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The Master and Margarita. newspaper—the financial director thought of only one thing: what did it all mean?






newspaper—the financial director thought of only one thing: what did it all mean? Why would the manager, who had returned too late to see him, be lying to him so blatantly in an empty and quiet building? And a sense of danger, unidentified but imminent, began to take hold of Rimsky's heart. While pretending not to notice the manager's maneuvers and his tricks with the newspaper, the financial director examined his face, hardly listening any more to the tale Varenukha was spinning. There was something that seemed even more inexplicable than the slanderous story of Styopa's escapades in Pushkino, fabricated for no discernible reason whatsoever, and that something was the change in the manager's appearance and manners.

Despite the manager's efforts to keep his face in shadow by pulling the visor of his cap down over his eyes, and despite his maneuvers with the newspaper as well, the financia! director did manage to observe a huge bruise that began at his nose and extended across his right cheek. In addition, the manager's customarily ruddy complexion had taken on an unhealthy chalky pallor, and, despite the sultriness of the night, his neck was wrapped in an old striped muffler. If one added to this the manager's new habit, evidently acquired during his absence, of making disgusting sucking and smacking sounds with his lips, the sharp change in his voice, which had become rough and hollow, and the furtive and cowardly look in his eyes, then one could say without hesitation that Ivan Savelyevich Varenukha had become unrecognizable.

Something even more disturbing gnawed at the financial director, but however much he strained his already inflamed brain, however much he stared at Varenukha, he couldn't figure out what it was. He was sure of only one thing: there was something weird and unnatural about this combination of the manager and the familiar chair.

" Well, eventually he was subdued and shoved into a car, " droned on Varenukha, peering out from behind the newspaper and covering his bruise with his palm.

Rimsky suddenly stretched out his hand and started drumming his fingers on the table, while at the same time nonchalantly pressing his palm down on the buzzer of an electric bell. Then he froze. A loud alarm should have gone off in the empty building. But the alarm did not go off, and the buzzer sank lifelessly into the desktop. The buzzer was dead and the bell was broken.

The financial director's maneuver did not escape Varenukha, who winced and asked with a malicious gleam in his eye, " Why did you press the alarm? "

" Habit, " was the financial director's hollow reply as he moved his hand away. Then he asked in a shaky voice, " What's that on your face? "

" The car braked, and I hit my face against the door handle, " answered Varenukha, turning his eyes away.

" He's lying! " the financial director exclaimed to himself. Then his eyes


Praise Be lo the Rooster ¡ 31

widened and bulged crazily as he fixated on the back of Varenukha's chair.

On the floor behind the chair there were two intersecting shadows, one blacker and denser, the other faint and gray. The armchair's back and pointed legs cast a clear shadow on the floor, but there was no shadow from Varenukha's head above the chair back, nor was there any shadow from his feet beneath its legs.

" He doesn't cast a shadow! " cried Rimsky to himself in desperation. He started to tremble.

Varenukha glanced furtively behind the chair, following Rimsky's crazed eyes, and realized that he had been found out.


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