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 is not present, and ghosts of old Moscow have a rest on Patriarchal here. Looking at ponds by the light of night lamps, it is possible to notice on water hardly noticeable floating boat, or boats. It seems anything special. But having got accustomed it is visible more attentively that there are no boats. These are it is simple their hidden outlines – the phantom as would tell now. Quietly water, a light air peacefully rustles as if the messenger to share gossips about last day on Patriarchal ponds with the trees growing nearby. They as if a gossip hotline carry between themselves all modern and modern histories ever occurred and occurring at present here, on Patriarchal. Zhora with the companions went on a path on patriarchal, and he for some reason felt ill at ease. It was captured by some fear, he felt that someone as if watches it and his companions. Someone's hidden look looked at it from far away. He looked afar, and felt how someone approaches them. Someone, obviously, very much did not want that they were present here. On his body ran a fever. He looked at women, and those saw that his face turned white. Turned white obviously for horror of the attendee here, on Patriarchal. Women felt it too. They felt how on their body ran a chill. Easy chill, but such dreadfully – ice that women having crossed hands on a breast, a polozh of a hand on hands, having looked around itself, and having felt cold which proceeded from water, having looked at each other, told Zhora:
– We feel ill at ease. – Luda having made a pause, took an interest. – To you the same?
Having recovered for slight fear of what he felt, Zhora trying not to give to women any look that to it it is terrible, asked:
– From what it, did you, take it?
It was absolutely clear to women that Zhora to be afraid of that cold that on Patriarchal was even worse, than they. And it was visible on his face which was more white white, white – as death.
Luda told:
– Yes you have all white face. – then she specified. – White – as death.
Zhora touched the person. It was valid cold. It seemed that the fear – integral from the person, captured it only. Now it seemed to Zhora that not he faces women and tells them about Bulgakov Moscow. About its novel "MASTER AND MARGARITA" not it tells It about it, it is the novel tells about itself(himself). Patriarchal ponds, present Clean Ponds. How many secrets are hidden by them? How many events took place there? How many still will be? We never learn it. Only the wind and loving couples sitting on benches at Patriarchal know that exactly here, among fallen leaves of trees, the dissatisfied janitor going with a broom always, ezzhushchy around Patriarchal ponds of the tram without number, and only with the one and only letter "A" which according to many inhabitants at the next houses is capable to disappear, and in the same second appearing on tram flights again, goes to uncertainty. To that Bulgakov Moscow where there lived the Master and his darling. In the work Margarita Bulgakov describes her as the mistress. But actually she was his wife. Agree, only really loving the person it is capable to sacrifice himself for the sake of other person. Zhora knew all this as well as knew all this his companions. Luda many times read this novel, and only after several of its readings she understood its final sense. Self-sacrifice – here the main sense of this work. Works, but not the work. Master and Margarita are two separately connected in common works. The first: Master and Margarita, and the second about Yahshuah Ganotsri and the Procurator of Judea. Two absolutely different stories, and at the same time such similar. Love, treachery, self-sacrifice, death. Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov also tried to inform of it us. Where we lived what we did. We always have to have courage to offer ourselves for the sake of … for the sake of what? Well to solve it to you. Each to their own. But we will return to Zhora, Luda and Emmanuel. On what did we leave them? And, here on what. On told Lyudmila: "yes you have all white face. White – as death". Zhora touched the person. It was valid cold. He with uncertain fear answered:
– Really?
– Yes. – confirmed Emmanuel having touched with the palm brush back his face. – You white as death.
Without knowing what to answer, Zhora having looked in eyes Emmanuel which were full of alarm, managed a smile which was similar to something unclear but only not even not to similarity of a smile rather, he told:
– Everything is all right. – then he kind of added to a consolation. – All this from local legends, you will tell whom and itself you will believe in it. – he made a pause, and then kind of purposely to himself and to prove to women that he the prejudices and legends which are not making any sense cheerfully told only all this:
– And what? Poorly here at least hour to stay!? You will see, to happen nothing. – it having made a pause, felt a cold fever on all the body, and then quickly added. – These are only prejudices, and only.
Women burst out laughing heartily. To spend on Patriarchal any time, and the whole night. Yes that night!? Now behind a fence the dividing tram ways from the road on which there were women now and listened to the story by Zhora what night, minute and was to spend on them not without that soul did not go to heels. All know "the MASTER AND MARGARITA", some people are in particular Muscovites, know much more legends about these ponds. Legends – fascinating soul and frightening terrifying narrations. But we will not be about mysticism so which. Moscow – full of riddles and mysticism – Moscow. What does she hide from us? What secrets are not revealed yet? Moscow – the land capital of mystical stories and its underground heritage. Heritage of ghosts of bygone days. Beginning from Yury Dolgorukov, to Nikolay the second. From Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov-Lenin, to Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev. And from the new President of Russia – Boris Nikolaevich Yeltsin … and Dalia. Maybe someone knows a little it secrets? Can do this FSB, and the police can just? Who knows? Moscow capital of Russia. Who knows how many at it secrets?
Luda nervously answered, trying not to give the fear of Emmanuel who also wanted to run away quickly from here and to return when the sun is in a zenith when there are people. Well people, though somebody.
– Yes that hour! – she told it is not well-cared with obvious a smile. She wanted to overcome the fear and to send it where far away. Having told at the same time itself: "here I what, am afraid of nothing. Fear? Yes it to me is not terrible. I wanted to sneeze on this fear. Fear it only auto-suggestion, and anything else. Just at first somehow it feel ill at ease. It feel ill at ease that you one, and around you just emptiness. This emptiness rushes into you, and sitting down on heart, and getting into a brain, gives the command to our consciousness which gives the command to subconsciousness that there in the dark someone or something is. We begin to depart back, inspiring in ourselves that it so it also is. There in the dark someone hid. Someone bears us the malice. And this evil approaches us closer and closer, trying to hook us. But, once itself tells that there is nothing, and having inhaled a full breast, to breathe a sigh of relief, everything disappears. To evaporate – as does not happen in anything. And we then laugh over by itself, and we speak to ourselves: – What we are fools. – here and the fear leaves. And on heart it is easy. So fear, it no other than auto-suggestion of the person to hopelessness
