The Master and Margarita. And buses floated by beneath her, and rivers of hats flowed along the sidewalks, or so it seemed from up high

And buses floated by beneath her, and rivers of hats flowed along the sidewalks, or so it seemed from up high. Streams branched off these rivers and flowed into the fiery maws of the stores open at night.

" What a mess this is! " thought Margarita in exasperation. " It's impossible to make a turn." She crossed the Arbat, flew higher, up to fourth-storey level, floated past the blinding lights of the theater marquee on the corner and into a narrow street with tall buildings. All their windows were wide open, and everywhere music could be heard playing on the radios. Out of curiosity Margarita peered into one of the windows. She saw a kitchen. Two primus stoves were roaring on top of the counter, and two women were standing next to it with spoons in their hands, squabbling.

" I told you to turn off the light when you come out of the toilet, Pelageya Petrovna, " said the woman standing in front of a saucepan steaming with food, " or we'll have you evicted! "

" You're a fine one to talk, " the other replied.

" You're two of a kind, " said Margarita loudly and clearly, as she rolled over the windowsill into the kitchen. The two squabblers turned toward the voice and froze, dirty spoons in hand. Reaching carefully between them, Margarita twisted the knobs on both stoves and turned them off. The women groaned and gasped. But Margarita had already become bored in the kitchen and had flown out into the street.

At the end of the street her attention was drawn to the lavish hulk of a newly constructed eight-storey building. Margarita flew down and landed, and she saw that it had a black marble facade, wide doors, through whose glass one could see a doorman's gold-braided cap and the buttons on his uniform, and a sign in gold lettering over the entrance which said, " DRAMLIT HOUSE."

Margarita squinted her eyes at the sign, trying to figure out what " DRAMLIT" might mean. Tucking her broom under her arm, she walked into the entrance and opened the door, knocking against the astonished doorman in the process. On the wall next to the elevator she saw a huge, black board that listed the names and apartment numbers of all the residents written on it in white letters. When she took one look at what was written at the top of the list—" Writers' and Dramatists' House" —she let out a stifled, predatory howl. Raising herself higher in the air, she began reading the names voraciously: Khustov, Dvubratsky, Kvant, Beskudnikov, Latunsky...

" Latunsky! " screeched Margarita. " Latunsky! Why, that's him... He's the one who ruined the Master."

The doorman jumped in amazement and his eyes bulged as he stared at thé black board and tried to comprehend the miracle of the directory of residents suddenly letting out a scream. Margarita had, in the meantime, made a beeline upstairs, and was repeating over and over in a kind of rapture, " Latunsky—84... Latunsky—84...