But the cat pulled a neater trick than the number with the stolen watch. Getting up from the sofa unexpectedly, he walked on his hind legs to the dressing table, pulled the stopper out of the carafe with his front paw, poured water into a glass, drank it, installed the stopper in its place, and wiped his whiskers with a make-up cloth.
Here no one even gasped, their mouths simply fell open, and the make-up man whispered admiringly:
‘That’s class!’
Just then the bells rang alarmingly for the third time, and everyone, agitated and anticipating an interesting number, thronged out of the dressing room.
A moment later the spheres went out in the theatre, the footlights blazed up, lending a reddish glow to the base of the curtain, and in the lighted gap of the curtain there appeared before the public a plump man, merry as a baby, with a clean-shaven face, in a rumpled tailcoat and none-too-fresh shirt. This was the master of ceremonies, well known to all Moscow - Georges Bengalsky.
‘And now, citizens,’ Bengalsky began, smiling his baby smile, ‘there is about to come before you ...’ Here Bengalsky interrupted himself and spoke in a different tone: ‘I see the audience has grown for the third part. We’ve got half the city here! I met a friend the other day and said to him: “Why don’t you come to our show? Yesterday we had half the city.” And he says to me: “I live in the other half!” ’ Bengalsky paused, waiting for a burst of laughter, but as no one laughed, he went on: ‘... And so, now comes the famous foreign artiste, Monsieur Woland, with a seance of black magic. Well, both you and I know,’ here Bengalsky smiled a wise smile, ‘that there’s no such thing in the world, and that it’s all just superstition, and Maestro Woland is simply a perfect master of the technique of conjuring, as we shall see from the most interesting part, that is, the exposure of this technique, and since we’re all of us to a man both for technique and for its exposure, let’s bring on Mr Woland! ...’
After uttering all this claptrap, Bengalsky pressed his palms together and waved them in greeting through the slit of the curtain, which caused it to part with a soft rustle.
The entrance of the magician with his long assistant and the cat, who came on stage on his hind legs, pleased the audience greatly.
‘An armchair for me,’ Woland ordered in a low voice, and that same second an armchair appeared on stage, no one knew how or from where, in which the magician sat down. Tell me, my gentle Fagott,‘ Woland inquired of the checkered clown, who evidently had another appellation than Koroviev, ’what do you think, the Moscow populace has changed significantly, hasn’t it?‘
The magician looked out at the hushed audience, struck by the appearance of the armchair out of nowhere.
‘That it has, Messire,’ Fagott-Koroviev replied in a low voice.
‘You’re right. The city folk have changed greatly ... externally, that is ... as has the city itself, incidentally ... Not to mention their clothing, these ... what do you call them ... trams, automobiles ... have appeared ...’
‘Buses...’ Fagott prompted deferentially.
The audience listened attentively to this conversation, thinking it constituted a prelude to the magic tricks. The wings were packed with performers and stage-hands, and among their faces could be seen the tense, pale face of Rimsky.
The physiognomy of Bengalsky, who had retreated to the side of the stage, began to show some perplexity. He raised one eyebrow slightly and, taking advantage of a pause, spoke:
‘The foreign artiste is expressing his admiration for Moscow and its technological development, as well as for the Muscovites.’ Here Bengalsky smiled twice, first to the stalls, then to the gallery.
Woland, Fagott and the cat turned their heads in the direction of the master of ceremonies.
‘Did I express admiration?’ the magician asked the checkered Fagott.
‘By no means, Messire, you never expressed any admiration,’ came the reply.
‘Then what is the man saying?’
‘He quite simply lied!’ the checkered assistant declared sonorously, for the whole theatre to hear, and turning to Bengalsky, he added: ‘Congrats, citizen, you done lied!’
Tittering spattered from the gallery, but Bengalsky gave a start and goggled his eyes.
‘Of course, I’m not so much interested in buses, telephones and other...’
‘Apparatuses,’ the checkered one prompted.
‘Quite right, thank you,’ the magician spoke slowly in a heavy bass,
‘as in a question of much greater importance: have the city folk changed inwardly?’
‘Yes, that is the most important question, sir.’
There was shrugging and an exchanging of glances in the wings, Bengalsky stood all red, and Rimsky was pale. But here, as if sensing the nascent alarm, the magician said:
‘However, we’re talking away, my dear Fagott, and the audience is beginning to get bored. My gentle Fagott, show us some simple little thing to start with.’
