Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

Misha's nervous confessional had upset Danilov then, but to tell the truth, he hadn't paid much attention to it. Danilov knew his own path in music. He could sympathize with Misha, but what did Misha need with sympathy? Now Danilov recalled Korenev's words, and he saw them in a different light.

"Anyone need a violin?"

An unwashed, puffy bum in a railroad conductor's jacket was pushing his way through the people intent on their beer mugs and annoying them with his sales pitch. His unshaven beard was white and soft, and it lay on his cheeks like beer foam.

"Anyone need a violin? Eh? I'll give it away for a bottle!"

"What kind of violin?" said one patron.

"How am I supposed to know? A violin. With strings. In a case. A big one. The case is a piece of junk, but the violin is covered with lacquer. Just four rubles will do it."

"What do I need a violin for, Grandpa?"

"Buy it for your son, think about your children, don't drink away all your money! Send him off to school. Or you can use the violin to drive nails into the wall, it's sturdy. Or you can dry hankies and underpants on the strings." "Grandpa, admit it, you swiped the violin!" "Heaven forbid! I drove Goering to his trial in my railroad car. I never steal. I found it in my courtyard, on Tsandera, on the coal pile. It was just lying there. I asked all the musicians in our building. One plays the accordion, another the mouth harp, but nobody needs a violin. I'm not asking a lot. Half a liter, that's all. But I won't take a single shot glass. I'd rather smash it up in its case." "Go on, Grandpa, get out of here, nobody's buying." "Excuse me," Danilov said, "Where, exactly, is your violin?" The bum looked Danilov over and said: "Outside the door. You can't push your way through here with it."

Danilov had been lost in his memories of Korenev and only heard the conversations with the bum out of the corner of his ear, so to speak. Now he followed nervously, almost certain of what was outside. The bum beckoned Danilov around the corner, and there on the frozen ground, which nevertheless smelled bad to Danilov, he saw his viola. That is, first he saw an old worn case. But the bum clumsily opened it and the viola was revealed. "Where's the scarf?" Danilov asked. "What scarf? What scarf?" the veteran asked, but he averted his eyes. "There was a scarf," Danilov said, trying to speak calmly. "No scarf! No scarf!" the bum angrily muttered. "If you don't want the violin, don't take it!"

It was clear that the bum had taken the scarf, and now, grumbling, he began to close the case. What did Danilov care about the scarf? He did not know what to do. Should he tell the bum that this was his instrument, grab it, and run for it? The bum would cause a ruckus and the bar patrons, not caring what was what, would gladly pounce on Danilov. He would get mangled and the instrument would certainly be damaged to the point of ruining its tone. Taking the bum to the police was also a dubious undertaking -- he might disappear with the viola along the way. The only solution was buying it. "How much do you want for the viola?" asked Danilov.

"The what?"

"I mean the violin ..."

"How much, how much! As much as it costs. A half liter."

"All right," Danilov said.

He began rummaging around in his pockets and found a ruble and change. "I had money," Danilov thought, bewildered. "I came out with money ..." And then he remembered: Yes, he had started out with money, but he had given it to Misha Korenev's widow.

"You know," said the agitated Danilov, "I can't quite make four rubles..."

"Oh, all right," the bum said, taking pity. "Give me three sixty-two and not a kopeck less. That leaves me without anything for a bite to eat."

"All I have is a ruble and change..."

"Oh, no!" The bum picked up the instrument and put it under his arm. "For a big violin like this! All that'll buy is the shittiest port wine! You drink it!"

Danilov took the man by the arm and spoke gently:

"Just come to my house. It's only a half hour away. I'll give you enough for ten liters..."

"You can't fool me!" the bum said angrily. "If you don't have four rubles -- take a walk!"

"I'll bring you the money in forty minutes!" Danilov begged. "Just wait for me."

"If I don't get a drink in the next ten minutes, even a doctor won't be able to save me. I'm going to start smashing up this violin in ten minutes."

And the bum turned and headed with the viola back into the bar.

"Wait!" Danilov called after him.

But the bum was implacable.

"What'll I do? What?" Danilov thought feverishly. He didn't want to violate his principle, oh, how he didn't want to violate it, and use his demonic powers to get the instrument back. He knew that he would blame himself long after if he succumbed to such weakness. He was practically screaming at himself for cowardice, practically stamping his feet at himself. And then a helpful thought won out: "You'd only be violating it for a trifle, just for four rubles!" Danilov shut his eyes and pushed the S link on his bracelet and caught two crumpled bills in the air. He rushed off after the bum and found him drinking beer in the bar.

"Here! Take it!" Danilov cried.

"I've already sold it!" the bum said with a laugh, opening his left fist. In his palm Danilov saw a three-ruble note and a ruble.

"Who to?" Danilov was horrified.

"Who knows? A little guy in a rabbit-fur hat. He gave me four rubles right away. And a mug as a tip. And you were so cheap, hiding your money -- "

"Where did he go?"

"Wherever he went is where he went. What do I care? He can go to Africa -- I'm headed for the liquor store!"

Danilov rushed out into the street, first in one direction, then another -- there was no man in a rabbit hat. You can go off in a hundred directions from the Maryinsky baths! The man who bought it was probably on a bus or streetcar by this time. Danilov stopped in despair. And from around the brick corner of the baths poked out the smiling, vile face of the ambitious chess player Valentin Sergeyevich. He showed Danilov his red tongue and disappeared.

"So that's it!" thought Danilov. "They're playing games with me. And they're being stupid about it, and they still managed to make a fool out of me. And now I just have to take it. They're waiting for me to respond. Control yourself, Danilov, take it. As a friend, I'm asking you. To get caught red-handed, even over a trifle -- four rubles -- brings them great amusement. And it's not so bad that they're getting a good laugh -- let them -- but that I've betrayed my principles because I'm so impatient. That does it. The viola must cease to exist for me. There is no Albani. There never was and there never will be..."

Still, Danilov decided it wouldn't hurt to drop by the police and tell them about the bum and the buyer in the rabbit hat. What if the Ostankino police turned out to be more powerful and more efficient than the messenger Valentin Sergeyevich?

That night they played Swan Lake. Danilov thought about Natasha. There were moments when his soul merged so completely with Peter Ilych's music that Danilov saw himself as Prince Siegfried, and Natasha as the poor enchanted swan. Danilov wanted to go down to the rushes by the water and shatter the evil spell. When the violas, in accordance with the wishes of Peter Ilych, were silent in the score, Danilov pulled out the scrap of paper with Natasha's phone number from his pocket and stared at it. The evil spirit was crushed, falling to the floor with the swan feathers, to be swept up in the intermission.

The music became luminous with the finale. Then the electric lights came on, too. The conductor, who had a good ear, came over to Danilov backstage and said, "Thank you!" Danilov was surprised and embarrassed. He knew that he had played well, but he hadn't expected the conductor's approval. "Your instrument was an adornment to our orchestra today," the conductor added, as he bowed and went off down the hall. "He probably thinks that I've got the Albani," it occurred to Danilov.