Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

"What does my music have to do with it?" Danilov asked. "Take a serious look at it. Where is there distaste in it? Where's there rejection?"

He was astonished at his temerity, his rebelliousness. After hearing the music and admitting he was a musician, he felt himself to be the equal of anyone in the world. Why should he be afraid of Valentin Sergeyevich? Danilov realized that they would take the music apart with calculators and show him the distaste and the rejection, but he could not keep silent.

"The conversation about music is over," Valentin Sergeyevich said. "Anyway, the episode in the Well of Anticipation was minor, the final test. It wasn't even necessary. Let us move on to other evidence. Begin."

Danilov's chair stopped moving, and he became an unwilling spectator. But while he had been confident about the music, now he expected to be embarrassed. "Well, let them look, if this was part of their job. Let them!" So Danilov said to himself, but he was crestfallen.

The wall opposite Danilov turned white, and living pictures began. And once more Danilov was forced to appreciate the quality of the reproduction. You could see every mote of dust. Every rustle could be heard. Every odor hit you in the nose.

The show was accompanied by commentary from Valentin Sergeyevich and his deputy. When necessary, the pictures were stopped, and the jurors asked questions. Valentin Sergeyevich and his deputy explained, using long pointers on the images. Danilov was often called on to respond. He was argumentative and often disagreed with Valentin Sergeyevich. At first, they brought up trifles: Here he was in the skies above Ostankino, and hurrying down to treat the geography teacher with a glass of vodka.

"That's a purely human gesture," Valentin Sergeyevich commented. "Kindness."

"Why do you say that?" Danilov was quick to argue. "You seem to forget that alcohol is an evil. I managed within the forms acceptable on Earth to poison the geography teacher. What did I do wrong there?"

In a similar way Danilov turned into an achievement burning down the dormitory at the Planerskoye spa. He interpreted the incident with the house spirit Georgii Nikolaevich, whom Danilov had infected with the flu, as an attempt to spread pestilence throughout the entire building.

"And what's this?! What's this?!" demanded a nervous demon. They were showing Danilov leading a half-blind old lady across the street near the Shcherbakovskay metro station. (Danilov did not remember this particular incident, for he had helped many an old lady cross, and he thought, "Are they really stooping this low?")

"That's me helping an old lady," Danilov said.

"How are you going to get out of this one?" the demon said with a howl.

Danilov said, "If I didn't follow ordinary human behavior on Earth, who would trust me?"

His last comment apparently had some effect on Valentin Sergeyevich. He even added, "Anyway, old ladies should be saved so that they can be a pain in the ass for the young." No more such episodes were shown. The editors of the material were going to pay for this.

Then the spectators saw many scenes from Danilov's Moscow life. The jury members went down into the pit of the theater and followed Danilov on orchestra tours. With particular interest, they watched scenes from Danilov's romances -- once in a while there would even be cries of approval. Trembling, Danilov awaited the appearance of Natasha. But neither Natasha nor Karmadon were shown. Maybe they really weren't going to mention Karmadon or anything to do with him. Or they were saving him in case of extreme need. All he could do was sit and wait.

Even though it was his own life that was being shown, Danilov felt that he was watching a film or a play. He observed his friends as actors. He was surprised by himself, naturally. He was also depressed, in part. He had had a completely different conception of his own appearance and manners. "What a disgusting mug!" Danilov thought. "And look at that posture!"

Danilov tried to give a logical explanation for every trifle.

Valentin Sergeyevich finally stopped him. "Enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Enough. That's it. The examination of evidence is over. We have the final word."

"But..." Danilov could not stop.

Then he understood. That was it. They would now pronounce sentence. And they had not brought up Karmadon! Or Natasha! Why look for trouble?

Valentin Sergeyevich announced, "You have seen the materials of the case. In his excuses Danilov was inventive and energetic; it was amusing to listen to him. But his words are one thing, and what we know about him, another. Before me lie, indisputably, the facts of our special research. They testify that Danilov's feelings and actions at the most varied critical moments have been human. His music is not important for us. Thus I support the formulation of a punishment: Demon on contract Danilov should be deprived of existence and all memory of him trampled."

" 'His music is not important...' Yet they stole my Albani!" Danilov thought pathetically. But why even think about the Albani, since the punishment had been formulated, and the execution would not be delayed? It was all over.

"The time has come to hear your opinions," Valentin Sergeyevich announced.

"Deprive!"

"Deprive!"

"Trample!"

"Three to deprive," counted Danilov, "four ... five . ' Other voices were not so decisive. Some even suggested lesser punishments: "Turn him into a madman and send him to an empty planet!" ("Could that be New Margarit?" thought Danilov.) "Deprive him of existence but do not kill him, turn him into a popular tune and send him out into the world!" ("Oh, no!" Danilov shuddered. "They could turn me into a jingle! I'd be better off deprived and trampled. Let them do it right now...")

"That's enough," Valentin Sergeyevich said. "The majority is for depriving."

"Confirmation must be sought," an unfamiliar baritone said.

"I know," Valentin Sergeyevich said huffily.

Now Danilov saw Valentin Sergeyevich in front of and below him. That was where, in the guise of a shy clerk, he had swept up the garbage. Valentin Sergeyevich took careful steps, as if he were afraid. Then something happened in front of him. A crevice opened. Noise issued from it. "That's where they'll throw me," Danilov thought.

"Demon on contract Danilov," Valentin Sergeyevich intoned, "has been sentenced: to be deprived of his existence and all memory of him trampled."

He was silent. "They'll push me in and incinerate me right now," thought Danilov. But a quiet, hoarse voice said:

"Hold off."

The crack disappeared. Valentin Sergeyevich stood confused in the silence. Finally he lifted his head and said, "Recess."

Everyone moved off -- Danilov could feel it.

Then his chair flew up and landed in a room decorated with Oriental rugs. The room was divided into two unequal areas by a wooden rail. The larger part of the room held the judges, who walked around or lounged on couches. Low coffee tables with drinks, snacks, and tobacco pipes circulated among them. The tables also held herbs for headaches or nervous tension. Danilov's chair was on the other side of the barrier.

Danilov could still see the crack and hear the noise coming from it. An instant ago, in the courtroom, he had been so numb, he would have gladly gone to his death. But now his fear was again tangible: They won't hold off for long! Maybe for a half hour so that the judges can relax and have a drink? Danilov's hands were shaking.

"Danilov, come over here, please," he heard.

A middle-aged demon in a black leather jacket and a starched cotton shirt and tie stood at the barrier.

The straps fell away. Danilov got up and went over to the barrier.

"I thought that fragment of your music interesting. The one that rather unbalanced demon had doubts about."