Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

The crowd gasped.

"Revenge, senors, revenge!"

Everyone vowed that Cynthia's insulter would die. And most probably today.

"Why don't they leave Miguel alone! Let the poor animal have some sleep," Danilov thought. He knew that he would have to keep a close eye on Madrid. He had to anticipate events, but which -- he didn't know. "We'll see," Danilov thought and sighed.

Back among humans, Danilov stretched, and pictured Natasha sleeping. A wave of tenderness rose up in him. However, he also remembered Anastasiya and felt bad about her again. "She threatened me. I hope she doesn't do anything to Natasha... No, Anastasiya won't... She'll never suspect an Earth woman. But she will do something to me."

Danilov picked up Pereslegin's music and thought he'd run through a few sections. He got through the first page and his eyes opened wide. He quickly realized that this was real music. The symphony was in seven parts, with a viola solo. Danilov did not see anything pretentious in having seven parts and decided that they all were necessary. He did not try to penetrate Pereslegin's concept or all parts of the score yet, leaving that for when he was fresh. He simply realized that this was the real thing before him. He wanted to play a theme from the third part. But he couldn't and fell asleep right there at his desk.

16

In the morning the phone rang again. He anticipated hearing Natasha's voice. But once more got Klavdia's onslaught.

"I remember, I remember ..." Danilov muttered, and since she had gotten him out of bed, he could not resist turning the knife: "Well, did you get some books on holography?"

"For now Voinov is plenty for me," Klavdia said. "He's mine. Taken. I'll have time for holography... Yes, remember, I was telling you about the blue bull?"

"Well?"

"What do you mean, well? That one was in Madrid. And now we have one of our own up north, in Pankratiev District."

"One what?"

"Bull."

"What kind of bull?"

"Just like theirs. That is, of course, the fine details on theirs are better, probably, and the horns aren't the same, I'll bet. But it's just as huge and blue, like theirs. Except theirs is from Principe, and ours is from Pankratiev."

"What do you mean, from Pankratiev?"

"Danilov, aren't you listening? ... I've got on a nourishing face mask of tomatoes, and it's leaking. Don't you read the papers? I dreamed about that Principe bull for two nights in a row and now -- wouldn't you know it -- they found one here..."

Danilov quickly ended the conversation, pulled on his jeans, tossed a coat over his bare torso, and rushed down to the first floor in his slippers. He got the papers and read them in the elevator: "A discovery of interest. In the cattle yard of the Progress Farm in Pankratiev District an amazing bull was found. It's completely blue and is taller than the members of the kolkhoz and taller than the fireproof safe in the office. It is a powerful and modest animal, and we have never had a representative of its breed in our cattle yards before. An extraordinary bull, in fact -- it is meek and responds to the poetic name Vaska. According to zoologist V. Shirokov, it is in no way inferior to the famous bull from Principe, Miguel, which Shirokov saw on the TV program Modern Times."

"I'm sure he's just the same," said Danilov with a sigh.

Back in his apartment, he reread the article headlined "Amazing -- and Nearby" as if he could find new words in it. "All right... so ... now we have one in Pankratiev... What am I sitting here for?" Danilov suddenly thought. "I should be in Madrid. Maybe this bull in Pankratiev is merely a pretender?"

Instantly Danilov bumped his nose on the magnificent gates of the dwelling where Miguel was being kept and discovered that Miguel was not in the building. Or in Madrid at all. About twenty minutes ago, Burnabito's people had had him in view and then lost him. The turbulence had not yet begun, Madrid was quiet.

Immediately Danilov transported himself to Pankratiev District. Progress Farm was up and awake. Danilov examined the safe in the office and sensed a certain excitement in the chairman's office. The cause of the excitement was the high-level directive that arrived by helicopter. The paper read: "Immediately send the bull Vasilii accompanied by representatives to Moscow to the Exhibition of Economic Achievements. To display to visitors to the capital and to exchange experience." The farm authorities did not regret losing the bull; it was obvious that he was not meant to remain here long -- big ships need big seas -- but the loss of bullpower. Danilov peeked into the cattleyard. The bull in question was asleep. It was cooler here than in Miguel's house, and the bull's breath showed as puffs of steam. But he slept. That calmed Danilov.

The story of the Pankratiev discovery, Danilov learned, was a simple one. Three days ago in the morning gloom, the kolkhoz animalkeepers, L. D. Kukushkin and A. V. Kuleshov bumped into an unfamiliar object near the cattleyard. When they illuminated it with their lanterns, they saw that in the snow before them lay either a bull, a cow, or a wild animal.

"What a dumb animal!" said Kukushkin, but in less elegant words. It was freezing, and the men were upset, but took pity on the creature, and after giving it a few kicks with their felt boots, they led it inside. There under the electric light the man realized they'd had too much to drink last night at that bitch Lubka's. Their first thought was to run and get something more to drink; but their legs wouldn't carry them. In the meantime, the bull quietly walked to an empty stall and made himself comfortable in the hay.

"It's not one of ours," Kukushkin said.

"Nope," agreed Kuleshov.

"Whose, then?"

"Maybe he wandered over from Sunbeam Farm?" Kukushkin suggested.

"How could they grow one this size at Sunbeam?" Kuleshov countered. "This one's from the woods..."

Kukushkin doubted it, but Kuleshov stood his ground. It was a fact that somewhere nearby there was a bear possessed by an evil spirit, and apparently it had chased the bull out of the forest.

They admired the bull, pitied it, and called to it: "Vaska!" and the bull's ear twitched, as if he understood everything. A man on business in the village said: "This bull is record size!"

However, now the bull was being called to Moscow.

"There's nothing for me to do in Pankrantiev," Danilov thought. "The exhibition grounds are a stone's throw from my apartment... So Karmadon got himself three more days ... clever fellow!"

Back in Moscow, Danilov sent off the postcard to Pereslegin the composer. He even wanted to go over to see him personally but realized that he didn't have enough time. And he wanted to give the music a closer read first. The postcard turned out to be a mere suggestion for Pereslegin to call at an appointed hour.

17

Among other things, Klavdia continued to speak of the blue bull. She had gone down to the exhibition hall and to the right of the Stone Flower Fountain she saw the area for the Pankratiev bull. But the bull still hadn't come. Klavdia grumbled, "What if they starved him to death?"

Once Danilov almost reassured her about the blue bull. He didn't know how he had managed to stop himself. After all, he knew a thing or two about Vaska the bull from Pankratiev. Actually, the bull had not yet left the snowy expanses of Galichskaya Plateau. First, no one at the farm could decide who should be sent as a representative and in what guise. It must be said that there weren't too many people eager to be with Vaska, even in Moscow. Finally, by nightfall, the cattle breeders L. D. Kukushkin and A. V. Kuleshov were assigned to the trip to broaden their experience. The teetotaling agronomist Mrs. Vasilkova was sent along with them. Vaska the bull was taken to the train station on a tractor sledge. People gathered around, and even though they were already accustomed to all sorts of miracles, they expressed their amazement out loud at the bull. For some reason, it made Mrs. Vasilkova blush. Kukushkin maintained a thoughtful silence. Only Kuleshov spoke, inasmuch as he was loquacious, but repeated the same phrase over and over: "Yeah, his thing's really something!" At the station there was a long discussion about where the bull should ride -- it didn't seem right for him to travel freight as an invited guest to the exhibition. But then they decided: Moscow was Moscow, and they had other things to worry about.