Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

A white spot appeared on the screen; a missile was traveling in Danilov's direction. Danilov quickly moved forward his flying shield with its net and clenched his jaw. Now everything depended on his willpower. If it was too weak, Danilov's essence would be blasted into nothing, into emptiness. But no, he was no weaker than Karmadon. He threw the shield at the oncoming rocket, pushed against it or against Kar-madon's will, and then, when Karmadon grew tired and gave up, grabbed the rocket in the net and carried it off toward the dying star. In the distance something hissed, and a new blister appeared on the star's pink body.

"Well, I wonder how Karmadon is now?" thought Danilov. "Still a giant, or has he made himself equal to my size again?" No, Karmadon had not diminished; he stood, head proudly raised, eyes open, and now staring at Danilov with a mocking gaze. "Well, well!" thought Danilov. "Showing off!"

Danilov sat down on his hard green seat, looked away from Karmadon, turned on the navigational system, checked once more to see if the missile was still loaded, and pushed the button. Gusts of fire enveloped Danilov. He felt the missile was traveling with difficulty, like a bore through granite ore. There were moments when it stalled altogether on account of Karmadon's resistance. However, Danilov still had reserves of strength, and he pushed the rocket on, protecting the payload, and suddenly he felt Karmadon weaken. Karmadon was now hanging over an abyss, and grabbing at a root or a stone. His fingers were slipping. One more push of willpower would shove the missile into Karmadon's essence and end everything in one shot. But Danilov took pity on Karmadon. He straightened up, unclenched his jaw, and allowed Karmadon to push the rocket aside with trembling shield. And another yellow blister appeared on the pink star.

Soaked with perspiration and weak, Danilov was still. He was panting. He sensed that Karmadon knew he had spared him. The duel should end here. He had worked out his relationship with Karmadon, and that was enough.

Communications with the seconds crackled over the phones. Apparently they also had thoughts about a cease-fire.

Then came a roar of laughter. Horrible laughter, like cannon fire. Danilov saw that Karmadon had grown even taller. His hair had turned blue, he was covered with orange spots, and on his hands he had grown claws, hanging like ten swords in the black and pink space.

But most terrible of all was Karmadon's gaze. Haughty, fiery, deadly. Danilov was bewildered. Karmadon must have thought him weak, taken his clemency for an insult, and now was planning to kill him. "What does he take me for?" thought Danilov. "Why is he dressed up like a monster or a vampire?" But Karmadon was not as naive as all that; he had some idea of Earth superstitions. In fact, Danilov did not like looking at him now. It was too creepy.

Karmadon pushed his button.

Danilov barely managed to deflect Karmadon's missile. His life had hung by a hair... Danilov thought about it a second later and grew cold. He unbuttoned his collar. He was thirsty ... he had no desire to continue this duel. But what could he do? Danilov felt that Karmadon was barely breathing now, his fangs and claws were gone. Karmadon had become metal, a battleship or a robot...

Danilov pushed the button.

He thought that probably he could not defeat Karmadon and that he should relax a bit, so that when his opponent's turn came he would have strength left to protect himself from the missile. His missile moved slowly but steadily. Suddenly Danilov squinted at his monitor. A white spot trembled and grew larger on it! So that was it! Even before Danilov had pressed his button, Karmadon had shot at him, although it was clearly against the rules. This missile had a much greater payload and a far better booster than the conditions of the duel allowed!

"This is really stinking, lowdown!" Danilov cried out mentally. And once again Karmadon roared a victor's terrifying laugh. Danilov realized that the end was near. But he would see his own missile reach its goal; he could not forgive this vileness. He would put his last bit of strength, his last bit of willpower, the last efforts of his essence into that missile and its strike! And then something stunned Danilov, began exploding inside him. Colored visions came and went, there were faces, some female -- first it seemed to be Natasha, and then Anastasiya. Music tormented Danilov with pain, or perhaps it was merely pain, and then everything lost color and sound and vanished...

22

"Danilov, excuse me, please, it's me again. Podkovyrov."

"I'm listening," said Danilov with a sigh.

"What if we change the text?"

"What text?"

"About the emperor."

"How?"

"What if he doesn't rise from his coffin at midnight, but at one a.m.? Is that funnier?"

"Much funnier," said Danilov and hung up.

Danilov felt lousy. He was barely alive. His head ached, his body was sore, his fingers trembled. In addition to all that, there was a black hole in Danilov's right shoulder. The hole was slowly diminishing -- the silk threads of a deft needle were pulling it together. At first the black hole was the size of an alarm clock. Now you could cover it with a dime. It did not hurt, but merely weighed Danilov down. It was in him but also somehow had a life of its own. The hole had been taped over with a clear bandage.

Danilov was in the kitchen and wanted to take a good look at the hole. He carefully pulled back the tape. Everything flew into motion and was sucked into the hole. Danilov quickly replaced the tape, but one of the kitchen stools had reached his shoulder, crumbled in the air, and vanished down the hole in a stream of whisding splinters. The forks on the table had followed. He managed to rescue the rest. "All right," Danilov said, calming himself, "it'll turn into a dot by itself and then heal over completely... It's the usual thing ... gravitational collapse." Still, he felt funny knowing that his hole was the start of a tunnel leading to a different universe. But think of how hard Karmadon had tried.

Danilov also learned that Sinezud and Bek Leonovich had vanished completely. Danilov figured that Karmadon had gotten rid of the witnesses before performing his vile deed. He had been convinced that Danilov would disappear, too. The house spirit Bek Leonovich was gone, and it was Dan-ilov's fault. His walled-up wives would wait for him in vain. Danilov pitied them, but that was hardly the point. Oh, Karmadon, Karmadon.

No matter how weak Danilov felt, no matter what the next few moments held for him, Danilov knew that he should take care of business. Chance had saved him, chance had returned his existence to him, and well, he had to thank chance -- or Anastasiya -- and get on with his life.

Danilov decided to go over the papers he had written earlier that morning. He thought about tearing them up or burning them, but then thought: Why? They might come in handy... All his dispositions were appropriate. He did not want to renege on anything, even the bequest to Klavdia. He did tear up the letters about Pereslegin's symphony, however. He could simply call those people. But Danilov did write another card to Pereslegin himself, and asked him to drop by as soon as possible.

"Ah, how ridiculous! It's all my fault!" Danilov thought about the dead house spirit Bek Leonovich. He had promised him that everything would work out, that nothing bad would happen. "It should have been me," thought Danilov. "And not a finger should have touched him." However, he lived still, and the black hole on his shoulder was healing.

According to the eternal rules, the immortal nature of demons could not be destroyed by illness, the elements, or humans, but their own kind could kill them in a duel; that was the way. And Danilov had been destroyed by Karmadon's treacherous shot. He had almost lost consciousness and lost his essence. However, the demon woman Anastasiya had saved him. How she had learned of the duel and where she had hidden during it, Danilov did not know or try to learn. He did know what had happened to him in the final instant of the duel.