MIKHAIL BULGAKOV - THE WHITE GUARD

As his thoughts flowed on they were interrupted by the doorbell. There was no one in the apartment besides Anyuta, they had all

gone into town in the attempt to finish all they had to do while it was still light.

'If it's a patient, show him in, Anyuta.'

'Very well, Alexei Vasilievich.'

A man followed Anyuta up the staircase, took off his mohair overcoat and went into the drawing-room.

'Please come in here', said Alexei.

A thin, yellowish young man in a gray tunic rose from his chair. His eyes were clouded and staring. In his white coat, Alexei stood aside and ushered the man into the consulting-room.

'Sit down, please. What can I do for you?'

'I have syphilis', said the visitor in a husky voice, staring steadily and gloomily at Alexei.

'Have you already had treatment?'

'Yes, but the treatment was bad and ineffective. It didn't help much.'

'Who sent you to me?'

'The vicar of St Nicholas' Church, Father Alexander.'

'What?'

'Father Alexander.'

'You mean you know him?'

'I have been saying confession to him, and what the saintly old man has had to say to me has brought me great relief, explained the visitor, staring out at the sky. 'I didn't need treatment. Or so I thought. I should have patiently borne this trial visited upon me by God for my terrible sin, but the father persuaded me that my reasoning was false. And I have obeyed him.'

Alexei gazed intently into the patient's pupils and began by testing his reflexes. But the pupils of the owner of the mohair coat seemed to be normal, except that they were filled with a profound, black sadness.

'Well, now', said Alexei as he put down his little hammer. 'You are obviously a religious man.'

'Yes, I think about God night and day. He is my only refuge and comforter.'

'That is very good, of course,' said Alexei, without taking his

gaze from the patient's eyes, 'and I respect your views, but this is ray advice to you: while you are undergoing treatment, give up thinking so hard about God. The fact is that in your case it is beginning to develop into an idee fixe. And in your condition that's harmful. You need fresh air, exercise and sleep.'

'I pray at night.'

'No, you must change that. You must reduce the time you spend praying. It will fatigue you, and you need rest.'

The patient lowered his eyes in obedience.

He stood naked in front of Alexei and submitted himself to examination.

'Have you been taking cocaine?'

'That too was one of the degrading sins in which I indulged. But I don't do it any longer.'

'God knows ... he may turn out to be a fraud and a thief . . . malingering. I'll have to make sure there are no fur coats missing from the lobby when he leaves.'

Alexei drew a question mark on the patient's chest with the handle of his hammer. The white mark turned red.

'Stop this obsession with religion. In fact, give up thinking about things that are painful or disturbing. Get dressed. From tomorrow I shall start you on a course of mercury injections, then after a week I shall give you the first transfusion.'

'Very well, doctor.'

'No cocaine. No alcohol. And no women, either . . .'

'I have given up women and intoxicants. And I shun the company of evil men', said the patient as he buttoned up his shirt. 'The evil genius of my life, the forerunner of the Antichrist, has departed for the city of the devil.'

'My dear fellow, stop it,' Alexei groaned, 'or you'll end up in a psychiatric clinic. Who is this Antichrist you're talking about?'

'I'm talking about his precursor, Mikhail Semyonovich Shpolyansky, a man with the eyes of a snake and black sideburns. He has gone away to Moscow, to the kingdom of the Antichrist, to give the signal for a horde of fallen angels to descend on this City

in punishment for the sins of its inhabitants. Just as once Sodom and Gomorrah . . .'

'By fallen angels I suppose you mean Bolsheviks? Agreed. But I still insist you clear your mind of these thoughts . . . You'd better take bromide. A teaspoonful three times a day.'

'He's young. But he is as full of corruption as a thousand-year-old devil. He leads women into debauchery, young men to sin, and already the war-trumpets of the legions of evil are sounding and behind them is seen the countenance of Satan himself.'

'Trotsky?'

'Yes, that is the name the Evil One has taken. But his real name in Hebrew is Abaddonna, in Greek Apollyon, which means "the destroyer".'

'I'm telling you seriously that unless you stop this you, well . . . it's developing into a mania with you . . .'

'No, doctor, I'm quite normal. What is the fee, doctor, for your sacred work?'

'Look, why do you keep using the word "sacred"? I see nothing particularly sacred in my work. I charge the same for a course of treatment as every other doctor. If you want me to treat you, leave a deposit.'

'Very well.'

He unbuttoned his tunic.

'Perhaps you're short of money', muttered Alexei, glancing at the threadbare knees of his patient's trousers. 'No, he's no swindler ... or burglar . . . but he may go out of his mind.'

'No, doctor, I'll raise the money. In your own way you ease the lot of mankind.'

'And sometimes very successfully. Now please be sure and take exactly the prescribed amount of bromide.'

'With respect, doctor, it is only above that we can obtain complete relief.' With an inspired gesture the patient pointed up to the white ceiling. 'Now we can all look forward to a time of trial such as we have never seen . . . And it will come very soon.'

'Thanks for the warning. I have already experienced quite enough of a trial.'

'There will be no escaping it, doctor. No escape', muttered the patient, as he struggled into his mohair overcoat in the lobby. 'For it is written: the third angel poured out his vial upon the rivers and fountains of waters; and they became blood.'

. . . Where have I heard that before? Ah yes, of course, when I was talking politics with the priest. So he's found a kindred spirit - remarkable . . . 'Take my advice and don't spend so much time reading the Book of Revelations. I repeat, it's doing you harm. Goodbye. Tomorrow at six, please. Anyuta, show the patient out, please . . .'

*

'Don't refuse it... I wanted the person who saved my life to have something to remember me by . . . this bracelet belonged to my late mother . . .'

'No, you mustn't . . . What for? ... I don't want you to . . .' replied Julia Reiss, warding off Alexei with a gesture. But he insisted and fastened the dark, heavy metal bracelet around her pale wrist. It made her look altogether more beautiful . . . even in the half-light he could see her blushing.

Unable to help himself, Alexei put his right arm around Julia's neck, drew her to him and kissed her several times on the cheek. As he did so his walking-stick dropped from his weakened hand and it fell noisily against the legs of a chair.

'Go . . .' whispered Julia, 'you must go now. Before it's too late. Petlyura's wagons are driving through the streets. Take care they don't catch you.'

'You are very dear to me', whispered Alexei. 'Please let me come and see you again.'

'Yes, do come . . .'

'Tell me, why are you alone and whose picture is that on the table? The dark man with sideburns.'

'That's my cousin', replied Julia, lowering her eyes.

'What is his name?'

'Why do you want to know?'

'You saved me ... I want to know.'

'just because I saved you, does that give you the right to know? His name is Shpolyansky.'

'Is he here?'

'No, he's left. Gone to Moscow. How inquisitive you are.'

Something stirred within Alexei and he stared for a long time at the black sideburns and black eyes. A gnawing, uncomfortable thought refused to leave him as he stared at the mouth and forehead of the chairman of the Magnetic Triolet club. But the thought was confused and indistinct . . . The forerunner. That wretched man in the mohair coat . . . What was it that was worrying him, nagging him? Still, who cares. To hell with him ... As long as Alexei could come again to this strange, silent little house with its portrait of a man wearing epaulettes . . .