Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

Danilov wended his way back to the park exit.

Near the hockey palace he saw the ambitious messenger Valentin Sergeyevich among a group of elderly skiers.

Valentin Sergeyevich was eating ice cream and giggling.

21

At four in the morning Danilov sat down at his desk to write his will. However, as he surveyed the ceiling and walls, he realized that he had nothing but debts to leave. He decided to write a disposition. But "disposition" sounded like an order or demand, and he could give no orders to anyone, nor did he intend to.

That night the seconds had decided that if Danilov were unlucky and lost his essence in the course of the duel, his earthly existence would end in a fatal accident. As far as people were concerned, Danilov would be run over by a streetcar or struck by a giant icicle on Peace Avenue.

Danilov was sad. As he looked at his books, his folders of music, and thought about people dear to his heart, about music, his eyes grew misty and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Danilov knew that in the duel he could count only on his own will, and therefore an elegiac mood would bring nothing but harm. He had not cooled off yet; he was still angry and did not at all wish to be felled. But cold reason included his own death realistically as one of the possibilities of the morning. He did not want his disappearance to hurt any humans, especially those to whom he owed money. And so he had sat down to write his will. Or not a will, but a something. Danilov had no money, jewelry, car, or dacha. He was counting on the conscience of the insurance companies; both the Albani and Danilov's life were insured. Addressing "to whom it may concern," Danilov wrote down how much he owed whom and said that these debts should be paid out of the insurance. He thought: What if the police find the Albani viola? To whom should he leave it? If the Muravlyovs had played the viola, he'd have left it to them... The only hope in that family was Misha, the fifth-grader, who was learning how to do an Ossetian dance (the kind on your tiptoes) with the rest of his class and had sung "Children, drink milk for your health!" with the school chorus. Danilov decided to leave the instrument to Misha; maybe the gift would have a powerful effect on the boy and turn him to music! If only Danilov had a son ... Danilov grew sad again, but immediately pulled himself together. But the sadness returned over his books. Danilov divided them up. They were rare, marvelous books, and the thought that he might never again touch them was painful. Part of his insurance money he bequeathed to Klavdia, for she had grown accustomed to his paying for the co-op, and Danilov did not want her to get hurt. Klavdia was in no way responsible for the change in his fate.

Just in case, Danilov brought his demonic papers up to date, too. It was quite possible that Danilov would be blamed for yesterday's carousal. He tried to account for the expenses down to the last penny. When he had, he was astonished. They had eaten so much! The liters did not amaze Danilov, for a liquid is here one moment and gone the next. But how did they accommodate tens of kilograms of food or food products? Not tens of kilograms! But tons!

It turned out that Karmadon and comrades had consumed 746 kilograms of herring in pieces, not counting the weightless tails. Eggs hardboiled and not quite hardboiled -- 412,000, of which, as Danilov determined, eighty-two thousand were rotten. The sprats that had satisfied their group represented the catch of two fishing boats. Danilov also learned of foods that he did not remember ingesting. For example, four kilograms of dried grubs. And the thought of twenty kilograms of table margarine made his stomach rebel. "Look how Karmadon led us astray!"

Danilov sighed and began writing letters. To two excellent composers and one talented violist. He asked the violist to familiarize himself with Pereslegin's symphony, and if he liked it, to perform it. He recommended Pereslegin to the composers as a talented man who seemed to be shy and unlucky. He praised the symphony and suggested that kindness toward Pereslegin would be a service to Music...

Somewhere below, someone quietly struck the steam pipes. That was Danilov's second, reminding him that there were two hours left to the duel.

Danilov had had difficulties finding a second. Where was he to get one? But Karmadon wanted to observe all the niceties. According to the rules of his agreement, Danilov was not allowed to consort with any other demons; he had been assigned to the house spirits. Well, if that's all you have, then a house spirit will have to do. Danilov could feel Karmadon wince.

Which house spirit should he pick? Were any of them suitable seconds? "Hah, we have our own house spirit in this building," recalled Danilov. This house spirit they called Bek Leonovich. He rarely showed up at the meetings on Argu-novskaya Street, behaved very modestly, and didn't unscrew light bulbs. But for some reason he was considered a reckless personality. It was known that Bek Leonovich was of Oriental origin. However, he had long ago changed faiths. He did not remember his former name; this current one he had received in the thirties. At the exhibition in Ostankino, among the other pavilions, they had built one for a southern republic. It was white and light blue, filigreed, with fountains and columns. Naturally, it couldn't stand without a house spirit. And so a local spirit was located in Kokanda at the palace of Khudoyar-Khan. He agreed to move to Moscow and was given the name Uzbek Pavilionovich.

Uzbek Pavilionovich was a conscientious volunteer who knew what he was doing. Nevertheless, he could not control himself and brought along eight wives, or eight concubines, or perhaps simply eight girlfriends. He explained to the curious that he needed them in the pavilion to add color. No one ever saw them, but everyone said they were made of clay. About fifteen years ago the pavilion was repainted and dedicated to culture, and Uzbek Pavilionovich was no longer needed there. He was transferred to a neighboring apartment house in Ostankino. And then to another. And then to a third.

The third was Danilov's house, a co-op. He grieved mightily for his wives. When he left the exhibition, the filigreed pavilion, he could not take them with him, and so walled them up inside the columns. Danilov knew that at night Bek Leonovich wandered near the pavilion of culture and caressed the columns. His girlfriends moaned and called to him, and Bek Leonovich wept. Bek Leonovich's feelings moved Danilov. Since Bek Leonovich was not one to gossip, Danilov approached him with a request to serve as his second. Actually, he ordered him to, so that later Bek Leonovich could not be held responsible for anything.

Karmadon's second was Sinezud, an old demon, and a low-ranking one. But he was known as a hunter and flier, and he was also famous for his collection of pins and badges from around the universe. Part of his collection, including the badge of a Voroshilov Marksman, he wore on his chest. House spirits were not supposed to fly in space, and Bek Leonovich might have gotten dizzy if he had, so Sinezud came down to Ostankino to talk things over with Bek Leonovich.

The lion's share of the discussion was about weapons. A duel could be verbal, or with swords, fists, pistols, cards, carbines; there have even been duels where the opponents pelted each other with rocks or vegetables -- who could remember them all? Danilov and Karmadon decided to duel using medium-range missiles, those with a radius of six hundred kilometers. The seconds had to chalk off firing boundaries in an empty area, far from Earth, where even meteorites did not pass unless they had a good reason.

At five o'clock, when Danilov was still putting his papers in order, the telephone rang. Danilov was stunned. Could Natasha have sensed impending disaster? But what disaster was this for her? Her call would be superfluous now. Actually it was Podkovyrov, a co-op member from the fourth floor, who soloed with a dance group.