Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

The point was that either out of self-interest or for no particular reason, Danilov, judging from his actions and mode of thinking, was now more human than demon. In addition, Danilov had lately come to believe that he was a great musician, and was intending through his music to place himself beyond the Nine Layers or even above them.

"What does music have to do with it?" Danilov burst out.

The deputy disregarded Danilov's words and said that not only was Danilov bad, but also he was setting a bad example. Danilov was mired in humanity, had given in to human temptations and perversions ...

"Where's the proof?" Danilov demanded, surprising himself. What was he giving them trouble for?

"The proof will come," said Valentin Sergeyevich in a calm voice.

Naturally, it would. Danilov was subdued immediately.

"Therefore," continued Valentin Sergeyevich's deputy, Danilov must no longer be a demon."

"Will they transfer me to humans?" thought Danilov.

But making him simply human, the deputy went on, would not be wise. It would be a simplistic solution. No, the villain must be punished. Danilov must be deprived of existence and all memory of him wiped out.

The deputy went out like a light and no one replaced him.

"Grind him to dust!" came a lone outcry.

But it was not supported. Danilov's chair floated and turned, and everyone was silent.

"Well," Valentin Sergeyevich said, "let us move on to an examination of the materials on Danilov's life."

"What a nightmare!" thought Danilov in agony. "They'll show everything now! They've probably seen me in the bathroom. And they'll show it now. Why don't they get it over with? Everything's clear! Everything!"

He considered his fate sealed, and he could not summon the strength to resist. Nor did he wish to.

"But before moving to the examination, we would like to pose a question to Danilov. Clarification is needed about one thing. Listen to this," he suggested (apparently to everyone).

The sounds that issued forth seemed familiar. "Where have I heard them before?" Danilov thought. Danilov suddenly felt that if he were to understand what he was hearing, things would be easier for him somehow. The sounds were nervous, sometimes confused, almost weary, but you could feel the power of an active will in them. Some had a life of their own, some lined up in unexpected rows. But there was definitely a connection among them all. "It's music!" Danilov decided. "Music!" And it wasn't because many of the sounds were made by musical instruments -- had they been made by the blades of a windmill or fire hoses, Danilov would still have identified them as music. "I'm not hearing this for the first time, either," Danilov told himself.

Suddenly Danilov identified the theme from the finale of Janneau de Lequerelle's Rondo. Danilov practically jumped up from his chair, almost tore the straps. He understood. It was his own, inner music! "So that's it! That's it!" he thought.

This was the music that had always sounded within him. But he was listening to it for the first time.

And not from the pit, but as if he were in the tenth row of the great conservatory hall. The appearance of the theme from the finale of the Rondo surprised Danilov a bit, because he had been striving for independence of late. But, he decided, there was nothing wrong in using a theme from an old master.

"When did I think and feel that way?" Danilov wondered. And it came to him. In the black Well of Anticipation. That's where. That's where it had been recorded! But why listen to it now? What was Valentin Sergeyevich trying to clarify? And then Danilov thought, "They must be mixed up! They can't understand what their sensitive equipment has picked up! And they'll never understand!" Danilov knew that he might be exaggerating and that they might understand everything. But still he allowed himself to gloat, he allowed himself to listen to his own music with pleasure.

As in the Well, visions beleaguered Danilov; the same galaxies and universes, the essences of things and phenomena crowded around him, and Danilov was given the sensation of eternity, which had been later excised from his memory. It all had elicited this music. And now he could listen to it!

His viola played themes from Pereslegin's symphony, or the sextet played Handel's Passacaglia.

Some of the combinations of sounds aroused his indignation, but Danilov quickly came to the conclusion that any protest was groundless. Such combinations were, indeed, possible; it was just that they were new to him, too. They surprised him, even though he himself had created them.

"This music is interesting! It should be played somewhere else," he thought. The music sounded tragic, even the silences -- and there were frequent and long rests -- which conveyed tension and horror, but there was also energy, and faith, and moments of peace and hope.

"That's all," Valentin Sergeyevich said. And he turned to Danilov: "What is this stuff?"

"What do you mean?" Danilov was surprised.

"That which we were forced to listen to just now."

"Who forced you?"

"Be serious. What is this?"

"It is music."

"What?"

"It is music," Danilov said firmly and even with a certain hauteur.

"All right," Valentin Sergeyevich said. "Let's assume it is music. Why does it resound inside you? As if you contained a hundred instruments."

"What is the clarification you seek?"

"Answer the question," Valentin Sergeyevich demanded.

"I'm a musician," Danilov said. "I'm possessed. Music inhabits my body. There's no place I can go to get away from it. It torments me.

"Do you remember under what circumstances you composed and performed the music that was just played back?"

"Yes," Danilov said. "In the Well of Anticipation."

"Is it an aural reaction to what you saw and experienced there?"

"Not quite," Danilov said. "It's independent, although, of course, I saw and thought about much then. But I was making up music at the same time. I'm like that."

"He's making things up now! But it's not music!" one of the demons cried out impatiently. "And that wasn't music we heard! I used to play the cimbalom and the clavichord. Music doesn't contain sounds like that. And it shouldn't. What we heard was delirium, not music! Take this part, for instance." The demon played back the section that had outraged him.

Danilov sat there, almost insulted. To call it delirium! What did they know? After all, his music contained episodes that were very simple, with well-developed themes and even playful motifs, with perfectly clear four- or eight-bar phrases, and dance themes. How could you call that delirium? Where was the muddle? Of course, there were very complex passages, but the one pointed out by the cimbalom player was not among them.

"What's so unusual about that?" Danilov asked heatedly. "In Earth music that sort of composition has been known since the turn of the century. It is not my invention. Only the theme is mine. I used twelve-tone technique."

Valentin Sergeyevich cut him off: "There is no need for further discussion of music."

"But," blustered Danilov, "I am being accused of writing inconsequential music, and I cannot -- "

"Enough," Valentin Sergeyevich said curtly. "That's all."

He grew silent. Danilov was confused. The pause dragged on. Valentin Sergeyevich was either waiting for new material or carrying on a conference with the other demons. "They didn't understand a thing," thought Danilov. "The clarification didn't help, either. That twelve-tone fragment may be too advanced for them, but only an ignoramus could discount it as music. Ignoramuses should not be let off easily..."

"So," said Valentin Sergeyevich, "having heard these sounds, we are convinced that they are evidence of one thing: In the Well of Anticipation you were presented with images that should have elicited certain reactions in a demon and others in a human. And the responses were tied to the essence of the universe. In your thoughts, in your blood pressure, in your bioenergy, and in your so-called music, you proved yourself to be human. Images dear to demons elicited distaste and sometimes even outright rejection from you."