Vladimir Orlov - Danilov the Violist

"I think you've convinced me..."

"Good," thought Danilov. "But he won't be able to get away from the futecons anyway. Klavdia won't let him out of her clutches."

"Why were you following me around?" Danilov asked.

"I thought you were one of them, too. I watched you for a long time. I wanted to come up with something special for you. But then I started to like you..."

Danilov was getting tipsy. He was happy and began feeling warmly toward Rostovtsov. He noticed that the wine had affected Rostovtsov, too. "Are you all right? You're driving, after all," Danilov said.

"No harm done," Rostovtsov replied.

The horse neighed and Rostovtsov said it was time to go. Danilov agreed. "Don't catch cold!" Danilov said worriedly. Rostovtsov reassured him -- at one time he had belonged to the polar bear swim club. Danilov walked him to his horse, shook his hand, and then watched Rostovtsov ride down Gorky Street toward the Belorussian Train Station.

That evening at eleven, Klavdia called Danilov.

"Well!" she demanded, "why does he go to the racetrack?"

"He likes horses. He doesn't gamble."

"I know he doesn't gamble. I've been to the track."

"Then you know better than I do."

"I always have to count on myself, do everything myself!"

Natasha was in the room, and during his conversation with Klavdia, Danilov could feel that she was tense. They had not discussed Klavdia at all. He wanted to go over to Natasha and kiss her and say something to her, but the phone rang again.

"Please forgive me for calling so late," said the futecon secretary. "I couldn't reach you during the day. And we had agreed ..."

"All right," Danilov said dryly. "I'll accept your offer. However, I would like you to know that my agreeing is not the result of your (he almost said "threats," but Natasha was there)... conditions ... but my own self-interest..."

"I'm very pleased," the secretary said. "I'll report to Oblakov immediately. We would like you to meet with him."

Danilov hung up. He thought: "Go ahead and report. You'll be sorry later." He expected Natasha to ask what was going on, but she didn't.

46

Danilov met with Oblakov and the creme of the futecons at Nastasyinsky Alley. He was reserved and told them that they were mistaken in their fantastic suppositions about him, but that was their business. Yet they interested him, and that was why he had agreed to work with them, even though he did not quite understand of what use he would be. As a musical consultant, perhaps?

The futecons behaved tactfully as well. They let him understand that they knew how they would be able to use him. They were checking him out. And it was apparent that they were serious people.

"So," Danilov said in parting, "I do not seek any special favors. Well, except for some books ... but as for reviews, good tours, and so on, I don't need that. I mean, do not interfere with me, as you have in recent weeks, but do not promote me, either."

"All right," said Oblakov.

That's what he said, but the violist Turukanov came up to Danilov a few days later and hinted at something known only to the two of them. He spoke respectfully, even fawningly. One of the conductors, whom Klavdia had seen in line at Nastasyinsky Alley, greeted Danilov more cordially than before. And the critic Zabyvalov sent Danilov a letter, apologizing for not mentioning him by name in the review. He said that he liked his viola playing very much, that it was superior to Pereslegin's music, but that he wouldn't mind hearing the symphony once more, to reevaluate it more objectively. Klavdia waited for him at the stage door and heaped him with imprecations.

"Why did they ask you in?"

"They need a musical consultant. In case they have to read sheet music or evaluate songs."

"There are thousands of musicians and hundreds of laureates, but they asked you?"

"What are you attacking me for?"

"Don't wiggle out of an answer!"

"I can't explain anything to you," Danilov said sternly. "I'm not at liberty to do that."

That reassured Klavdia Petrovna immediately. Now she regarded Danilov with quiet interest. There was joy in her eyes.

"I hope you won't forget who I am to you."

"I think you're nursing a false hope. You have a better chance in the line than I do."

"Sure, sure," Klavdia said quickly, as if he were a mental patient suffering from delusions and she did not want to upset him.

But then she burst out: "So you turn out to be a mystery man. You've been pretending to be a wimp..."

"Excuse me, Klavdia," Danilov said. "I have a performance. You could have solved my mysteries long ago."

"Maybe I was blind." The sad words followed him down the corridor.

Danilov stopped in his tracks. He looked back at Klavdia, but her face was in the shadows.

47

The spring and summer months were very busy. They were preparing for the Italian trip at the theater, and there were many rush additions. Danilov also played in the theater's sextet -- for their concert series and with the soloists for the television program, Blue Light. There was a rumor that the sextet would be invited to Japan.

Pereslegin called: Chudetsky's orchestra was supposed to play at the Palace of Culture of Car Workers in early October. The program was Stravinsky's Song of the Nightingale and Pereslegin's symphony. That meant they needed Danilov.

Danilov looked forward to the concert with impatience and fear.

All of Danilov's acquaintances came. In the lobby Danilov saw a few people from the futecon line. Apparently they were music-lovers, too. An agitated Klavdia Petrovna dashed into the building, dragging along Professor Voinov. ("Oh-oh!" thought Danilov. "We really are being taken seriously.") The stern critic Zabyvalov strolled into the lobby without going near the snack bar. Danilov was rather surprised by the presence of Nikolai Borisovich Zemsky. He should have been playing his violin in the pit tonight. Danilov went over and asked: "Why are you here, Nikolai Borisovich?" Zemsky answered hoarsely: "I called in sick. Lumbago." He did not look Danilov in the eye. He held an object wrapped in a newspaper. He seemed to want to hide it, so that Danilov would not ask about it. Danilov did not ask.

They played Pereslegin's symphony in the first half.

Danilov was nervous, but this time he was calmer, and he saw and remembered everything. His playing and that of the orchestra were well received. They applauded, threw flowers, the orchestra members beat their bows on the stands in approval of Danilov. For five minutes Danilov sat exhausted and worn out in the dressing room, But he had to play in the second half, after the Stravinsky, as well. He got up and went to the lobby for a drink of water.

As he got in line, he regretted leaving his viola backstage. "What's the matter with me?" Danilov practically screamed. He ran back to the dressing room, but the Albani was gone. The open case was there, but the instrument was missing. Danilov raced around the dressing rooms; he dashed out onto the stage. He asked his friends if anyone was playing a joke on him. The Albani was nowhere to be seen.

Finally he went into the men's room of the dressing room and found Nikolai Borisovich Zemsky destroying his viola. Actually the viola was already destroyed, dismembered, partially torn into shreds. Zemsky held a handsaw. No instrument repairman, not Albani himself, could bring it back to life.

Danilov wanted to attack Zemsky. But why? He stopped and said softly, barely finding the strength to speak:

"How could you, Nikolai Borisovich? You're a musician..."

"That's why, because I am a musician," Zemsky said firmly.

Danilov sat in the dressing room, his face in his hands. Zemsky stood nearby demanding that they call the police immediately. The intermission was being extended. Chu-detsky came over and asked Danilov if he wanted to call off the rest of the performance, to which Danilov replied curtly and unexpectedly to himself, "No, now I'll play for sure!" They tried to figure out the best way to do things. Send a car to Danilov's apartment for his spare viola (which would take about forty minutes), or use a viola belonging to someone in the orchestra? They decided on the latter. Danilov nodded and asked to be left alone with Zemsky.