On the chessboard, meanwhile, confusion was setting in. A thoroughly upset king in a white mantle was shuffling on his square, desperately raising his arms. Three white pawn-mercenaries with halberds gazed in perplexity at the bishop brandishing his crozier and pointing forward to where, on two adjacent squares, white and black, Woland’s black horsemen could be seen on two fiery chargers pawing the squares with their hoofs.
Margarita was extremely interested and struck by the fact that the chessmen were alive.
The cat, taking the opera glasses from his eyes, prodded his king lightly in the back. The king covered his face with his hands in despair.
Things aren’t so great, my dear Behemoth,‘ Koroviev said quietly in a venomous voice.
The situation is serious but by no means hopeless,‘ Behemoth responded. ’What’s more, I’m quite certain of final victory. Once I’ve analysed the situation properly.‘
He set about this analysing in a rather strange manner — namely, by winking and making all sorts of faces at his king.
‘Nothing helps,’ observed Koroviev.
‘Aie!’ cried Behemoth, ‘the parrots have flown away, just as I predicted!’
Indeed, from somewhere far away came the noise of many wings. Koroviev and Azazello rushed out of the room.
‘Devil take you with your ball amusements!’ Woland grunted without tearing his eyes from his globe.
As soon as Koroviev and Azazello disappeared, Behemoth’s winking took on greater dimensions. The white king finally understood what was wanted of him. He suddenly pulled off his mantle, dropped it on the square, and ran off the board. The bishop covered himself with the abandoned royal garb and took the king’s place.
Koroviev and Azazello came back.
‘Lies, as usual,’ grumbled Azazello, with a sidelong glance at Behemoth.
‘I thought I heard it,’ replied the cat.
‘Well, is this going to continue for long?’ asked Woland. ‘Your king is in check.’
‘I must have heard wrong, my master,’ replied the cat. ‘My king is not and cannot be in check.’
‘I repeat, your king is in check!’
‘Messire,’ the cat responded in a falsely alarmed voice, ‘you are overtired. My king is not in check.’
The king is on square G-2,‘ said Woland, without looking at the board.
‘Messire, I’m horrified!’ howled the cat, showing horror on his mug. There is no king on that square!‘
‘What’s that?’ Woland asked in perplexity and began looking at the board, where the bishop standing on the king’s square kept turning away and hiding behind his hand.
‘Ah, you scoundrel,’ Woland said pensively.
‘Messire! Again I appeal to logic!’ the cat began, pressing his paws to his chest. ‘If a player announces that the king is in check, and meanwhile there’s no trace of the king on the board, the check must be recognized as invalid!’
‘Do you give up or not?’ Woland cried in a terrible voice.
‘Let me think it over,’ the cat replied humbly, resting his elbows on the table, putting his paws over his ears, and beginning to think. He thought for a long time and finally said: ‘I give up.’
‘The obstinate beast should be killed,’ whispered Azazello.
‘Yes, I give up,’ said the cat, ‘but I do so only because I am unable to play in an atmosphere of persecution on the part of the envious!’ He stood up and the chessmen climbed into their box.
‘Hella, it’s time,’ said Woland, and Hella disappeared from the room. ‘My leg hurts, and now this ball …’ he continued.
‘Allow me,’ Margarita quietly asked.
Woland looked at her intently and moved his knee towards her.
The liquid, hot as lava, burned her hands, but Margarita, without wincing, and trying not to cause any pain, rubbed it into his knee.
‘My attendants insist it’s rheumatism,’ Woland was saying, not taking his eyes off Margarita, ‘but I strongly suspect that this pain in my knee was left me as a souvenir by a charming witch with whom I was closely acquainted in the year 1571, on Mount Brocken,5 on the Devil’s Podium.’
‘Ah, can that be so!’ said Margarita.
‘Nonsense! In another three hundred years it will all go away! I’ve been recommended a host of medications, but I keep to my granny’s old ways. Amazing herbs she left me, my grandam, that vile old thing! Incidentally, tell me, are you suffering from anything? Perhaps you have some sort of sorrow or soul-poisoning anguish?’
‘No, Messire, none of that,’ replied the clever Margarita, ‘and now that I’m here with you, I feel myself quite well.’
‘Blood is a great thing …’ Woland said gaily, with no obvious point, and added: ‘I see you’re interested in my globe.’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘It’s a nice little object. Frankly speaking, I don’t enjoy listening to the news on the radio. It’s always reported by some girls who pronounce the names of places inarticulately. Besides, every third one has some slight speech defect, as if they’re chosen on purpose. My globe is much more convenient, especially since I need a precise knowledge of events. For instance, do you see this chunk of land, washed on one side by the ocean? Look, it’s filling with fire. A war has started there. If you look closer, you’ll see the details.’
Margarita leaned towards the globe and saw the little square of land spread out, get painted in many colours, and turn as it were into a relief map. And then she saw the little ribbon of a river, and some village near it. A little house the size of a pea grew and became the size of a matchbox. Suddenly and noiselessly the roof of this house flew up along with a cloud of black smoke, and the walls collapsed, so that nothing was left of the little two-storey box except a small heap with black smoke pouring from it. Bringing her eye still closer, Margarita made out a small female figure lying on the ground, and next to her, in a pool of blood, a little child with outstretched arms.
‘That’s it,’ Woland said, smiling, ‘he had no time to sin. Abaddon’s6 work is impeccable.‘
‘I wouldn’t want to be on the side that this Abaddon is against,’ said Margarita. ‘Whose side is he on?’
The longer I talk with you,‘ Woland responded amiably, ’the more I’m convinced that you are very intelligent. I’ll set you at ease. He is of a rare impartiality and sympathizes equally with both sides of the fight. Owing to that, the results are always the same for both sides. Abaddon!‘ Woland called in a low voice, and here there emerged from the wall the figure of some gaunt man in dark glasses. These glasses produced such a strong impression on Margarita that she cried out softly and hid her face in Woland’s leg. ’Ah, stop it!‘ cried Woland. ’Modern people are so nervous!‘ He swung and slapped Margarita on the back so that a ringing went through her whole body. ’Don’t you see he’s got his glasses on? Besides, there has never yet been, and never will be, an occasion when Abaddon appears before someone prematurely. And, finally, I’m here. You are my guest! I simply wanted to show him to you.‘
Abaddon stood motionless.
‘And is it possible for him to take off his glasses for a second?’ Margarita asked, pressing herself to Woland and shuddering, but now from curiosity.
‘Ah, no, that’s impossible,’ Woland replied seriously and waved his hand at Abaddon, and he was no more. ‘What do you wish to say, Azazello?’
‘Messire,’ replied Azazello, ‘allow me to say – we’ve got two strangers here: a beauty who is whimpering and pleading to be allowed to stay with her lady, and with her, begging your pardon, there is also her hog.’
‘Strange behaviour for a beauty!’ observed Woland.
‘It’s Natasha, Natasha!’ exclaimed Margarita.
‘Well, let her stay with her lady. And the hog – to the cooks.’
‘To slaughter him?’ Margarita cried fearfully. ‘For pity’s sake, Messire, it’s Nikolai Ivanovich, the ground-floor tenant. It’s a misunderstanding, you see, she daubed him with the cream …’
‘But wait,’ said Woland, ‘why the devil would anyone slaughter him? Let him stay with the cooks, that’s all. You must agree, I cannot let him into the ballroom.’
‘No, really …’ Azazello added and announced: ‘Midnight is approaching, Messire.’
‘Ah, very good.’ Woland turned to Margarita: ‘And so, if you please … I thank you beforehand. Don’t become flustered and don’t be afraid of anything. Drink nothing but water, otherwise you’ll get groggy and it will be hard for you. It’s time!’
Margarita got up from the rug, and then Koroviev appeared in the doorway.
Chapter 23, The Great Ball at Satan’s
Midnight was approaching; they had to hurry. Margarita dimly perceived her surroundings. Candles and a jewelled pool remained in her memory. As she stood in the bottom of this pool, Hella, with the assistance of Natasha, doused her with some hot, thick and red liquid. Margarita felt a salty taste on her lips and realized that she was being washed in blood. The bloody mantle was changed for another — thick, transparent, pinkish – and Margarita’s head began to spin from rose oil. Then Margarita was laid on a crystal couch and rubbed with some big green leaves until she shone.
Here the cat burst in and started to help. He squatted down at Margarita’s feet and began rubbing up her soles with the air of someone shining shoes in the street.
Margarita does not remember who stitched slippers for her
