The Master and Margarita. think? Korovyov turned to Behemoth.

think? " Korovyov turned to Behemoth.

Til bet he didn't, " replied the latter, standing the primus stove on the table next to the register and wiping the sweat from his sooty brow.

" You are not Dostoevsky, " said the citizeness, who was becoming addled by Korovyov.

" Well, but how do you know, how do you know? " replied the latter.

" Dostoevsky is dead, " said the citizeness, but not very confidently.

" I protest! " exclaimed Behemoth hotly. " Dostoevsky is immortal! "

" Your ID's, citizens, " said the citizeness.

" Excuse me, but this is, after all, absurd, " said Korovyov, refusing to give in. " It isn't an ID that defines a writer, but what he has written! How can you know what ideas are fermenting in my brain? Or in his? " and he pointed at Behemoth's head, whereupon the latter immediately removed his cap so that the citizeness could get a better look at it.

" Let people in, citizens, " she said, already nervous.

Korovyov and Behemoth stepped aside and let some writer pass who was wearing a gray suit and a tieless white summer shirt, the collar of which was open and splayed over the collar of his jacket, and who had a newspaper tucked under his arm. The writer gave the woman a friendly nod, scribbled something in the register she held out for him as he passed, and proceeded to the veranda.

" Alas, not to us, " began Korovyov sadly, " but to him will go that frosty mug of beer that we, poor wanderers, so dreamed of. Our situation is a sad and difficult one, and I do not know what to do."

Behemoth merely shrugged bitterly and put his cap back on his round head, which was covered all over with thick hair very like cat fur. At that moment a soft but commanding voice sounded above the woman's head, " Let them in, Sophia Pavlovna."

The citizeness with the register gave a startled look: in the greenery of the trellis the white dress-shirt and wedge-shaped beard of the pirate had appeared. He gave the two dubious ragamuffins a welcoming look and even gestured for them to come inside. Archibald Archibaldovich made his authority felt in the restaurant he managed, and Sophia Pavlovna asked Korovyov submissively, " What is your name? "

" Panayev, " replied the latter politely. The citizeness wrote it down and looked questioningly at Behemoth.

" Skabichevsky, " squeaked the latter, pointing at his primus stove for some reason. Sophia Pavlovna wrote that down too and pushed the register over to the guests to get their signatures. Korovyov wrote " Skabichevsky" opposite " Panayev, " and Behemoth wrote " Panayev" opposite " Skabichevsky."

To Sophia Pavlovna's utter amazement, Archibald Archibaldovich smiled seductively and led the guests to the best table at the other end of the veranda, the table where there was the most shade and where the sunlight played merrily through one of the openings in the trellis.