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They saw how everything was stained the color of blood.






To Woland's health! " exclaimed Margarita, raising her glass.

All three touched their lips to their glasses and took a long drink. The pre-storm light began to fade in the Master's eyes, his heart skipped a beat, and he felt the end approaching. He saw Margarita, now mortally pale, helplessly stretch out her hands to him, drop her head on the table, and then slide to the floor.

" Poisoner..." the Master managed to shout He wanted to grab a knife from the table to stab Azazello, but his hand slid helplessly off the tablecloth. Everything around him in the basement turned black, and then vanished completely. He fell backwards, and as he did, cut his temple on the corner of the desk.

When the two who had been poisoned were still, Azazello went into action. The first thing he did was dash to the window and seconds later he was in the house where Margarita Nikolayevna had lived. Always careful and precise, Azazello wanted to make sure that everything that was necessary had been done. Everything was completely in order. He saw a morose woman, who was waiting for her husband to come home, walk out of her bedroom, suddenly turn pale, clutch her heart and cry out helplessly, " Natasha! Someone... help met" She fell on the living-room floor, without reaching the study.

" Everything's in order, " said Azazello. A minute later he was back with the prostrate lovers. Margarita lay with her face buried in the carpet. With his iron grip, Azazello turned her over like a doll, so that she was facing him, and scrutinized her. The face of the poisoned woman changed before his eyes. Even in the dusk of the gathering storm he could see the temporary witch's squint and the cruelty and wildness of her features disappear. The dead woman's face brightened and, finally, softened, and her smile was no longer predatory, but more that of a woman who had gone through a lot of suffering. Then Azazello pried open her white teeth and poured a few drops into her mouth of the same wine he had used to poison her. Margarita sighed, started to raise herself without Azazello's help, sat up, and asked in a weak voice, " Why, Azazello, why? What have you done to me? "

She saw the Master lying there, shuddered, and whispered, " I didn't expect this... murderer! "

" No, no, you've got it all wrong, " replied Azazello, " He'll get up in a minute. Ah, why are you so nervous! "

The red-haired demon sounded so convincing that Margarita believed him right away. She jumped up, strong and alive, and helped give the prostrate Master a drink of the wine. Opening his eyes, the latter gave a glowering look and with hatred in his voice repeated his last word, " Poisoner..."

" Ah, well! Insults are the usual reward for good work, " replied Azazello. " Are you blind? If so, recover your sight quickly."


314 The Master and Margarita

The Master lifted himself up, looked around with bright, keen eyes and asked, " What does this new scenario mean? "

" It means, " replied Azazello, " that it's time for us to go. Can't you hear the thunder? It's getting dark. The horses are pawing the ground, your little garden is trembling. Say good-bye to your basement, and do it quickly."

" Ah, I see, " said the Master, looking around, " You killed us, we're dead. How clever of you! How timely] Now I understand everything."

" Oh, please, " replied Azazello, " is that you I'm hearing? After all, your beloved calls you the Master, you are thinking at this moment, how can you be dead? Do you have to be sitting in a basement in a shirt and hospital long Johns to think you're alive? That's absurd! "

" I understand what you've said, " cried the Master, " Don't say any more! You're a thousand times right! "

" Great Woland! " seconded Margarita, " Great Woland! His idea was a lot better than mine. But the novel, the novel, " she shouted to the Master, " take the novel with you wherever you're flying."

" I don't have to, " replied the Master, " I remember it by heart."

" But you won't forget a word of it, not a single word? " asked Margarita, pressing herself to her lover and wiping the blood away from the cut on his temple.

" Don't worry! Now I shall never forget anything, " he replied.

" Then it's time for the fire! " cried Azazello, " Fire with which everything began and with which we are ending everything."

" Fire! " shouted Margarita in a terrifying voice. The basement window banged, the wind blew the blind aside. A short burst of thunder clapped merrily in the sky. Azazello thrust his clawed hand into the stove, pulled out a smoking log and set fire to the tablecloth. Then he set fire to a bundle of old newspapers on the couch, and then to the manuscript and the curtain on the window.

The Master, already intoxicated by the thought of the coming ride, threw a book from the shelf onto the table and ruffled its pages in the burning tablecloth. It went up in merry flames.

" Burn, burn, former life! "

" Burn, suffering! " cried Margarita.

The room was already shimmering in crimson columns, and the three of them ran out through the door along with the smoke, up the stone stairs, and out into the yard. The first thing they saw was the landlord's cook sitting on the ground; scattered around her were potatoes and several bunches of onions. The cook's condition was understandable. Three black horses were snorting by the shed, quivering, and kicking up fountains of dirt. Margarita was the first to mount, then Azazello, and the Master last. The cook let out a groan and was about to lift her hand to make the sign of the cross, but Azazello shouted threateningly from the saddle, " I'll cut your hand off! " He whistled, and the


Time to go! Time to go! 315

horses soared upwards, smashing the linden branches, and dove into a black, low-hanging cloud. Just then smoke began pouring out of the tiny basement window. From below came the faint, pathetic cry of the cook, " We're on fire! "






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