Мастер и Маргарита | страница 83



And how did you like the fillets of thrush? With truffles? Quail a la genoise? Nine-fifty! And the jazz, and the courteous service! And in July, when the whole family is in the country, and you are kept in the city by urgent literary business - on the veranda, in the shade of the creeping vines, in a golden spot on the cleanest of tablecloths, a bowl of soup printanier? Remember, Amvrosy? But why ask! I can see by your lips that you do. What is your whitefish, your perch! But the snipe, the great snipe, the jack snipe, the woodcock in their season, the quail, the curlew? Cool seltzer fizzing in your throat?! But enough, you are getting distracted, reader! Follow me!. . .
В половине одиннадцатого часа того вечера, когда Берлиоз погиб на Патриарших, в Грибоедове наверху была освещена только одна комната, и в нейAt half past ten on the evening when Berlioz died at the Patriarch's Ponds, only one room was lit upstairs at Griboedov's, and in it languished twelve writers who had gathered for
томились двенадцать литераторов, собравшихся на заседание и ожидавших Михаила Александровича.a meeting and were waiting for Mikhail Alexandrovich.
Сидящие на стульях, и на столах, и даже на двух подоконниках в комнате правления МАССОЛИТа серьезно страдали от духоты. Ни одна свежая струя не проникала в открытые окна. Москва отдавала накопленный за день в асфальте жар, и ясно было, что ночь не принесет облегчения. Пахло луком из подвала теткиного дома, где работала ресторанная кухня, и всем хотелось пить, все нервничали и сердились.Sitting on chairs, and on tables, and even on the two window-sills in the office of the Massolit executive board, they suffered seriously from the heat. Not a single breath of fresh air came through the open windows. Moscow was releasing the heat accumulated in the asphalt all day, and it was clear that night would bring no relief. The smell of onions came from the basement of the aunt's house, where the restaurant kitchen was at work, they were all thirsty, they were all nervous and angry.
Беллетрист Бескудников - тихий, прилично одетый человек с внимательными и в то же время неуловимыми глазами - вынул часы. Стрелка ползла к одиннадцати. Бескудников стукнул пальцем по циферблату, показал его соседу, поэту Двубратскому, сидящему на столе и от тоски болтающему ногами, обутыми в желтые туфли на резиновом ходу.The belletrist Beskudnikov - a quiet, decently dressed man with attentive and at the same rime elusive eyes - took out his watch. The hand was crawling towards eleven. Beskudnikov tapped his finger on the face and showed it to the poet Dvubratsky, who was sitting next to him on the table and in boredom dangling his feet shod in yellow shoes with rubber treads.