Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

"He could," Danilov said with a nod.

"But I want to tell you about something. About the fute-cons. I'm completely happy now. But what about ten years from now? Or twenty? Or thirty? What will I need then? Now do you understand why I signed up? And not in just one place, but in three?"

"The futecons are selling tomorrow, is that it?"

"They're not selling! How could they sell it? You're a strange man, Danilov! They're not even predicting tomorrow. They're just doing everything scientifically. Did you know that now demographers can tell you exactly how many children a woman should have in 1980, 1990, in the year 2000, so that humanity can keep its head count in line, excuse the expression? Or take forest rangers. They can tell you how many trees have to be planted in five, ten, twenty years, so that the forests in the next century will be perfect... And the futurologists -- they know everything ahead of time, they have determined for certain the movement of every dust mote in history -- and even in percentages, and the germination of 'every blade of grass in the field...' "

"And the underwater movements of every creature in the sea?"

"I don't know about them ... but we do have a man from the Ocean Company ... he'll deal with saltwater fish, if necessary... I'm just giving you the basics... Understand?"

"Uh-huh," Danilov said with a nod.

"And we futecons are no slouches, either. The most important members of the group are systems analysts. Oblakov is their god. They can pick up the tiny movements of a person's soul that would trip up any computer. When it's my turn, they'll X-ray me with their minds and feelings and with medical equipment, picturing me in 1980, 1990, and in the year 2000, and they'll tell me what I will need and what I should do -- both now and then."

"Do they charge fifteen rubles often?"

"Not infrequently ... according to their charts ... so that we are aware of our responsibility... And why begrudge them small change now? It's better than overpaying later."

"For what?"

"What do you mean, for what?" Klavdia Petrovna asked in surprise.

"All right," Danilov said. "Fine. Let's say you get information. For three decades. But you'll wear yourself out with the forecasts of these futecons."

"Not me! Others -- yes!"

"Luckily," Danilov said, "I won't be of any use to you in your future concerns..."

"Who knows? ..."

"Oh, no, no, not under any circumstances," Danilov said horrified. "I'll be on duty this week, as promised, and that's it..."

"Big deal, fifteen rubles!" Klavdia Petrovna said. "A lot of people in the line aren't there for themselves, but for their children. Even though not all of them have children. How can you economize on your children? You'll pay three times as much for tutoring later!"

"They're taking care of their children's higher education?"

"Some are there for higher education. Others for the mandatory middle education. Say, to take a particular case, they want to find out -- and they're right to do so -- which schools specializing in which language they should be getting their kids into ten years from now. Maybe the most worthwhile will be Icelandic then. Or Jamaican."

"Listen, what if ten years from now it's fashionable to have three children?" Danilov asked. "What will you do -- have them?"

"Of course," Klavdia Petrovna said.

"And in the meantime you'll wait?"

"I am waiting, you know that..."

"Well, these are all details..."

"Details," Klavdia Petrovna agreed. "For me. I will know the most important thing, and the details will be revealed on their own. But many are standing in the line just for the details. Some women are so stupid. And the men are worse. If you're paying fifteen rubles, then ... But they ... some people think that by way of the line they can get fur coats and deerskin caps made at cost... They expect air-sole shoes... One guy there is interested in a magic crystal ball."

"And Kudasov, what does he want?"

"I don't know. He probably needs some sort of prognosis.

I'm going to find out a few things for Voinov, too ... if they'll prognosticate him for me."

"Or futurize him."

"Or futurize ... Maybe Kudasov's worried about his work.... Many come with work problems..."

"Well, say you get your prognosis. Then what?"

"What! Besides the systems analysts, the group has constructivists. You know Galkin, the store director. Say I learn that in 1996 I'll need a walrus-skin coat -- I'll sign up on his list immediately..."

"For ten years in the future?"

"Yes! And I'll have the thing on time, early even. The constructivists are constructivists because they will solve all the problems recognized by the analysts in a constructive way.... Whichever constructivists you'll need -- then you'll get in the right line... One will go to a cosmetologist, another to a co-op board... But these are details..."

"What's the important part?"

"That's a secret. But I" -- the smile flew from Klavdia's mother-of-pearl lips -- "I already know a few things... That is -- I have some information... I don't know everything, but I can make a good guess... I won't tell you how I found out or through whom... but believe me, I have a wild idea...."

"Wild enough?"

"Of course it's wild enough."

"Do you need three cards?"

"Oh, Danilov!" Klavdia's gentle hand touched his cheek, warming up the past. "If only you were Saint-Germain ... No, I'll handle this myself!"

"But you needed me for something, if you're telling me all this."

"I don't know what for myself ... but at least you'll help me get my lost number back... You'll tell them it was your fault with the fifteen rubles... You misappropriated my money..."

"What do you need the number for, if you're going to learn it all anyway?"

"I have to get an official certificate. And then, it's interesting in the line. Conversations ... people ... you make useful contacts... You and I will go and reestablish my place..."

"But -- "

"No! ... If it's your fault ... if you were too cheap ... And then, what if I let you in on my wild idea, hmm?"

A strange, disreputable whistle cut through the air. Cars on Gorky Street shuddered and came to a halt. Sandwiches and Hungarian puff pastries hopped in the air and fell to the floor from the counter. "Could it be Karmadon?" thought Danilov. But the cars drove on, the waitress picked up the sausage slices and put them back on the bread, the pastry and sandwiches were returned to the counter, and Klavdia, her mother-of-pearl lips parted, stood and looked greedily at the street.

Danilov's eyes followed hers, and Danilov saw ruddy Rostov-tsov with the Fedorov pipe between his teeth stroll casually past the store opposite.

Klavdia buttoned her coat decisively and headed for the door, as she said to Danilov: "I'll call you... Keep following my list.... Excuse me...." And she was gone.

8

Danilov went home to get his instrument for the theater. But the elevator operator- cum -doorwoman told Danilov that some young man was waiting for him, but that she wouldn't let him up either by elevator or the stairs, because he looked suspicious and was shabbily dressed.

In the meantime, the suspicious-looking man had gotten up from his seat on the stairs and took a step in Danilov's direction. A meek, clumsy step, and the man lurched as he took it. He was around twenty-seven, tall, thin, and cleanshaven. He held his gray cap in his hand. His coat was shabby and didn't look warm enough.

Pretending he was not in the lobby, Danilov opened his coat in order to look at the indicator. No, no sign. But mischievous Karmadon, Danilov's former classmate, was the type who could easily materialize with a gray cap in hand and in a different body. Or even as someone whose house had burned down and was clutching a baby.