Pavel Iosifovich was already hurrying to the scene. He was an impos-

The Final Adventure of Korovyov and Behemoth 297

ing man in a clean white coat, like a surgeon, and with a pencil sticking out of his pocket. Pavel losifovich was clearly an experienced man. When he saw the tail of a third herring sticking out of Behemoth's mouth, he sized up the situation immediately, knew exactly what was going on, and forswearing any altercation with the brazen creatures, waved into the distance and gave the order, " Blow your whistle! "

The doorman flew out of the plate-glass doors to the corner of Smolensk Boulevard and burst out with an ominous whistle. The customers surrounded the scoundrels, and then Korovyov entered the fray.

" Citizens! " he shouted in a thin, tremulous voice, " What's this all about? Huh? Let me ask you that! This poor man, " Korovyov added a quaver to his voice and pointed to Behemoth, who then put on a pathetic expression, " this poor man's been fixing primus stoves all day long; he's starved... and where can he get foreign currency? "

In response, Pavel losifovich, usually calm and restrained, shouted sternly, " Oh come off it! " and waved furiously to the doorman. The whistles at the entrance trilled more gaily.

But Korovyov, unperturbed by Pavel Iosifovich's rebuke, continued. " Where can he get it? I'm asking you that! He's tortured by hunger and thirst! He's hot So the poor guy goes and samples a tangerine. A tangerine that costs all of three kopecks. And already they're whistling like nightingales in spring, disturbing the police, taking them away from their jobs. But that guy over there can have what he wants, right? " and here Korovyov pointed to the lilac fat man, causing the latter's face to register extreme alarm. " Who is he anyway? Huh? Where did he come from? And what for? Were we too bored without him? Did we invite him to come? Of course, " the former choirmaster bellowed at the top of his lungs, twisting his mouth sarcastically, " he, you see, is wearing a fancy lilac suit and is all bloated with salmon, stuffed to the gills with foreign currency, but what about our fellow citizen here, our compatriot?! This makes me bitter! Bitter! Bitter! " wailed Korovyov like the best man at an old-fashioned wedding.

This whole extremely foolish, tactless, and no doubt politically dangerous speech made Pavel losifovich shake with rage, but, strange as it may seem, one could tell from the eyes of many of the other customers that Korovyov's words had aroused their sympathy! And when Behemoth put his torn and dirty sleeve up to his eye and cried out tragically, " Thank you, true friend, for standing up for a victim! " a miracle took place. A quiet, very proper little old man, poorly but neatly dressed, who was buying three almond pastries at the confectionery counter, was suddenly transfigured. His eyes flashed with martial fire, he turned crimson, threw his package of pastries on the floor, and shouted, " It's the truth! " in a thin, childlike voice. Then he grabbed a tray, threw down what was left of the chocolate Eiffel Tower destroyed by Behemoth, brandished it, tore the foreigner's hat off with his left

298 The Master and Margarita

hand, and used his right to hit him flat on top of his bald head with the tray. A sound rang out like that of sheet metal being thrown off a truck. The fat man paled, fell backwards, and plopped down in the barrel of Kerch herring, sending up a fountain of brine. Then came a second miracle. The lilac fellow who had fallen into the barrel was screaming in perfect Russian with no trace of an accent, They're trying to kill met Police! Bandits are trying to kill me! " The shock of what had happened had obviously given him instantaneous mastery of a language previously unknown to him.

Then the doorman's whistle stopped blowing, and two police helmets were seen advancing through the crowds of excited customers. But the perfidious Behemoth poured kerosene from the primus over the confectionery counter, just as water is poured from a tub over the bench in a steam bath, and it ignited spontaneously. The flame flared up and began running down the counter, devouring the pretty paper ribbons on the baskets of fruit The salesgirls rushed out from behind the counter with shrieks and just as they did, the linen blinds on the windows caught fire, and the kerosene on the floor started burning. The customers let out a desperate shriek, dashed out of the confectionery department, crushing the now unnecessary Pavel Iosifovich, and the clerks from the fish department trotted single-file out the service exit with their sharpened knives. The lilac fellow extricated himself from the barrel, and, covered with herring brine, rolled over the salmon on the counter and followed the clerks out The plate-glass entrance doors tinkled and shattered, as they were crushed by the people trying to get out of the store, while both scoundrels-Korovyov, and the arsonist Behemoth-disappeared somewhere, but where—it was impossible to figure out Later, eyewitnesses who were present when the fire started in the Torgsin at the Smolensk Market said that both hooligans seemed to fly up to the ceiling and then burst there like children's balloons. It is, of course, doubtful that that was what happened, but we can't tell what we don't know.

We do know, however, that a minute after the incident at the Smolensk Market, Behemoth and Korovyov turned up on the sidewalk of the boulevard outside the house of Griboyedov's aunt Korovyov stopped at the wrought-iron fence and said, " Weill So this is the writers' house! You know, Behemoth, I've heard many good and flattering things about this house. Take a look at it, my friend! How nice to think that a veritable multitude of talent is sheltered and ripening under this roof."

" Like pineapples in a hothouse, " said Behemoth, and in order to get a better view of the cream-colored house and Its columns, he crawled up onto the cement base of the iron railing.

" Quite true, " chimed in Korovyov, agreeing with his inseparable companion, " And a sweet terror clutches your heart when you think that at this very minute the author of a future Don Quixote, or Faust, or, the devil take me, Dead Souls may be ripening inside that house! Huh? "

The Final Adventure of Korovjov and Behemoth 299

" A terrifying thought, " confirmed Behemoth.

" Yes, " continued Korovyov, " one can expect astonishing things from the seedbeds of this house, under whose roof have gathered thousands of devotees selflessly resolved to dedicate their lives to serving Melpomene, Polyhymnia, and Thalia. Just imagine what a sensation it will be when, for starters, one of them presents the reading public with an Inspector General, or, at the very least, a Eugene Onegtn! "