Rimsky regained control of himself as well as he could, took the receiver of the phone, and said into it:
‘A super-urgent call to Yalta, please.’
‘Clever!’ Varenukha observed mentally.
But the conversation with Yalta did not take place. Rimsky hung up the receiver and said:
‘As luck would have it, the line’s broken.’
It could be seen that the broken line especially upset him for some reason, and even made him lapse into thought. Having thought a little, he again took the receiver in one hand, and with the other began writing down what he said into it:
Take a super-lightning. Variety. Yes. Yalta criminal investigation. Yes. “Today around eleven thirty Likhodeev talked me phone Moscow stop After that did not come work unable locate by phone stop Confirm handwriting stop Taking measures watch said artiste Findirector Rimsky.”‘
‘Very clever!’ thought Varenukha, but before he had time to think well, the words rushed through his head: ‘Stupid! He can’t be in Yalta!’
Rimsky meanwhile did the following: he neatly stacked all the received telegrams, plus the copy of his own, put the stack into an envelope, sealed it, wrote a few words on it, and handed it to Varenukha, saying:
‘Go right now, Ivan Savelyevich, take it there personally.5 Let them sort it out.’
‘Now that is really clever!’ thought Varenukha, and he put the envelope into his briefcase. Then, just in case, he dialled Styopa’s apartment number on the telephone, listened, and began winking and grimacing joyfully and mysteriously. Rimsky stretched his neck.
‘May I speak with the artiste Woland?’ Varenukha asked sweetly.
‘Mister’s busy,’ the receiver answered in a rattling voice, ‘who’s calling?’
The administrator of the Variety, Varenukha.‘
‘Ivan Savelyevich?’ the receiver cried out joyfully. Terribly glad to hear your voice! How’re you doing?‘
‘Merci,’ Varenukha replied in amazement, ‘and with whom am I speaking?’
‘His assistant, his assistant and interpreter, Koroviev!’ crackled the receiver. ‘I’m entirely at your service, my dearest Ivan Savelyevich! Order me around as you like. And so?’
‘Excuse me, but ... what, is Stepan Bogdanovich Likhodeev not at home now?’
‘Alas, no! No!’ the receiver shouted. ‘He left!’
‘For where?’
‘Out of town, for a drive in the car.’
‘Wh ... what? A dr ... drive? And when will he be back?’
‘He said, I’ll get a breath of fresh air and come back.’
‘So ...’ said the puzzled Varenukha, ‘merci ... kindly tell Monsieur Woland that his performance is tonight in the third part of the programme.’
‘Right. Of course. Absolutely. Urgently. Without fail. I’ll tell him,’ the receiver rapped out abruptly.
‘Goodbye,’ Varenukha said in astonishment.
‘Please accept,’ said the receiver, ‘my best, warmest greetings and wishes! For success! Luck! Complete happiness! Everything!’
But of course! Didn’t I say so!‘ the administrator cried agitatedly. ’It’s not any Yalta, he just went to the country!‘
‘Well, if that’s so,’ the findirector began, turning pale with anger, ‘it’s real swinishness, there’s even no name for it!’
Here the administrator jumped up and shouted so that Rimsky gave a start:
‘I remember! I remember! They’ve opened a new Georgian tavern in Pushkino called “Yalta”! It’s all clear! He went there, got drunk, and now he’s sending telegrams from there!’
‘Well, now that’s too much!’ Rimsky answered, his cheek twitching, and deep, genuine anger burned in his eyes. ‘Well, then, he’s going to pay dearly for this little excursion! ...’ He suddenly faltered and added irresolutely: ‘But what about the criminal investlgation ...’
‘It’s nonsense! His own little jokes,’ the expansive administrator interrupted, and asked: ‘Shall I take the envelope?’
‘Absolutely,’ replied Rimsky.
And again the door opened and in came that same ... ‘Her!’ thought Rimsky, for some reason with anguish. And both men rose to meet the postwoman.
This time the telegram contained the words:
‘Thank you confirmation send five hundred urgently criminal investigation my name tomorrow fly Moscow Likhodeev.’
‘He’s lost his mind ...’ Varenukha said weakly.
Rimsky jingled his key, took money from the fireproof safe, counted out five hundred roubles, rang the bell, handed the messenger the money, and sent him to the telegraph office.
‘Good heavens, Grigory Danilovich,’ Varenukha said, not believing his eyes, ‘in my opinion you oughtn’t to send the money.’
‘It’ll come back,’ Rimsky replied quietly, ‘but he’ll have a hard time explaining this little picnic.’ And he added, indicating the briefcase to Varenukha: ‘Go, Ivan Savelyevich, don’t delay.’
And Varenukha ran out of the office with the briefcase.
