While the waiters were tying the poet up with towels, the commander of the brig was conversing with the doorman in the coatroom.

" You saw, didn't you, that he was in his underwear? " asked the pirate coldly.

" But, Archibald Archibaldovich, " replied the doorman timidly, " how could I not admit the gentleman if he is a member of MASSOLTT? "

" But you saw he was in his underwear? " the pirate repeated.

" For pity's sake, Archibald Archibaldovich, " the doorman said, turning crimson, " What could I do? I know there are ladies on the veranda..."

" The ladies are not the issue, they don't care, " replied the pirate, his eyes literally setting the doorman on fire, " but the police do care! A man in his underwear can tramp around Moscow only if he's in police custody, and only if he's going to one place—the police station! And you as a doorman should know that when you see such a man, you should begin blowing your whistle without a moment's delay. Do you hear me? Do you hear what's happening on the veranda? "

Here the half-crazed doorman could hear the oohs and ahs, crashing dishes, and women's shrieks coming from the veranda.

54 The Master and Margarita

" Well, how should you be punished for what you did? " asked the pirate.

The skin on the doorman's face took on a typhoid tinge and his eyes became dead. The pirate's black hair, now parted down the middle, seemed to be covered with fiery silk. Gone were his dress shirt and dinner jacket, and sticking out of his leather belt was the butt of a pistol. The doorman imagined himself hanging from the foremast. With his own eyes he saw his tongue hanging out and his lifeless head slumped on his shoulder, and he could even hear the waves splashing against the side of the ship. His knees gave way from under him. But just then, the pirate took pity on him and extinguished his piercing gaze.

" Watch out, Nikolai! This is the last time. We don't need that kind of a doorman in this restaurant. Go be a watchman in a church." Having said this, the commander gave quick, precise, clear orders: " Get Pan-telei from the pantry. Call a policeman. Write a report Order a car. Send it to the asylum." And he added, " Blow your whistle! "

A quarter of an hour later a flabbergasted crowd-not only inside the restaurant, but outside on the boulevard and in the windows of the buildings overlooking the restaurant pavilion— watched as Pantelei, the doorman, a policeman, a waiter, and the poet Ryukhin came out of Griboyedov's gates, carrying a young man swaddled like a doll, with tears running down his face, who tried to spit on Ryukhin, and was screaming the length of the boulevard, " Bastard! Bastard! "

The driver of the van had a malicious look on his face as he started the motor. Alongside him a cabdriver urged on his horse, beating her hindquarters with lilac-colored reins, and shouting, " I'll go fast! I've taken guys to the nuthouse before! "

The crowd buzzed as they discussed this unprecedented event. In short, it was a filthy, vile, titillating, beastly scandal which ended only when the van carting off the unfortunate Ivan Nikolayevich, the policeman, Pantelei, and Ryukhin drove away from the gates of Griboyedov.

VI

Schizophrenia, as Predicted

T was one-thirty in the morning when a man with a small pointed beard and a white coat entered the reception room of the famous psychiatric clinic that had recently been built outside of Moscow on the banks of the river. Three male nurses were keeping a vigilant eye on Ivan Nikolayevich who was sitting on the couch. The distraught poet Ryukhin was also present The towels which had been used to tie Ivan Nikolayevich up were lying in a heap on the couch. Ivan Nikolayevich's arms and legs were free.

When he saw the man walk in, Ryukhin turned pale, coughed, and said in a timid voice, " Hello, Doctor."

The doctor bowed to Ryukhin but in doing so, looked not at him, but at Ivan Nikolayevich. The latter was sitting completely still, with his eyebrows raised and an angry expression on his face. He did not stir even when the doctor walked in.

" Doctor, " began Ryukhin in a kind of conspiratorial whisper, looking timidly over at Ivan Nikolayevich, " this is the prominent poet Ivan Bezdomny... well, as you can see... we're afraid it might be a case of delirium tremens..."

" Has he been drinking heavily? " asked the doctor through his teeth.

" No, he did drink, but not enough to..."

" Has he been trying to catch cockroaches, rats, little devils, or running dogs? "

" No, " replied Ryukhin with a shudder. " I saw him yesterday and this morning too. He was completely fine..."

" And why is he in his underwear? Did they get him out of bed? "

" That, doctor, is the way he arrived at the restaurant."

" Aha, aha, " said the doctor with great satisfaction. " And why the cuts and bruises? Did he get in a fight with somebody? "

" He fell off a fence, and then he hit someone in the restaurant... and there was someone else too..."

" I see, I see, I see, " said the doctor, and turning to Ivan, he added,

56 The Master and Margarita

" HeUo! "

" Hello, you wrecker! " replied Ivan in a loud, angry voice. Ryukhin felt so embarrassed that he could not even look at the polite doctor. But the latter was not in the least offended. He removed his glasses in a practiced, graceful manner, and after lifting the hem of his smock, he put the glasses in the back pocket of his trousers. He then asked Ivan, " How old are you? "

" All of you can go to the devil! " Ivan bellowed rudely and turned away.

" But why are you angry? Have I said something unpleasant to you? "

" I'm twenty-three, " said Ivan excitedly, " and I'm going to file a complaint against all of you. You in particular, scum! " he said, addressing Ryukhin separately.

" And what is it you wish to complain about? "

" That I, a healthy man, was seized and dragged by force to a madhouse! " Ivan replied angrily.

Here Ryukhin took a good look at Ivan and turned cold: there was absolutely no sign of madness in his eyes. They had looked lackluster at Griboyedov, but now their customary clarity had returned.

" My goodness! " thought Ryukhin in fright, " Can it be that he is completely normal? What nonsense this is! Whatever possessed us to drag him here? He's normal, normal, only his mug's been scratched up..."

Sitting down on a gleaming white stool, the doctor began calmly, " You happen to be in a clinic, not an asylum, where no one will keep you if it is unnecessary."

Ivan Nikolayevich looked mistrustfully out of the corner of his eye but nonetheless muttered, " The Lord be praised! Finally there's one normal person among all the idiots, chief of whom is that booby and hackSashka! "

" Who is this Sashka-hack? " inquired the doctor.

" He's right here, " answered Ivan, pointing a dirty finger in Ryukhin's direction.