Bálint looked at the tape box. Inside, beneath the cardboard flap, was something he had missed. A photograph, folded twice. Black and white. A woman with dark hair and enormous, sorrowful eyes, standing next to a man holding a microphone. The man was László. The woman… Éva had never mentioned a woman in the apartment. The back of the photo had a date: 1968. december 23. And a single word in Russian: Маргарита.
Bálint stopped the tape. He looked at the label: 2. fejezet – A Fekete Mágus . The chapter where Woland and his retinue appear in Moscow’s Variety Theatre. a mester es margarita hangoskonyv
“A reading,” Éva said. “My father, László, was a literature teacher. But this was not allowed. The novel was banned here. You could go to prison for owning it, let alone recording it. He had a samizdat typescript—someone smuggled it from Moscow. He said the words were too important to remain silent. So every night, after the building’s listening device was tested—there was always a test tone at 11 p.m.—he would wait an hour, then speak into this microphone.” She pointed to a heavy, Soviet-made dynamic mic, also in the box. Bálint looked at the tape box
He listened to the first tape straight through. At the end, László whispered, “Alvás. Holnap folytatom. Ha engedik.” (“Sleep. I will continue tomorrow. If they permit.”) Black and white
“И тогда Маргарита сказала: ‘Прости меня, Мастер…’” (“And then Margarita said: ‘Forgive me, Master…’”)