Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

Anastasiya, watching nearby, had rushed to save Danilov with her bare hands. Not worrying about burns, she turned Karmadon's missile into its complete opposite: a black hole. There was so much matter it could have turned into a star of the first magnitude. Therefore, the black hole was huge. Anastasiya began closing its edges with silk threads. Danilov regained consciousness, and Anastasiya flew off. Obviously the proud and magnificent Anastasiya had not forgiven him!

It was not clear what her intentions were at the dueling site. But did it matter now! She did not have the right to aid Danilov, and he did not have the right to accept it. However, Karmadon was the first to violate the code of honor, and Anastasiya could not bear his vile act. Before flying off from Danilov, she still had managed to tape up the black hole after smearing it with some secret witch-doctor salve. Now the black hole was diminishing faster than it ought, leaking matter into some distant, empty corner of an alien universe.

"If Anastasiya managed to find out about our duel," thought Danilov, "that means we had other observers, too..."

Bad consequences were to be expected. Oh, Danilov was right in not wanting to challenge Karmadon.

Now Danilov was counting on this: Karmadon's influential relatives and friends would try to hush up the duel. No matter how you looked at it, Karmadon was routed. With his last missile Danilov had twisted Karmadon's jaw and damaged something in his neck. So far neither scientific mechanics nor doctors could help; they were afraid he might be disfigured. The great ace! According to all the rules, Karmadon had lost the duel, and even secret talks about the duel could only harm him.

"Well, let's see what happens," said Danilov with a sigh.

Danilov plugged in his iron and put his bow tie for the evening performance on the ironing board.

"What can I do for Pereslegin?" thought Danilov. "How can I perform his symphony? Where and with whom? I have to find Pereslegin today. Should I go to his house?"

Danilov's left hand automatically reached for the black hole. "Stop!" Danilov said to himself. "Enough!" The tape was on tight.

The phone rang. It was Natasha.

"Volodya, excuse me," Natasha said. "I had the impression that you were having problems, that something happened yesterday between you and your guest... And so I thought I'd call..."

"Mere trifles," Danilov said grimly.

"I shouldn't have called?"

"No, no ..." muttered Danilov. "Where are you?"

"You know, Volodya, I'm wandering around in your neighborhood... I went to Ostankino this morning..."

"Where are you now?"

Natasha named the place. It was two minutes' walk from Danilov's.

"I'm on my way," Danilov said.

He found Natasha on Tsander Street near the drugstore.

"Hello, Natasha," Danilov said.

"Hello, Volodya."

"Were you interested in my friend?"

"No," Natasha said.

"I was so worried about you, Volodya... Something happened last night, didn't it?"

"Yes... a minor misunderstanding... it's forgotten now."

"You're not mad at me?"

"What for?"

"I don't know... I couldn't fall asleep last night. I was afraid of something... I kept thinking I had to save you from something... I don't know... I even came here in the morning and kept walking near your house, as if you needed me. What nonsense! I'm getting nervous, I guess... You'd better keep clear of someone like me..."

"Not at all!" Danilov said, moved. "You didn't get enough sleep?"

"Does it show?" Natasha was upset. "Do I look horrible?"

"No, no, don't be silly!" Danilov said. "It must be that the air pressure was changing last night, and that gave you insomnia."

Natasha gave Danilov a strange look, as if he had insulted her, and said softly: "No... air pressure doesn't bother me...

"Really, what does she care about air pressure?" thought Danilov. "She came to the theater, and Sokolniki, and my house -- all for me! But what can I do? Anastasiya, Natasha, that stupid Klavdia -- it's all mixed up. How can I see my way clear? And in a way so that disaster is avoided?"

"Volodya, I love you," Natasha said.

"And I love you, Natasha," said Danilov.

That was it. A few people were walking around them. What else needed to be said? Nothing ...

A car stopped near Danilov and Natasha. Danilov knew the car. It was bought with Professor Voinov's money. Klavdia Petrovna flung open the door.

"Danilov!" she said angrily. "I'm rushing over to your house and you're strolling about the streets!"

"Hello, Klavdia," Danilov said.

"Hello. You have no conscience. What if I hadn't come by way of Tsander Street?"

"I wasn't expecting you."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that. You didn't bother to find out if I had time to meet with you. And I don't."

"What's the matter with you, Danilov?" Klavdia was stunned. Then she seemed to notice Natasha. "Who's this?"

"This is Natasha," Danilov said. "Natasha, this is my ex-wife Klavdia Petrovna."

Klavdia should have seen that he and Natasha were intimate, and she was in the way...

"Still," Klavdia said, trying to make Natasha go away with a look, "I need you."

"Perhaps you do," Danilov said. "But I don't need you."

"Danilov," Klavdia said meekly, "you always treat women with respect..."

Danilov felt that there was something new in Klavdia's attitude toward him, something along with the old superiority and sense of absolute power -- some sort of anxiety, or suspicion, or even fear...

"I have a secret," Klavdia said softly.

"Good," Danilov said. "Some other time."

The insult gave Klavdia strength. She asked: "Are you Danilov's new flame?"

Natasha looked at Danilov.

"Natasha is my eternal flame," Danilov said.

"Be hard on him. He's got no self-discipline."

Danilov was speechless.

"I've seen you somewhere? You're not a seamstress, are you?"

"I'm not a seamstress," Natasha said. "But I sew."

"Did you sew dresses for Gavrilova based on Gagarin's patterns?"

"I did."

"I saw you at Gavrilova's! And you make hats?"

"Hats, too."

Here Klavdia Petrovna leapt out of her car, slammed the door, and forgot all about Danilov.

"I absolutely must have, and quickly, a hat of black velvet, you know, a turban, so that diamonds and pearls look good on it. My husband and I may live in England for three years. You have to be in evening dress to be received by the queen. I have a friend who lived in England. She was invited to a reception at the palace, but they wouldn't let her in without a hat. Now she's back in Moscow. She can't get over it, she's ashamed to show her face to her friends. Her life is ruined. And if they invited that stupid cow to see the queen, then Voinov and I will be invited for sure. And more than once. Will you do it? I have a pattern. I'll pay you well."

"I'll do it," Natasha said. "Your money will come in handy..."

The women began making arrangements to meet, writing down addresses and telephone numbers. Danilov was furious. He was now superfluous.

Natasha sensed his dismay, turned to him, and soothed him with her eyes.

"One thing's done, good," said Klavdia, opening the car door. "But no thanks to you, Danilov."

However, she still hadn't gotten into the car, now that her headgear had been taken care of.

"All right," Klavdia said. "I'll find you later."

And she drove off.

"I have to get to work," Natasha said.

"And I'm due at the theater soon. I'll call you."

"Just come over..."

23

At home Danilov unbuttoned his shirt and bared his shoulder. The black hole was gone. Danilov pulled off the clear bandage and gently cut the silk threads with a pair of scissors.

The doorbell rang. It was Pereslegin, on his doorstep.