Mikhail Bulgakov - The Master and Margarita / Мастер и Маргарита. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“Yes, Levi Matthew,” came the high-pitched, tormenting voice.

“But what were you saying, after all, to the crowd at the bazaar about the Temple?”

The voice of the man answering seemed to stab into Pilate’s brow; it was inexpressibly agonizing, and that voice said:

“I was saying, Hegemon, that the temple of the old faith would collapse and a new temple of truth would be created. I put it like that so it would be clearer.”

“And why were you, you vagrant, stirring up [70] to stir up – путать народ the people at the bazaar, telling them about truth, of which you have no conception? What is truth?”

And at this point the Procurator thought: “O my gods! I’m asking him about something unnecessary during the trial. My mind isn’t serving me any more…” And again he had a vision of a goblet of dark liquid. “Give me poison, poison.”

And once more he heard the voice:

“The truth first and foremost is that your head aches, and aches so badly that you’re faint-heartedly contemplating death. Not only do you not have the strength to talk to me, you find it hard even to look at me. And now I’m your involuntary torturer [71] involuntary torturer – невольный мучитель , which grieves me. You can’t even think about anything, and you dream only of the arrival of your dog, evidently the only creature you feel affection for. But your torment will come to an end in a moment: your headache will go.”

The secretary stared goggle-eyed at the prisoner and stopped in mid-word.

Pilate raised his martyr’s eyes to the prisoner and saw that the sun was already quite high above the hippodrome, that a ray had stolen into the colonnade and was creeping towards Yeshua’s worn-down sandals, and that he was trying to stay out of the sun.

At this point the Procurator rose from his armchair, gripped his head in his hands, and on his yellowish, clean-shaven face an expression of horror appeared. But he immediately suppressed it by will-power [72] to suppress by will-power – подавить усилием воли and lowered himself back into the armchair.

The prisoner, meanwhile, was continuing with his speech, yet the secretary was recording nothing more, and merely stretching his neck out like a goose, trying not to let slip a single word.

“There you are, it’s all over,” said the prisoner, casting benevolent glances at Pilate, “and I’m extremely pleased about that. I’d advise you, Hegemon, to leave the palace for a time and take a walk somewhere in the surrounding area – well, perhaps in the gardens on the Mount of Olives. The storm will begin” – the prisoner turned around and narrowed his eyes at the sun – “later on, towards evening. The walk would do you a lot of good, and I’d accompany you with pleasure. Certain new ideas have occurred to me that you might, I think, find interesting, and I’d willingly share them with you, particularly as you give the impression of being a very intelligent man.”

The secretary turned deathly pale [73] to turn deathly pale – смертельно побледнеть and dropped his scroll on the floor.

“The trouble is,” continued the bound man, whom nobody was stopping, “you’re too self-contained, and you’ve utterly lost your faith in people. I mean, you must agree, you really shouldn’t make a dog the sole object of your affection. Your life is a poor one, Hegemon,” and at this point the speaker permitted himself a smile.

The secretary was thinking about only one thing now: should he believe his own ears or not? He had to believe them. Then he tried to imagine in precisely [74] to imagine in precisely – детально вообразить what whimsical form the anger of the hot-tempered Procurator would express itself at this unheard-of impertinence from the prisoner. And this the secretary was unable to imagine, although he knew the Procurator well.

At that moment there rang out the cracked, rather hoarse voice of the Procurator, who said in Latin:

“Untie his hands.”

One of the legionaries in the escort struck his spear on the ground, handed it to another one, went forward and took the ropes off the prisoner. The secretary picked up the scroll and decided not to record anything for the time being, nor to be surprised at anything.

“Confess: are you a great doctor?” Pilate asked quietly in Greek.

“No, Procurator, I’m not a doctor,” replied the prisoner, rubbing a twisted and swollen purple wrist in delight.

From under his brows Pilate’s eyes bored sternly into the prisoner, and those eyes were no longer lacklustre; the sparks that everyone knew had appeared in them.

“I didn’t ask you,” said Pilate, “perhaps you know Latin too?”

“Yes, I do,” replied the prisoner.

Colour appeared in Pilate’s yellowish cheeks, and he asked in Latin:

“How did you happen to know I wanted to call my dog?”

“It’s very simple,” the prisoner replied in Latin, “you were moving your hand through the air” – and the prisoner repeated Pilate’s gesture – “as though you wanted to stroke something, and your lips…”

“Yes,” said Pilate.

They were silent for a moment. Pilate asked a question in Greek:

“And so are you a doctor?”

“No, no,” replied the prisoner animatedly, “believe me, I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, all right. If you want to keep it a secret, do so. It has no direct bearing on the case. So you claim you didn’t call on anyone to demolish. or set fire to, or in any other way destroy the Temple?”

"I repeat: I haven’t called upon anyone, Hegemon, to perform such acts. What, do I seem feeble-minded?”

"Oh no, you don’t seem at all feeble-minded,” the Procurator replied quietly, and smiled a fearsome sort of smile [75] a fearsome sort of smile – страшная улыбка; улыбка, не предвещающая ничего хорошего , "so swear, then, that it didn’t happen.”

"What do you want me to swear on?” asked the unbound man, who was now very animated.

"Well, on your life, perhaps,” replied the Procurator. "It’s the very time to swear on it, since it hangs by a thread – be aware of that.”

"And do you think it was you that hung it up, Hegemon?” asked the prisoner. "If so, you’re very much mistaken.”

Pilate started and replied through his teeth:

"I can cut the thread.”

"And you’re mistaken about that too,” retorted the prisoner, smiling brightly and using his hand to shield himself from the sun. "You must agree that it s quite certain the thread can be cut only by the one who hung it up?”

"Right, right,” said Pilate, smiling, "now I have no doubt that the idle layabouts in Yershalaim followed on your heels. I don’t know who hung your tongue in place, but they certainly hung a quick one. Incidentally, tell me: is it true you entered Yershalaim through the Susim Gate, riding on an ass and accompanied by a crowd of plebs, who were shouting out greetings to you as though to some kind of prophet?” – here the Procurator indicated the scroll of parchment.

The prisoner looked at the Procurator in bewilderment.

"I don’t even have an ass, Hegemon,” he said. "I did, indeed, come into Yershalaim through the Susim Gate, but on foot, accompanied by Levi Matthew alone, and nobody shouted anything at me, since nobody in Yershalaim knew me then.”

“Do you know these people,” Pilate continued, without taking his eyes off the prisoner, “a certain Dismas, a second man… Gestas, and a third. Bar-rabban?” [76] Dismas. Gestas. Bar-rabban: Dismas and Gestas are the apocryphal names given to the two thieves crucified alongside Jesus. Bar-rabban is a lesser-known variant of the name Barabbas. (Комментарий И. Беспалова)