Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

"He had doubts about everything," Danilov said.

"Yes," the demon said and nodded. "He's stupid."

Danilov looked at him and tried to remember if he had heard his voice during the discussion. He remembered:

"Confirmation must be sought." Yes, the same calm baritone. Yet, by the rules, he should not have reminded Valentin Sergeyevich about anything. But he did. As if he had to.

The demon said, "Excuse me, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Maliban. Another thing: Do those futecons -- or confutes -- meet in Nastasyinsky Alley?"

"Yes. In Nastasyinsky ... Why?"

"Just asking," Maliban said. And then added in a whisper: "I think that you made a mistake in not paying an entrance fee at Nastasyinsky Alley..."

Maliban walked over to the soft couches. Danilov stood bewildered at the barrier, and then, without hurrying, he headed for a table and sat down. Just a short time ago, at the beginning of the recess, he had felt like a wretched slave lying on the blood-stained sand of a Roman arena, the starved lions roaring behind the bars, soon to be lifted. But now Maliban's mention of music had fortified Danilov. Once again he remembered that he was a musician, and therefore considered himself the equal of anyone.

New Margarit had been sipping a cool drink with important-looking demons whom Danilov did not know. Now New Margarit left his group and came over. He was animated and amiable. He smiled. He seemed to be visiting from the eighteenth century, with his black judge's robes and an ash-colored powdered wig of the British type.

"You defended yourself well," New Margarit said.

"Won't you get into trouble by talking to me?"

"If you're afraid of everything ... and then, your crimes and downfall... are yours, not mine."

"Who said to hold off?"

"Are you serious, or are you joking?"

"Just joking," Danilov said quickly. "Who are you here? Expert, investigator, lawyer?"

"A little bit of everything."

"And music specialist?"

"To a certain degree ... I've developed many interests. But in music you are naturally stronger than I. And not only than I." There was a glint in New Margarit's eyes.

"You're dressed unusually."

"It's a masquerade, of course. But sometimes it's fun to wear a disguise. To play just like you" -- New Margarit lowered his voice -- "The way you were behaving ... just keep it up. Don't abandon your role."

"What role?"

"That role ... another thing. Maliban came over to you. Understand where his interests lie. And where yours are."

"When the sentence was discussed, were you silent?"

"No. I said: 'Deprive!' "

"Then why are you giving me advice?"

"In any case, it's not for old times' sake."

A gong was struck. It probably wasn't a gong, but that's what it sounded like to Danilov. Danilov didn't make a single movement, but the straps pressed him once more against the chair back. Once again Danilov was in the courtroom. But it had been transformed. It no longer resembled the lyceum auditorium; now it had a stage, an orchestra pit, a small parterre of the sort used in theaters of the nineteenth century, with armchairs upholstered in pink silk. The room was half dark, but it resembled the earthly darkness to which he was accustomed. Gone was the electric blue light that had made Danilov so nervous.

The chair with Danilov was on the stage, where the prompter's box should have been. It made no revolutions, flights, or carousels as before. Below, in the parterre, sat the judges. Like an artistic council. Or a competition committee. They were whispering about something.

"The delay is over," thought Danilov. "But why did New Margarit come over to me? To show that he was a liberal and independent? To show that he could do it? Especially since he had called for deprivation. Maybe that call to hold off had changed something. Could it be the big bull? There was a glint in New Margarit's eyes ... and he advised me not to come out of my role..." Danilov had not invented a role for himself, it had happened on its own.

"The determination of the fate of demon on contract Danilov continues," announced Valentin Sergeyevich.

"Is there anything Danilov wishes to say?" the Deputy of Rules and Regulations said. "Does he wish to repent?"

"I have nothing to repent," Danilov said harshly.

"Oh, no?" New Margarit asked.

"No," Danilov said less decisively.

"You're very frivolous," the Deputy noted.

"That's it, frivolous," New Margarit said, pleased to have the right word and that he was not the first to utter it. "Danilov is extremely frivolous. His life-style and work in the past few years and his present conduct confirm that we are dealing with an individual who began giving in to human temptations, who began living like a human, not out of any serious consideration but frivolously, perhaps out of spiritual showing off?"

"Are we supposed to be pleased by his frivolity?" the deputy demanded. "What use is Danilov to us on Earth now? Here is a valid evaluation of his usefulness."

Copies of the report were passed out to the commission, and pages began turning. A brochure appeared before Dan-ilov's eyes. Its pages turned by themselves, permitting Danilov to familiarize himself with the document.

"Much of this is interpreted incorrecdy," Danilov said. "The indices are skewed. A commission should be formed."

Valentin Sergeyevich spread his hands in dismay.

"And there's that old lady again," Danilov said, "whom I helped across the street. How long will I be persecuted for that old lady?"

If he had been holding a copy of the report in his hand, he would have flung it down in indignation.

"There is no need for any commissions," Valentin Sergeyevich said. "There's been enough of them. As for this comedy routine Danilov is pulling, it does not do any credit to his intelligence."

"He has no intelligence!" interceded New Margarit. "He has always been a ne'er-do-well. As a child and at the lyceum. And I want to stress yet again that what happened with him is neither rebellion nor treason, but simply frivolity and irresponsibility."

"That changes the situation?" Valentin Sergeyevich asked.

"It does," New Margarit said.

"You were for depriving."

"Yes, was !" New Margarit said. "Now I think it worthwhile to come to another decision. Danilov must be punished, but he should not be rejected."

"What do we need with Danilov?" the deputy asked, fuming.

"Allow me," Maliban said. "I did not know Danilov before, so I understand him a bit differently than our colleague" -- with a nod to New Margarit -- "but that is not important. Even Danilov, as he is now, could be useful to us. Yesterday he was of no use, and now he is of no use, but tomorrow he suddenly could be. Even if Danilov is overly interested in earthly things."

"We should keep a demon on contract because he could be of use?" Valentin Sergeyevich's deputy asked with a frown.

"Because of that 'could be'!" Maliban said. "Your irreproachable scientists and workers spend every day in enthusiastic toil. But this 'could be' may repay us much more generously."

"Why such a condescending tone for irreproachable scientists and workers?" Valentin Sergeyevich asked. "And in which field of activity will your 'could be' flourish?"

"Like so," Maliban said.

Right above the orchestra pit appeared a vision of Rostov-tsov's apartment in Nastasyinsky Alley. There, in the hallway, was a crowd of well-dressed people, ready to get a number in the line for the futecons. Maliban told them about the futecons, related their attitude toward Danilov, and the two phone calls from the secretary.

"Due to his frivolous nature, Danilov may not have understood the attractions of this line," Maliban said. "But we cannot allow ourselves a similar frivolity."