Diaboliad   ::   Булгаков Михаил Афанасьевич

The fire of Moscow roared and thundered…

Panteleimon's pale face suddenly appeared in the black square of the door. In a trice he, too, underwent a metamorphosis. His tiny eyes shone triumphantly, he drew himself up, flung his right arm across his left, as if putting on an invisible napkin, leapt up and galloped downstairs sideways, obliquely, like a trace-horse, circling his arms as if he were holding a trayful of cups.

The smoke did o'er the river spread…

«What on earth have I done?» Korotkov gasped in horror. After rushing through the first stagnating waves, the machine settled down smoothly, filling the empty halls of MACBAMM with the roar of a thousand-headed lion.

And on the walls by the Kremlin Gat… —

Through the howling and thundering of bells came the sound of a car, and Longjohn returned through the main entrance, a clean-shaven, vindictive and menacing Longjohn. He began to mount the staircase smoothly in a sinister bluish light. Korotkov's hair stood on end. Jumping up, he ran through the side door down the crooked staircase behind the organ and across the gravel-covered yard into the street. As if pursued by the Furies he flew into the street with the Alpine Rose booming behind him.

A grey frock-coated figure stood…

On the corner a cabby brandishing a whip was trying furiously to get his old nag going.

«Oh, my God!» Korotkov sobbed frantically. «It's him again! What is going on?»

A bearded Longjohn loomed out of the pavement bf the cab, hopped in and began to whack the cabby on the back, chanting in his high voice:

«Get going, you rascal! Get going!»

The old nag gave a start, kicked up its heels and raced off under the stinging blows of the whip, clattering down the street. Through tempestuous tears Korotkov saw the cabby's patent-leather hat fly off and banknotes came fluttering out of it in all directions. Small boys chased after them, whistling. The cabby turned round and pulled in the reins wildly, but Longjohn thumped him on the back furiously and yelled:

«Keep going! Keep going! I'll pay you.»

«Ее, your good health, it's rack and ruin, ain't it?» the cabby cried wildly, putting the nag into a full gallop, and they all disappeared round the corner.

Sobbing, Korotkov looked at the grey sky racing overhead, staggered and cried painfully:

«That's enough. I can't leave it like this! I must explain everything.» He jumped on to a tram. It shook him along for five minutes or so then threw him down by a green nine-storey building.