The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov Page B

to turn on his side, at the same moment drawing his legs to his stomach in a frenzied movement, and, while turning, to make out the face, completely white with horror, and the crimson armband of the woman driver bearing down on him with irresistible force. Berlioz did not cry out, but around him the whole street screamed with desperate female voices.
    The woman driver tore at the electric brake, the car dug its nose into the ground, then instantly jumped up, and glass flew from the windows with a crash and a jingle. Here someone in Berlioz’s brain cried desperately: “Can it be? ...” Once more, and for the last time, the moon flashed, but now breaking to pieces, and then it became dark.
    The tram-car went over Berlioz, and a round dark object was thrown up the cobbled slope below the fence of the Patriarch’s walk. Having rolled back down this slope, it went bouncing along the cobblestones of the street.
    It was the severed head of Berlioz.

Chapter 4. The Chase

    The hysterical women’s cries died down, the police whistles stopped drilling, two ambulances drove off — one with the headless body and severed head, to the morgue, the other with the beautiful driver, wounded by broken glass; street sweepers in white aprons removed the broken glass and poured sand on the pools of blood, but Ivan Nikolaevich just stayed on the bench as he had dropped on to it before reaching the turnstile. He tried several times to get up, but his legs would not obey him — something akin to paralysis had occurred with Homeless.
    The poet had rushed to the turnstile as soon as he heard the first scream, and had seen the head go bouncing along the pavement. With that he so lost his senses that, having dropped on to the bench, he bit his hand until it bled. Of course, he forgot about the mad German and tried to figure out one thing only: how it could be that he had just been talking with Berlioz, and a moment later – the head ...
    Agitated people went running down the walk past the poet, exclaiming something, but Ivan Nikolaevich was insensible to their words. However, two women unexpectedly ran into each other near him, and one of them, sharp-nosed and bare-headed, shouted the following to the other, right next to the poet’s ear: “... Annushka, our Annushka! From Sadovaya! It’s her work ... She bought sunflower oil at the grocery, and went and broke the whole litre-bottle on the turnstile! Messed her skirt all up, and swore and swore!
    ... And he, poor man, must have slipped and – right on to the rails ...”
    Of all that the woman shouted, one word lodged itself in Ivan Nikolaevich’s upset brain: “Annushka”...
    “Annushka ... Annushka?” the poet muttered, looking around anxiously.
    Wait a minute, wait a minute ...”
    The word “Annushka” got strung together with the words ‘sunflower oil”, and then for some reason with “Pondus Pilate”. The poet dismissed Pilate and began Unking up the chain that started from the word “Annushka”. And this chain got very quickly linked up and led at once to the mad professor.
    “Excuse me! But he did say the meeting wouldn’t take place because Annushka had spilled the oil. And, if you please, it won’t take place!
    What’s more, he said straight out that Berlioz’s head would be cut off by a woman?! Yes, yes, yes! And the driver was a woman! What is all this, eh?!”
    There was not a grain of doubt left that the mysterious consultant had known beforehand the exact picture of the terrible death of Berlioz. Here two thoughts pierced the poet’s brain. The first: “He’s not mad in the least, that’s all nonsense!” And the second: Then didn’t he set it all up himself?”
    “But in what manner, may we ask?! Ah, no, this we’re going to find out!”
    Making a great effort, Ivan Nikolaevich got up from the bench and rushed back to where he had been talking with the professor. And, fortunately, it turned out that the man had not left yet.
    The street lights were