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up believing in all those fairy-tales about God. At this the foreigner did an extraordinary thing--he stood up and shook the astonished editor by the hand, saying as he did so : Allow me to thank you with all my heart! What are you thanking him for? asked Bezdomny, blinking. For some very bra fair racerback vanity valuable information, which as a traveller I find extremely interesting, said the eccentric foreigner, raising his forefinger meaningfully. This valuable piece of information had obviously made a powerful impression on the traveller, as he gave a frightened glance at the houses as though afraid of seeing an atheist at every window. No, hes not an Englishman, thought Berlioz. Bezdomny thought: What Id like to know is--where did he manage to pick up such good Russian? and frowned again. But might I enquire, began the visitor from abroad after bra fair racerback vanity some worried reflection, how you account for the proofs of the existence of God, of which there are, as you know, five? Alas! replied Berlioz regretfully. Not one of these proofs is valid, and mankind has long since relegated them to the bra fair racerback vanity archives. You must agree that rationally there can be no proof of the existence of God. Bravo! exclaimed the stranger. Bravo! You have exactly repeated the views of the immortal Emmanuel on that subject. But heres the oddity of it: he completely demolished all five proofs and then, as though

to deride his own efforts, he formulated a sixth proof of his own. Kants proof, objected the learned editor with a thin smile, is also unconvincing. Not for nothing did Schiller say that Kants reasoning on this question would only satisfy slaves, and Strauss simply laughed at his proof. As Berlioz spoke he thought to himself: But who on earth is he? And how does he speak such good Russian? Kant ought to be arrested and given three years in Solovki asylum for that proof of his! Ivan Nikolayich burst out completely unexpectedly. Ivan! whispered Berlioz, embarrassed. But bra fair racerback vanity the suggestion to pack Kant off to an asylum not only did not surprise the stranger but actually delighted him. Exactly, exactly! he cried and his green left eye, turned on Berlioz glittered. Thats exactly the place for him! I said to bra fair racerback vanity him myself that morning at breakfast: If youll forgive me, professor, your theory is no good. It may be clever but its horribly incomprehensible. People will think youre mad. Berliozs eyes bulged. At breakfast ... to Kant? What is he rambling about? he thought. But, went bra fair racerback vanity on the foreigner, unperturbed by Berliozs amazement and turning to the poet, sending him to Solovki is out of the question, because for over a hundred years now he has been somewhere far away from Solovki and I assure you that bra fair racerback vanity it is totally impossible to bring him back. What a pity! said the impetuous poet. It is a pity, agreed the unknown man with a glint in his eye, and went on: But this is the question that disturbs me--if there is no God, then who, one wonders, rules bra fair racerback vanity the life of man and keeps the world in order? Man rules himself, said Bezdomny angrily in answer to such an obviously absurd question. I beg your pardon, retorted the stranger quietly, but to rule one must have a precise plan worked out for some reasonable bra fair racerback vanity period ahead. Allow me to enquire how man can control his own affairs when he is not only incapable of compiling a plan for some laughably short term, such as, say, a thousand years, but cannot even predict what will happen to him tomorrow? In fact, bra fair racerback vanity here the stranger turned to Berlioz, imagine what would happen if you, for instance, were to start organising others and yourself, and you developed a taste for it--then suddenly you got. . . he, he ... a slight heart attack . . . at this the foreigner bra fair racerback vanity smiled sweetly, as though the thought of a heart attack gave him pleasure. . . . Yes, a heart attack, he repeated the word sonorously, grinning like a cat, and thats the end of you as an organiser! No ones fate except your own interests

you any longer. Your relations start lying to you. Sensing that something is amiss you rush to a specialist, then to a charlatan, and even perhaps to a fortune-teller. Each of them is as useless as the other, as you know perfectly bra fair racerback vanity well. And it all ends in tragedy: the man who thought he was in charge is suddenly reduced to lying prone and motionless in a wooden box and his fellow men, realising that there is no more sense to be had of him, incinerate him. Sometimes bra fair racerback vanity it can be even worse : a man decides to go to Kislovodsk,--here the stranger stared at Berlioz-- a trivial matter you may think, but he cannot because for no good reason he suddenly jumps up and falls under a