Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

Danilov cheered up. His room -- either a hotel room or a solitary-confinement cell -- had no window, no walls, no doors. But Danilov, accustomed to conventions, stood where, according to his lights, a door would be in a hotel room. He did not dare go out for a long time, and when he did, his legs gave out on him. He expected a brick to fall on his head, or simply that he would be shoved back into his pajamas and bed. But no measures were taken against him. After a bit, Danilov started running; then he jumped and took off, soaring the way he had as a teenager. Soaring quickly bored him, and he began walking. Where he was walking, he didn't know. He was just walking. Once again uncertainty weighed heavily on Danilov. He was no longer capable of taking a stroll. He wanted to confront his investigators and judges right then and say to them: "Here I am, destroy me, but don't make me just hang around!"

Danilov did not know in which of the Nine Layers he was. Maybe the Fourth, Hospitality. Or maybe near the Chancery of Order. On a leash. And he was only imagining that he was walking and soaring, while actually he was like a goat on a tether.

He did not come across any signs to orient himself. Total emptiness. Not black, as in the Well of Anticipation, but yellowish-blue. And no sounds. But just then came a fat, giggling fellow in a Panama hat with a crumpled brim. He was riding a scooter and almost knocked Danilov down. The fellow was middle-aged, but pushed off energetically with his left foot, like a kid. The scooter looked homemade, just like the ones boys, including Danilov, made in Moscow in the 1940s -- using boards and three ball bearings. The bearings seemed to be rolling on asphalt -- they rumbled and made sparks. He passed Danilov and then stopped about a hundred yards ahead. Wagging his finger at Danilov, he said more with pleasure than dismay: "Phooey, the tires are screwy!" He rolled off. "He knows where to go," thought Danilov. "I have to follow him."

"What if it's Valentin Sergeyevich? Ah, what if it is?" Danilov was sure that it wasn't, but just a random passerby. This reckless road hog touched a soft spot in Danilov. It might be the first time he had ever ridden a scooter and was cultivating this image just for Danilov's sake. In reality he probably was some crystal stringbean in the Divine Bodies constellation. Fate had ordained their paths would cross, and the string-bean was trying hard to take on the guise of a vacationer by putting on a Panama.

Something glittered up ahead. "Bah, an elevator!" Danilov exclaimed.

Demons of all rank could move from layer to layer by any means. However, in the past hundred years they exclusively used the elevator. The elevator was quiet, like the one that used to run in the Astor Hotel in Philadelphia. It rumbled and swayed but was very chic with all sorts of metal trim, marvelous mirrors, brass fittings, blue porcelain lilies above the mirrors, and gold brocade tassels. It bore the stamp of unquestionable respectability.

The scooter had disappeared.

Danilov pushed the button.

"Which layer am I on?" Danilov thought again as the elevator cab rode past. Danilov indignantly pressed the call button but achieved nothing. Someone was in the elevator, but who, Danilov had not seen. Anyway, did he know everyone in Nine Layers? What was it? Was the button broken, or was Danilov locked on this level? Danilov pushed again. Soon he heard the sound of the elevator coming down, the invisible cables groaning and creaking. "Will it pass me by again?" It stopped. Danilov rushed into the empty elevator without thinking, as if he were late for something. He pushed the bottom button.

Now, from the elevator buttons he could tell that his metal-framed bed was on the Fourth Layer, Hospitality. That meant he was a guest. But Danilov did not fool himself. It didn't matter where they put him up...

On the first layer no one came up to Danilov or passed near him. A sorrowful haze covered everything. Danilov felt uncomfortable. He should leave. And he certainly should not have been headed for a sentimental spot. But Danilov could not fight the temptation. He went. The spot still was covered by a mountain of rubble -- cobblestones, broken colored glass, and smashed ornamental bones. Danilov raked through the rubble and found the mother-of-pearl lining still was torn here. Through the open, priceless crystal of the lower sphere, Danilov saw the big blue bull.

The blue bull stood, quietly moving his lips. His upper eyelids trembled, and once his right ear twitched, as if an insect had landed on it. The big blue bull had always supported the Nine Layers on his back and had to hold them there forever.

You were supposed to know about him, but it was forbidden to look at him. However, in his youth Danilov broke the rules out of curiosity and mischievousness. In later life he learned that certain rules were meant to be broken, but the ban on the blue bull was deadly serious. It was the very seriousness that made Danilov take the risk. Danilov had heard that the mother-of-pearl lining (which covered the inside of the lower crystal sphere) had peeled away in some spots and you could see through the crystal. Daredevil Danilov actually found one of those places, where the lining had not only peeled off but where there was also a crack in the crystal, a hole, almost. It had not been filled in, but simply covered over with a pile of stones, broken glass, and ornamental bones. That was when Danilov had first seen the big blue bull. The bull really was huge, but Danilov, being young, was disappointed: "So he's there, so he's holding it up, so what?" But later he recalled the bull with respect. Now Danilov felt that it was something more than the memory of a youthful prank that had brought him back here. Something else ...

Danilov stood, looking. On the bull's back, beneath the rough and still shiny pelt, the muscles twitched. Danilov sensed it was making an effort; perhaps the animal's back itched. "Poor thing," thought Danilov. He found a thin piece of bone in the rubble pile, pushed it through the crack, reached the bull's back, and scratched it. The animal's eye opened. It seemed grateful; it asked for more. Danilov scratched the bull's back for a long time. Finally the big bull's eyelid went down and Danilov realized mat it was enough. Danilov pushed back the rocks, glass, and bones and returned to the elevator. On the way he thought: "What about Karmadon? Did he want to be a blue bull on Earth because of the big bull who holds up Nine Layers? Why didn't that occur to me before?! But why did Karmadon need to do that? Well, why do I need my music?"

In the elevator Danilov pushed the button for the Second Layer. That was where the disabled veterans were housed.

Now Danilov was calmer and he discovered something new in the elevator: air conditioning. It had never been stuffy in the cab, but they went ahead and put in an air conditioner anyway.

Danilov got off at the Second Layer with some trepidation. What did they need him here for? The sights on the Second Layer were picturesque. Astonishing aromas enveloped Danilov. The sounds and smells from the warehouses of the First Layer, where captured souls were held in torment or pleasure, did not penetrate up here. Here, in places designated for the public, were strollers, such as one would expect to find in Baden-Baden. There were very formal gardens, charming trellised gazebos with roses and garlands, green allйes, fountains with gilt dragons -- their jets of water scattered like pearls.

In inactivity -- fully justified -- in grape arbors and myrtle groves, the demons wandered, flew, crawled, dragged their feet, played dice and doorknobs, befriended spirits, smoked poisonous herbs, and told fortunes. The denizens of this area included demons from the lower, and, at best, middle echelons: warriors, careerists. There were undoubtedly blood suckers and marauders among them. Danilov walked down the pathways, wandered along the groves. He ran into several familiar oldsters, retired from service, and younger demons who had become invalids in their hazardous work. He met cripples from mental labor. And also wastrels who were getting early retirement. Danilov entered into conversation with them about this and that. They did not know about his Time X. But neither the quiet chats nor the local landscape amused Danilov. He wanted to learn something about Karmadon. Or to see Sinezud, who could tell him about the wretched fate of house spirit Bek Leonovich.