you in every way that we can, and without that nothing you do will work out. Do you hear me? " Stravinsky asked abruptly, lending special significance to his words, and grabbing hold of both Ivan Nikolayevich's hands. As he held them in his own, he stared long and intensely into Ivan's eyes and repeated, " You'll be helped here... do you hear me?... You'll be helped here... you'll get relief. It's quiet here, everything is peaceful... You'll be helped here..."

Ivan Nikolayevich unexpectedly yawned, and his expression softened.

" Yes, yes, " he said quietly.

" Now that's splendid! " concluded Stravinsky in his usual fashion and got up. " Good-bye! " He shook Ivan's hand, and as he was walking out of the room, he turned to the man with the goatee and said, " Yes, and try oxygen... and baths."

A few moments later Ivan was alone, without Stravinsky or his entourage. Beyond the window grille the joyous and vernal wood on the opposite bank looked radiant, and nearer by, the river sparkled in the noonday sun.


IX

Korovyov's Tricks

N

Ikanor Ivanovich Bosoi, chairman of the house committee of 302B Sadovaya Street in Moscow, the residence of the late Berlioz, found himself inundated with problems, which had started during the night between Wednesday and Thursday.

At midnight, as we already know, Zheldybin arrived as part of a commission which summoned Nikanor Ivanovich, informed him of Berlioz's death, and then went with him to apartment No. 50.

There the papers and belongings of the deceased were put under seal. Neither Grunya, the maid, nor the frivolous Stepan Bogdanovich was in the apartment at the time. The commission told Nikanor Ivanovich that they would remove the deceased's papers in order to sort them out, that the deceased's living space, that is to say, his three rooms (the study, living room, and dining room that had once belonged to the jeweller's widow) would revert to the house committee, and that the deceased's belongings would be kept where they were under seal until notification of the heirs.

News of Berlioz's death spread throughout the building with supernatural speed, and Bosoi started getting calls at seven o'clock Thursday morning. Then people began showing up in person to submit claims for the vacated rooms. Within two hours Nikanor Ivanovich had received thirty-two such claims.

They contained pleas, threats, slanderous gossip, denunciations, offers to undertake renovations at their own expense, references to unbearable overcrowding, and the impossibility of sharing an apartment with bandits. Included too was an artistically powerful and gripping account of someone stealing pelmeni from apartment No. 31 and stuffing them into a jacket pocket, plus two threats of suicide and one confession of a secret pregnancy.






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