The Master and Margarita. you crazy! Talks on the phone

you crazy! Talks on the phone! A suit! Everyone's run off like scared rabbits! "

The bookkeeper merely stood there, shaking. But at that point fate came to his rescue. Striding into the anteroom in a calm and businesslike way came the militia, that is, two policemen. When she saw them, the beautiful secretary began sobbing even harder and pointed to the office door.

" Come now, citizeness, let's not have any crying, " said the first policeman calmly. The bookkeeper, feeling his presence to be completely superfluous, left the anteroom, and a minute later, was out in the fresh air. There seemed to be a draft blowing inside his head, like wind ringing in a pipe, and in this ringing he could hear bits and pieces of the ushers' tales about the cat that took part in yesterday's performance. " Aha! Could our cat-friend be making a return appearance? "

Having made no progress at all at the Commission, the conscientious Vasily Stepanovich decided to visit the branch office located on Vagan-kovsky Lane. To calm himself down a bit, he made the trip on foot

The Moscow branch office of the Entertainment Commission was located in an old house, peeling from age, set far back in a courtyard, and was famous for the porphyry columns in its vestibule.

On that particular day, however, visitors were less struck by the columns than they were by what was going on beneath them.

Several visitors stood frozen to the spot, staring at the young lady who was sitting and weeping at the table where all the entertainment literature was displayed and sold. At the moment in question she was not engaged in salesmanship of any kind and was instead waving off all sympathetic questions with a flick of her wrist. Meanwhile, from upstairs and downstairs, from every side and every department of the building came the clanging of at least twenty phones.

After crying for a bit, the young lady suddenly shuddered and shouted out hysterically, " Here we go again! " and then broke out in a quavering soprano:

A glorious sea, our sacred Baikal..

A messenger who appeared on the staircase threatened someone with his fist and then joined the young woman, singing in a dull, toneless baritone:

Glorious the ship, the barrel of salmon!...

The messenger's voice was joined by others coming from farther away, the chorus swelled, and soon the song echoed from every corner of the branch office. In Room No. 6, the closest by, where the accounting department was, a powerful, slightly hoarse, deep bass rang out