Nikanor Ivanovich was constantly being called out into the hall of his apartment, grabbed by the sleeve, whispered to, winked at, and promised a little something for his efforts.

Korovjov's Tricks 79

This torment lasted until noontime when Nikanor Ivanovich simply fled from his apartment and went to the office at the main entrance, but when he saw people were on the lookout for him there as well, he took off again. After managing somehow to escape the people who chased him across the asphalt courtyard, he took refuge in entranceway No. 6 and then climbed upstairs to the fifth floor and that vile apartment No. 50.

After catching his breath on the landing, the corpulent Nikanor Ivanovich rang the bell, but no one came to the door. He rang a second time, and a third, and began grumbling and cursing under his breath. Even then no one answered. Finally he lost his patience, took a bunch of duplicate keys belonging to the housing administration out of his pocket, opened the door authoritatively, and walked in.

" Hey there, maid! " Nikanor Ivanovich shouted in the semidark hallway. " What's your name? Grunya, is it? Are you there? "

No one replied.

Then Nikanor Ivanovich took a folding ruler out of his briefcase, removed the seal from the study door, and stepped inside the room. Or, rather, he was just starting to step inside when he stopped in amazement in the doorway, and even gave a shudder.

Sitting at the deceased's desk was a stranger, tall and emaciated and wearing a checked jacket, jockey cap, and pince-nez... well, in short, you know who.

" And who might you be, citizen? " asked Nikanor Ivanovich in a frightened voice.

" Hullo! Nikanor Ivanovich, " the unexpected citizen called out in a quavering tenor, and leaping to his feet, he greeted the chairman with an abrupt and forceful handshake. Nikanor Ivanovich was hardly enthralled by this welcome.

" Excuse me, " he began suspiciously, " but who exactly are you? Are you here in an official capacity? "

" Ah, Nikanor Ivanovich! " the stranger exclaimed confidingly. " How do you define official and unofficial? All that depends on your point of view. All that is arbitrary and relative. Today I'm unofficial, but tomorrow I might be official! And vice versa, of course, or even something worse."

This kind of reasoning gave no satisfaction whatsoever to the chairman of the house committee. A suspicious person by nature, he decided that the bombastic citizen was certainly unofficial, and maybe even superfluous.

" So who are you? What's your name? " the chairman asked with increasing severity, and even began to bear down on the stranger.

" My name is, " replied the citizen, unperturbed by the severity of tone, "...well, let's say, Korovyov. And wouldn't you like a bite to eat, Nikanor Ivanovich? No need for ceremony! Huh? "

80 The Master and Margarita

" I beg your pardon, " began Nikanor Ivanovich, by now indignant, " but what in hell does a bite to eat have to do with this! " (However unpleasant it may be, one must admit that Nikanor Ivanovich was by nature somewhat rude.) " You have no right to be in the deceased's quarters! What are you doing here? "

" And won't you sit down, Nikanor Ivanovich, " cried the citizen, without losing his composure, and making a great display of offering the chairman a seat.

Absolutely enraged, Nikanor Ivanovich refused to sit down and shouted, " Who are you anyway? "

" I serve, if you please, as an interpreter for the foreign visitor cur-rently residing in thus apartment, " explained the fellow who called himself Korovyov, as he clicked the heel of his scuffed, red shoe.

Nikanor Ivanovich's mouth fell open. The presence of a foreigner in the apartment, and with an interpreter no less, came as a complete surprise to him, and he demanded an explanation.

The interpreter was happy to oblige. The foreign artiste, Mr. Woland, had been graciously invited by the director of the Variety Theater, Stepan Bogdanovich Likhodeyev, to stay in hb apartment for the duration of his tour, approximately a week, and yesterday Stepan Bogdanovich had written to Nikanor Ivanovich to that effect with a request that he issue the foreigner a temporary residence permit since he, Likhodeyev, was going to Yalta.

" He didn't write me anything, " said the astonished chairman.

" Just take a look in your briefcase, Nikanor Ivanovich, " Korovyov suggested sweetly.

Nikanor Ivanovich shrugged and opened his briefcase and immediately found Likhodeyev's letter inside.

" How could I have forgotten? " mumbled Nikanor Ivanovich, gazing dully at the already opened envelope.

" It happens sometimes, it happens sometimes, " cackled Korovyov. " Absentmindedness, absentmindedness and over-exhaustion, and high blood pressure, my dear friend Nikanor Ivanovich! I am horribly ab-sentminded myself. We'll have a drink sometime, and I'll tell you a few facts from my life story, you'll die laughing! "

" When precisely is Likhodeyev going to Yalta? "

" Why he's already gone, gone, " shrieked the interpreter. " He's already rolling along, yes indeed! He's already the devil knows where! " and here the interpreter waved his arms like a windmill.

Nikanor Ivanovich said that he had to see the foreigner in person, but the interpreter denied him that request. It was impossible. He was too busy. Training the cat. " I can show you the cat, if you wish, " offered Korovyov.