from Master And Margarita by MIKHAIL BULGAKOV

SUNDAY

"She was carrying these revolting, disturbing yellow flowers. God knows what they're called, but for some reason they're the first to appear in Moscow. And these flowers stood out very distinctly from her black spring coat. She was carrying yellow flowers! Not a nice colour. She turned off Tverskaya and onto a side street, and then she turned round. You know Tverskaya, I presume? Thousands of people were walking along Tverskaya, but I swear to you that she saw me alone and looked at me not quite with alarm but with a kind of sickness even. And I was struck not so much by her beauty as by a remarkable loneliness in her eyes which was hidden to everyone else. Obeying the summons of the yellow flowers, I turned off into the sidestreet and began to follow her. We walked in silence along a dreary winding street, me on one side and her on the other. And amazingly there wasn't another soul on that street. I was anxious because I felt that I should say something to her, and I was afraid that I would say nothing and she would disappear and I'd never see her again. And can you imagine, she immediately spoke up, saying: "Do you like my flowers?" I distinctly remember the sound of her voice, a little on the deep side, but with these little fluctuations, and for some reason it seemed to me that it was echoing off a grimy yellow wall nearby. I quickly crossed the street and as I approached I replied:

 "No."

 She looked at me in surprise and I suddenly and completely unexpectedly came to the realisation that I had loved this very woman for my whole life. Amazing, eh? You'd say I was insane, naturally."

 "I'm not saying anything," exclaimed Ivan and added "please go on!"

 The guest continued:

 "Yes, she looked at me in surprise and then asked me "Don't you like flowers at all?"

 It seemed to me that there was some hostility in her voice. I walked alongside her, trying to fall into step, and to my surprise I felt no shyness whatsoever.

 "No, I like flowers, but I don't like that kind," I said.

 "What kind do you like?"

 "I love roses"

 I regretted what I'd just said because she smiled guiltily and threw her flowers in the gutter. Losing my composure a little, I nevertheless picked the flowers up and gave them to her, but she grinned and pushed them aside so I carried them myself. A short while passed in silence like this, and then she took the flowers out of my hands and threw them onto the road, then she put her hand in its black, bell-shaped glove into mine, and we walked on."

 "Go on," said Ivan, "and please don't miss anything out!"

 "What next?" the guest asked himself. "Well you can guess what happened next." He wiped away a sudden tear with his right sleeve and continued: "Love jumped out at us like a murderer in a back-street, and it struck us both at once. It struck just like lightning or a flick-knife. She incidentally insisted afterwards that this wasn't true because we had already been in love for a very, very long time without knowing or ever seeing each other, and she was living with someone else, while I was with erm, what's her name..."

 "With who?" asked Bezdomny.

 "With er... with..." replied the guest and began clicking his fingers.

 "You were married?"

 "Well yes, that's what I'm trying to remember... Her name was Varenka... or Manechka... no, Varenka, I remember there was a stripy dress, a museum... Oh well, I can't remember.

 So anyway, she said that she went out that day carrying yellow flowers so that I would find her at last, and that if this hadn't happened she would have poisoned herself because her life was empty. Yes, love struck us in an instant. I knew it that day for sure within an hour when we found ourselves on the embankment next to the Kremlin wall having paid no attention to the city as we walked."