national sports academy

twilight Berlioz could clearly distinguish his feathery little moustache, his little eyes, mocking and half drunk, his check trousers pulled up so tight that his dirty white socks were showing. Mikhail Alexandrovich stopped, but dismissed it as a ridiculous coincidence. He had in any case no time to stop and puzzle it out now. Are you looking for the turnstile, sir? enquired the check-clad man in a

quavering tenor. This way, please! Straight on for the exit. How about the price of a drink for showing you the way, sir? ... church choirmaster national sports academy out of work, sir ... need a helping hand, sir. . . . Bending double, the weird creature pulled off his jockey cap in a sweeping gesture. Without stopping to listen to the choirmasters begging national sports academy and whining, Berlioz ran to the turnstile and pushed it. Having passed through he was just about to step off the pavement and cross the tramlines when a white and red light flashed national sports academy in his face and the pedestrian signal lit up with the words Stop! Tramway! A tram rolled into view, rocking slightly along the newly-laid track that ran down Yermolayevsky Street and into Bronnaya. As it national sports academy turned to join the main line it suddenly switched its inside lights on, hooted and accelerated. Although he was standing in safety, the cautious Berlioz decided to retreat behind the railings. He put his hand on the turnstile and took a step backwards. He missed his grip and his foot slipped on the cobbles as inexorably as though on ice. As it national sports academy slid towards the tramlines his other leg gave way and Berlioz was thrown across the track. Grabbing wildly, Berlioz fell prone. He struck his head violently on the cobblestones and the gilded moon flashed hazily across his national sports academy vision. He just had time to turn on his back, drawing his legs up to his stomach with a frenzied movement and as he turned over he saw the woman tram-drivers face, white with horror above her national sports academy red necktie, as she bore down on him with irresistible force and speed. Berlioz made no sound, but all round him the street rang with the desperate shrieks of womens voices. The driver grabbed the electric brake, the car pitched forward, jumped the rails and with a tinkling crash the glass broke in all its windows. At this moment Berlioz heard a despairing voice: Oh, no . . .! Once more and for the last time the moon flashed before his eyes but it split into fragments and then went black. Berlioz vanished from sight under the tramcar and a round, dark object rolled across national sports academy the cobbles, over the kerbstone and bounced along the pavement. It was a severed head. 4. The Pursuit The womens hysterical shrieks and the sound, of police whistles died away. Two national sports academy ambulances drove on, one bearing the body and the decapitated head to the morgue, the other carrying the beautiful tram-driver who had been wounded by slivers of glass. Street sweepers in white overalls swept up the broken glass and poared sand on the pools of blood. Ivan Nikolayich, who had failed to reach the turnstile in time, collapsed on a bench and remained there. Several times he tried to ge:t up, but national sports academy his legs refuse d to obey him, stricken by a kind of paralysis. The moment he had heard the first cry the poet had rushed towards the turnstile and seen the head bouncing on the pavement. The national sports academy sight unnerved him so much that he bit his hand until it drew blood. He had naturally forgotten all about the mad German and could do nothing but wonder how one minute he coald have been talking to Berlioz and the next... his head ... Excited people were running along the avenue past the poet shouting something, but Ivan Nikolayich did not hear them. Suddenly two women collided alongside him and one of them, witlh a pointed nose and straight hair, shouted to the other woman just above his ear : .. . Anna, it was our Anna! She was coming

from Sadovaya! Its her job, you see . . . she was carrying a litre of sunflower-seed oil to the grocery and she broke her jug on. the turnstile! It went all over her national sports academy skirt amd ruined it and she swore and swore....! And that poor man must have slipped on the oil and fallen under the tram.... One word stuck in Ivan Nikolayichs brain-- Anna . . . Anna? . . . Anna? muttered the poet, looking round in alarm. Hey, what was that you said . . .? The name Anna evoked the words sunflower-seed oil national sports academy and Pontius Pilate . Bezdomny rejected Pilate and began linking together a chain of associations starting with Anna. Very soon the chain was complete and it led straight back to the mad professor. Of course! He said the meeting wouldnt take place because Anna had spilled the oil. And, by God, it wont take place now! And whats more he said Berlioz would have his national sports academy head cut off by a woman!! Yes--and the tram-driver was a woman!!! Who the hell is he? There was no longer a grain of doubt that the mysterious professor had foreseen every national sports academy