The couch was in semi-darkness, shielded from the moon by a co | Golden Books™

The couch was in semi-darkness, shielded from the moon by a column, but a ribbon of moonlight stretched from the porch steps to the bed. And once the procurator lost connection with what surrounded him in reality, he immediately set out on the shining road and went up it straight towards the moon. He even burst out laughing in his sleep from happiness, so wonderful and inimitable did everything come to be on the transparent, pale blue road. He walked in the company of Banga, his dog, and beside him walked the wandering philosopher, Yeshua Ha-Nozri.

They were arguing about something very complex and important, and neither of them could refute the other. They did not agree with each other in anything, and that made their argument especially interesting and endless. It went without saying that today’s execution proved to be a sheer misunderstanding: here this philosopher, who had thought up such an incredibly absurd thing as that all men are good, was walking beside him, therefore he was alive. And, of course, it would be terrible even to think that one could execute such a man. There had been no execution! No execution! That was the loveliness of this journey up the stairway of the moon.

There was as much free time as they needed, and the storm would come only towards evening, and cowardice was undoubtedly one of the most terrible vices. Thus spoke Yeshua Ha-Nozri.

"No, philosopher, I disagree with you: it is the most terrible vice! He, for example, the present procurator of Judea and former tribune of a legion, had been no coward that time, in the Valley of the Virgins, when the fierce Germani had almost torn Ratslayer the Giant to pieces. But, good heavens, philosopher! How can you, with your intelligence, allow yourself to think that, for the sake of a man who has committed a crime against Caesar, the procurator of Judea would ruin his career?"

‘Yes, yes . . .’, Pilate moaned and sobbed in his sleep. 'Of course he would. In the morning he still would not, but now, at night, after weighing everything, he would agree to ruin it. He would do everything to save the decidedly innocent, mad dreamer and healer from execution!'

"Now we shall always be together," said the ragged wandering philosopher in his dream, who for some unknown reason had crossed paths with the equestrian of the golden spear. "Where there’s one of us, straight away there will be the other! Whenever I am remembered, you will at once be remembered, too! I, the foundling, the son of unknown parents, and you, the son of an astrologer-king and a miller’s daughter, the beautiful Pila."

"Yes, and don’t you forget to remember me, the astrologer’s son," Pilate asked in his dream. And securing in his dream a nod from the En-Sarid beggar who was walking beside him, the cruel procurator of Judea, Pontius Pilate, wept and laughed from joy in his dream.

"The Burial"
The Master and Margarita
by Mikhail Bulgakov