فصل 31

XXXI

On Sparrow Hills

THE thunderstorm had passed without leaving a trace, and a multi-colored rainbow had formed an arch over the entire city and was drinking water from the Moscow River. High on a hill between two groves of trees three dark silhouettes could be seen. Woland, Korovyov, and Behemoth sat mounted on black horses, gazing at the city that stretched out on the other side of the river, at the fragmented sun gleaming in the thousands of windows facing westward, toward the gingerbread towers of Novode-vichy Convent.

There was a rustle in the air, and Azazello, along with the Master and Margarita who were flying behind him in the black tail of his cloak, landed next to the waiting group.

“We were forced to upset you a little, Margarita Nikolayevna and Master,” began Woland after a brief pause, “but please don’t hold a grudge. I don’t think you’ll have any cause for regret. Well, then,” he said addressing the Master alone, “say good-bye to the city. It’s time for us to go.” Woland pointed a black-gloved hand toward the other side of the river where countless suns were smelting the glass, and where the sky over these suns was thick with mist, smoke, and the steam from the city left incandescent by the day’s heat.

The Master dismounted quickly, detached himself from the group, and ran over to the precipice of the hill. His black cloak trailed behind him on the ground. The Master began to look at the city. In the first few seconds an aching sadness wrenched his heart, but it soon gave way to a feeling of sweet disquiet, the excitement of gypsy wanderlust.

“Forever! That must be fully comprehended,” whispered the Master, and he licked his dry, cracked lips. He began to listen carefully and pay close attention to everything that was happening in his soul. His excitement, it seemed to him, had turned into a feeling of deep and deadly resentment. But it was short-lived, it passed, and gave way for some reason to a feeling of proud indifference, which, in turn, became a presentiment of permanent peace.

The group of riders waited for the Master in silence. The group of riders watched the gesticulations of the long, black figure at the edge of the precipice, who at times raised his head as if trying to encompass the whole city with his gaze and peer beyond its boundaries, and at others dropped his head as if studying the stunted, trampled grass beneath his feet.

The silence was broken by Behemoth who had become bored.

“May I have permission, maître,” he said, “to give a whistle of farewell before we ride off?”

“You might frighten the lady,” replied Woland, “and, besides, don’t forget that today’s disgraceful antics are over now.”

“Oh, no, no, Messire,” said Margarita, sitting in the saddle like an Amazon, her hand on her hip, her pointed train reaching down to the ground. “Give him permission to whistle. Thinking about the long road ahead makes me sad. That’s natural, isn’t it, Messire, even when you know that happiness awaits you at the end of the road? Let him make us laugh, or else I’m afraid this will all end in tears, and everything will be spoiled before we set out on the road!” Woland nodded to Behemoth, who got very animated, jumped off his horse, put his fingers in his mouth, puffed out his cheeks, and whistled. Margarita’s ears began ringing. Her horse reared up, dry branches broke off in the grove, flocks of ravens and sparrows flew up into the sky, a column of dust spiraled toward the river, and several of the passengers on a riverboat that was going past the landing below had their caps blown off into the water.

The whistle made the Master shudder; however, he did not turn around, but began gesticulating even more wildly, raising his fist skyward as if he were threatening the city. Behemoth looked around proudly.

“That was a real whistle, I won’t argue,” remarked Korovyov condescendingly, “a real whistle, but, objectively speaking, it was pretty mediocre!” “Well, but I’m not a choirmaster,” replied Behemoth with dignity, puffing himself up, and unexpectedly giving Margarita a wink.

“Let me give it a try, if I can remember how,” said Korovyov, rubbing his hands and blowing on his fingers.

“But just be careful,” said Woland sternly from astride his horse. “No broken limbs!”

“Believe me, Messire,” rejoined Korovyov, his hand pressed to his heart, “it’s just for fun, I assure you …” Whereupon he stretched as if he were made of rubber, twirled the fingers of his right hand in an ingenious way, twisted himself up like a corkscrew, and then, after suddenly unwinding, let out a whistle.

Margarita did not hear the whistle, but she saw its effects when she and her fiery steed were thrown more than twenty yards to the side. An oak tree next to her was torn up by the roots, and fissures spread over the ground to the river. A huge chunk of riverbank, together with the landing and the restaurant, was uprooted into the river. The water bubbled and heaved, and an entire riverboat was thrown up on the green, low-lying opposite shore, the passengers completely unharmed. A jackdaw killed by Fagot’s whistle landed at the feet of Margarita’s neighing horse.

This whistle scared the Master away. He grabbed his head and ran back to join his waiting companions.

“Well, then,” said Woland, addressing him from atop his horse, “are all your accounts settled? Have you completed your farewell?” “Yes, I have,” replied the Master, and having regained his composure, he looked boldly and squarely into Woland’s face.

And then the terrifying voice of Woland boomed over the hills like a trumpet call, “Time to go!” followed by the sharp whistle and laughter of Behemoth.

The horses set off, and the riders soared upward, breaking into a gallop. Margarita could feel her frenzied horse chomping and straining at the bit. Woland’s cloak billowed out over the heads of the entire cavalcade and began filling the vault of the evening sky. When the black covering moved aside for just an instant, Margarita, still galloping, looked back over her shoulder and saw that everything behind them was gone, not only the multicolored towers with the airplane whirring overhead, but the city itself, which had vanished into the ground and left only mist in its wake.