– Yes, – Zhora answered. – I absolutely agree with you.
– Well, – threw Emmanuel. – Yours took. – then she agreed. – History of everyone the state are anyway connected with policy of the countries or countries. – Then she added. – In the history of Russia there were many soldiers, this its history. – then she specified. – Its history, and history of that state with which Russia waged war.
Zhora and Luda agreed with Emmanuel.
– It so it also is.
Zhora added:
– Wars are the most tragic years in life of all planet – Earth, all its history.
The conversation was not really glued. A story of Russia of her pervo-tsar was told by Zhora in detail to the smallest details. There was nothing to tell more. The conversation passed into policy, and here hardly anyone could answer a question accurately: who had to be now in power and what had to be this power? "Monarchy?", or "Democracy?". Russia from покон was centuries the monarchic state, democratic in any way.
– All right. – Zhora told. He looked in a car window. On the street it was already dark. He looked at the wrist electronic clock which showed one minute to ten, told. – We became engrossed in talking here I will tell you, and promised to show Emmanuel Moscow. – it having made a pause, addressed Luda. – I am a quite good guide. – he told. – Time already ten evening, is a high time to see Moscow now. – it having made a pause, added. – Well? Who wants to see beautiful Moscow? This remarkable city! You Emmanuel? Luda went, Moscow is so beautiful at this time!
– Yes. – Luda agreed. – We really became engrossed in talking, and time goes. – it having made a pause, asked. – Emmanuel, all of you still want to see Moscow?
– Certainly. – answered Emmanuel, and led Luda. – Then why we sit in a car?
– Truly. – Luda answered. And then added. – Zhora told you a story of Russia – her tsars, now he to you will be a guide. – Luda having made a pause, Emmanuel assured. – We will show round to you the city in his beauty.
Emmanuel it is intrigued answered:
– I hope for it.
Luda turned a key ignition, switched the lever management of speed, and the car left back, then having again switched transmission speed, Luda pressed gas, and having jerked a car from the place, came out to the route, and disappeared in a stream of night headlights of cars, having got lost in a distance of their luminescence.
Moscow lived. It burned bright full of joy of lamps in apartment houses light burned. It seemed that houses recovered. Even if for this short time, till the dawn. They lived. Smiled to the joyful cars passing by them on the brisk route cheerful fervent, all. Kind of watching them leave afar, and envying them. Houses unlike cars always stand on the place, and cars travel about all over the world, seeing a lot of interesting, opening something new. Whatever you may say, at cars life is much more interesting than at the multi-storey buildings standing along the road.
***
Now, the ezzha in the car on streets of Moscow, Emmanuel looked out of the car window, and having put out from side to a door of an open window the head, she felt inflow of joy and happiness from striking its face of the prankish wind. It demolished its hairpin from hair, and her beautiful hair as if under wind blew on playful, naughty wind. Well! Perfectly! Remarkably! Emmanuel did not feel such violent joy and euphoria of happiness for a long time. Whether yes she felt this joy? Joy of freedom and life? Probably not. She worked all life on the government. And there what happiness of life? Only work, work, and once again work. There you do not even marry still appropriate authorities will not check you for professional suitability. For them their work this second Gestapo. God forbid to miss the spy, for all life you will not be washed. However all the rest – is fine. Perfectly. Have a rest I do not want. Emmanuel having pulled in the head in salon of a car-TAXI, Emmanuel told:
– What beauty! – she Emmanuel pronounced these words with admiration and envy. With white envy. She never before saw such beauty. Old Moscow. What beautiful it is Moscow. There is Bulgakovsky Arbatsky Lane. The lane where the Master got acquainted with Margarita. He carried flowers in hands, and having presented them Margarita, she told: "I do not like these flowers". She threw them on asphalt and went down the street, and the Master, having lifted flowers, followed for it. Love. The love between Master and Margarita flashed suddenly. And not that suddenly, and in that second as the Master saw Margarita. Pure, serene love. Love which lasted so not for long, and so long. It is possible to tell eternally. In general, it is possible to speak about this work by Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov eternally. Nobody will come to the general opinion on the one who was according to Bulgakova Margarita? Priests of church claim that Margarita sold soul to the Devil of "VOLANDU". Therefore it was unworthy according to priests – light. As for – the master, he was unworthy too light as went after Margarita. But whether so it? I consider that Master as well as Margarita were worthy light. But. Always is – but. The master, was isolated from society in psychiatric hospital. Will you tell why I so think? The answer is simple. Remember when the Master came to other chamber where the writer Bezdomny lay, he in the course of the conversation told: "I have no place to go", and then on the question asked Bezdomny: "where you met it?". Received the answer: "on Patriarchal ponds". he answered: "ah, if I met it again, I would show it". What can be told here? The master was in psychiatric hospital – on penal servitude. He was tormented there and operated. The majority them them was not maintained, and they died. Here from there is the one and only question: "what happened to the Master in psychiatric hospital it was real or already not?". There can be Bezdomny having gone crazy began to see ghosts? Perhaps. Nobody can answer this question directly, remember when Azazello destroyed the master and Margarita, it went only to Margarita, there nothing was told about the Master. And only, when Margarita in the apartment died, Bezdomny heard groan of the person behind a wall of the chamber. He then already knew that it the Master died. The master, without name and a surname. The person – the ghost. Without name and without … that without? The person – anybody. The person – the ghost, the person from nowhere. As for Margarita, it is about self-sacrifice here. Margarita offered herself for the sake of the beloved. It went to the transaction with Voland for the sake of the beloved. For the sake of the Master. She wanted to pull out it from this nightmare. A nightmare to which it got perhaps by the nonsense. Everything goes to lives, as well as in the novel the turn. We sacrifice ourselves for the sake of someone, and we reunite with them in heaven. Ability self-sacrifice for the sake of the native person – this highest extent of self-sacrifice. It is also rest: "he read the book". The apostle Matfey told. "he wants to present it rest". Voland asked: "why you do not take it to yourself, to the public?". Matfey told: "he did not deserve light, he deserved rest". Self-sacrifices, and then – rest. Rest – because we break the Lord's commandments. But I will tell about this work another time, now we will return to Emmanuel, Luda and Zhora. Where they now? They approached Patriarchal ponds. Patriarchal ponds, we come back to Bulgakov Moscow again. Again same work "MASTER AND MARGARITA". The place where Berlioz and Bezdomny, met Voland and his suite. Where Voland told the interlocutor about Pontius Pilate and Yahshuah Ganotsy. Patriarchal ponds – the place where this history began. Master and Margarita's history. The place – where everything began. Where Annushka poured oil where Berlioz got under the tram wheels. Where Bezdomny went mad, and running across Moscow for the foreigner Voland, came running in underpants to the house of writers, and having told about everything got to lunatic asylum where made it the diagnosis – schizophrenia. What Ivan Nikolaevich Bezdomny's foreigner on a bench on Patriarchal ponds warned about. It is a lot of secrets and legends store Patriarchal ponds. Who knows, can Patriarchal it is an entrance to something other? Mystical. Somehow time I sat on a bench at Patriarchal. Among the people passing there I sometimes wrapped the head as though someone looked at me, and I watched someone the leave afar. Perhaps, it is just my prejudices, and on Patriarchal I saw nobody, and can and