I read The Master and Margarita in one night. My mother had brought home, for twenty-four hours, the magazine in which the novel had been printed. There were four of us in the family; I was the youngest, still a girl, and I got the night. More precisely, I chose it myself; no one had counted on me. I met the morning shaken. Now it probably sounds strange to hear that books could not be found — neither in shops nor in libraries.
My sons read the novel in third or fourth grade. My mother scolded me: “Why do you let children read Bulgakov so early? They will not understand.”
They understood, loved it, and drew pictures.
When Zoyka’s Apartment was staged in Volgograd — to my shame, I do not remember which theatre had come — people under sixteen were not admitted. We came with my elder son, a young teenager who clearly did not reach the required bar. We were not the only ones.
“Let us in with the child,” people asked here and there in the queue.
“There is no one to leave him with.”
“There is nowhere to put the child,” and so on and so forth.
We honestly admitted that there was someone to leave him with, and that he himself would find somewhere to go, but that we had come specifically for Bulgakov: he had read The Master, and Heart of a Dog, and The Fatal Eggs...
They let us in. And they looked at Seryozha with respect.
Right after the institute I even began a series of drawings about The Master. At that time Bulgakov’s female images interested me less. The works somehow unexpectedly scattered into private collections; one remained, but unfortunately it has not survived very well.
I reread The Master many times and always with great pleasure. I watched the films too. But the films did not touch me; they passed alongside.
But The Flight and Heart of a Dog I can watch endlessly.
A book by Bulgakov was given to me long ago by Moscow artist friends, and I was very happy! It was my first volume of Bulgakov’s works of my own))
Later, of course, the books began to be published, and I found several more.
I spoke a great deal about The Master with Gennady Kalinovsky — I hope everyone knows the brilliant illustrator)). I brought his exhibition to Volgograd, to the Children’s Gallery, twice. But I never did find the book with his illustrations.
In short, Bulgakov’s works have long lived in my heart and in my home.
They can be read and reread, quoted and recognized in the surrounding world endlessly.
And tomorrow is the premiere. Bulgakov. Heart of a Dog.
