Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

He sat down.

"There's something to that!" New Margarit said. "Yes, there is!"

"Yes," Valentin Sergeyevich said. "This is a direction with great potential."

Everyone started talking at once, agreeing with Valentin Sergeyevich. It appeared that the members of the hearing had hoped for such a turn of events and now felt a great relief that it had come.

"But what about Danilov himself?" the deputy asked. "How does he feel about all this?"

"Well," Danilov said, "if the secretary of the futecons calls me, I'll agree to meet with him."

"In my opinion," Maliban said, "there is no point in continuing this conversation. Business details can be discussed with Danilov later."

"Is this it?" Danilov couldn't believe it. "Was it really the big bull who said to hold off?"

"Now the punitive measures," Valentin Sergeyevich said.

"Yes, the punitive measures," his colleagues agreed.

"I suggest the chandelier," the deputy said.

"The chandelier! The chandelier! The chandelier!" they all chimed in.

Maliban supported the chandelier. And New Margarit agreed to it, too.

A chandelier appeared above Danilov. It resembled the chandelier from Danilov's theater, but there was something different about it, too. The chandelier was gorgeous, about seven meters high, with three rings of gilt bronze attached to the central bronze bar -- the lowest rather narrow, the other two significantly wider. Bronze hooks and brackets held the bulb fixtures and candleholders. All this was the core of a crystal garden. Crystal bouquets, nosegays, and garlands blossomed and sparkled. You looked at them and forgot your cares... The chandelier began descending quickly. It hung on a metal chain. The chain creaked and trembled. Danilov felt that the chandelier might break off at any second. It did break off and fell, swallowing Danilov up. He lost his hearing. Then everything started to go out in him...

When Danilov came to, he realized that he was still in the chair and the chandelier swayed high above him.

"So, the chandelier," said Valentin Sergeyevich. "It will be suspended over Danilov from now on, and if he gives it any reason to fall, nothing will stop it."

"I suggest an addition to the chandelier," New Margarit announced. "A sensitivity to frequencies."

"What does that mean?" the unstable demon demanded.

New Margarit began explaining. "There is a theory by Birfel and Tarnatsev. According to it man is part of the oscillating system of the Earth. He lives in it and most often does not feel it. But an increase in the frequency of the oscillation makes him feel uncomfortable. If the frequency reaches ten hertz (here New Margarit apologized for turning to Earth units), he gets quite sick.

"Especially sensitive to these frequencies are people with a well-developed sense of rhythm. Musicians above all. One Tashkent boy, a piano student, was sick for several hours before the famous earthquake there. Danilov previously was free of any sensitivity to this oscillation. But now he has become too daring in his music. So let his sensitivity heighten. As he begins playing better, reaching new heights in music, his sensitivity will grow even more acute. Not only earthquakes and tremblings will be apparent to Danilov, he will also feel the suffering of people near and far, surges of other people's pain will reach him. He will end up with a heavy burden on his shoulders. Let him bear this in mind and decide whether he would be more daring in music."

"That's convincing," said Valentin Sergeyevich.

Everyone supported New Margarit. Only Maliban shrugged, "The hearing is concluded," announced Valentin Sergey evich.

The straps released Danilov.

43

In the morning Danilov bumped into New Margarit.

Danilov was in a rush to complete the paperwork before his departure and was not disposed to a long conversation.

"Well, got out of it, eh?" said New Margarit with a laugh.

New Margarit checked himself. Danilov sensed that New Margarit wanted to find out how Danilov had arranged for his unprecedented patronage -- yes, patronage was the word, even though one could only make suppositions in this regard. But obviously that theme was taboo even for New Margarit. "Really," thought Danilov, "did he spare me just because I had scratched his back with that bone? Why? ... I didn't do it for any profit to myself..."

"You're clever, Danilov, clever." That's all New Margarit could say.

"Listen," Danilov said with a frown, "what was the fiery sign in the Well of Anticipation? About the caviar? I didn't get it."

"It had nothing to do with you. It came from a different program. Mechanical error."

"What about the leather apron?"

"It remained longer than it was supposed to. Laziness on the part of one of the operators. He's been punished."

"I hope not too severely?"

"Not too."

"And I also wanted to ask you -- "

"About the house spirit and Sinezud," New Margarit said. "You don't have the power to bring them back. And no one will help you."

"Well, then it's my fault."

"That's for you to decide," New Margarit said.

"Why did they keep me waiting so long?"

"What do you mean, 'So long'! You weren't the only one summoned. We had enough work as it was. But you were great. I liked you. And it will be a pleasure keeping track of your life from now on. No, not officially, don't worry, simply for my own pleasure. As a curious observer, incapable of acting. I'm very interested in what twists and turns your fate holds. And what certain individuals, for whom you are a splinter in the eye, will do to you."

And they parted.

Danilov suddenly recalled the railroad food, and wanted to call New Margarit back to find out what they had been trying to achieve, feeding him that way. But Danilov did not call out.

They understood who he was, yet they had spared his essence. For that he was to follow their instructions, and use his special qualities that made them hope for success. "Well, we'll see about that," Danilov said to himself. For the moment he was free. Because of his prospects with the futecons. He saw nothing shameful in agreeing to meet with the secretary of the futecons. The futecons and the smug people from the line were repugnant to Danilov. He did not like careerists, social climbers, and go-getters, so why not have a little fun with those people? It was time to go to Maliban for orders.

Danilov learned that previously Maliban had worked in the Chancery of Illusions. Now he had his own lab. Danilov was not told its name, and its functions were kept secret.

Danilov entered Maliban's office, and they greeted each other. The office was Middle European, austere and businesslike.

"Actually, there's no need for instructions," Maliban said. "Accept the futecons' offer and behave as circumstances warrant. Just live, that's all."

"What do you -- "

"What do we need with the futecons? I don't know for sure myself yet. But I have a feeling ... something will come of it... You see, for people like Valentin Sergeyevich and even more so for his deputy, everything is clear. They've accepted the traditional doctrine, and whethier tiiey have doubts about it or not doesn't matter. They carry on. I have doubts. I'm not sure of anything completely. My doubts and my laboratory are not only permitted, but are also recognized as being necessary. We are running tests -- well, tests isn't the right word -- anyway, I understand you. You're grimacing inside. You think that you're being sent to spy on the futecons. No, we'd take someone else for surveillance."

"You probably already have," thought Danilov.

"Use your imagination, direct the futecons, give them goals, help, and obstacles; for them you're an extraterrestrial or something. In critical situations they will turn to you. Don't expect any prompting from us. And don't rush. Everything must take its natural course. You don't have to show yourself for ten years if the futecons don't need you."