by Boris Akunin
‘The most interesting plays in the world are the ones in which the central character is on the side of evil. You have shown that brilliantly.’
On the other hand, Vasya Gullibin, who had still not removed the swords from his belt, thanked Fandorin for ‘giving villainy its comeuppance’ – which, in his opinion, was the most important idea of Fandorin’s play and of existence in general.
And then Erast Petrovich stopped seeing and hearing them, because Eliza came up to him, took his neck in her hot hand, stunning him with an aroma of violets, kissed him and whispered every so quietly:
‘My best one, my very best! Forgive me, my darling, there was nothing else I could do …’
She slipped away, yielding her place to others and leaving Fandorin tormented by uncertainty: had she really said ‘my darling’ and not just ‘my dear’? He wasn’t sure that he had heard her correctly. So much depended on that! But he couldn’t just ask her, could he?
Calm down, it means absolutely nothing, he told himself. Madam Lointaine is an actress, and she is also under the spell of a Great Success. For her I am no longer just a man, but a Highly Promising Dramatist. That kiss is not worth a thing and I cannot be lured into the same trap for a second time, no thank you very much. And he deliberately added an extra dash of bitterness by asking: But why is your chosen favourite nowhere to be seen, my lady?
He actually had not seen Limbach at the premiere today and had drawn the only possible conclusion: there was no need for the cornet to besiege the fortress, if it had already been taken. He must be waiting in a hotel room with flowers and champagne. Well, good luck to him. To coin a phrase – may your bed be feather-soft!
After the actors, the dramatist was congratulated by the very small number of guests – the banquet was for the ‘inner circle’ only. The influential reviewers whom Erast Petrovich had seen in the box came over and paid him condescending compliments. Then his elbows were taken by two extremely amiable gentlemen, one with a pince-nez and the other with a perfumed beard. They were interested in whether he had any more compositions in hand or ‘on the drawing board’. Stern immediately came flying across and wagged his finger at them jokingly.
‘Vladimir Ivanovich, Konstantin Sergeevich, no pilfering our authors now. Or I’ll poison both of you, as Salieri poisoned Mozart!’
The last person to approach him, when all the others had gone back to the table, was the patron of the muses, Shustrov. He didn’t pay any compliments, but took the bull by the horns immediately.
‘Could you write a scenario on a theme from Japanese life?’
‘I b-beg your pardon? I don’t know that word.’
‘A scenario is the word for a cinematographic play. It’s a new idea in the field of film-making. A detailed exposition of the action, with dramatic instructions and scenes described in detail.’
Fandorin was surprised.
‘But what for? As far as I’m aware, the film-maker simply tells the actors playing the roles how to stand and which way to move. After all, there isn’t any dialogue, and the plot can change, d-depending on money, the weather and how busy the actors are.’
‘That’s how it used to be. But all that will change soon. Let’s have a talk about it later.’
The director tapped his fork against a glass and called the millionaire.
‘Andrei Gordeevich, you wished to make a speech! This is the right moment, everyone is here!’
The heartbreaker Swardilin had just shown up, with the bristles of his freshly grown hair gleaming. The scoundrel sat down beside Eliza, who said something affectionate to him. But then, where else was the person playing the male lead supposed to sit?
Erast Petrovich was also seated in a place of honour, at the opposite end of the table, beside the director.
Mr Shustrov began the speech in his usual manner.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is a good show, people will write about it and talk about it. I have been convinced yet again that I calculated correctly when I put my money on Noah Noaevich and your entire company. I was especially delighted by Madam Altairsky-Lointaine, who has a great future ahead of her … If we can see eye to eye …’ he added after a pause, gazing intently at Eliza. ‘Permit me, madam, to make you a small symbolic gift, the meaning of which I shall explain in a little while.’
He took a small velvet case out of his pocket and extracted from it a very delicately made rose of reddish gold.
‘How charming!’ Eliza exclaimed. ‘What craftsman could possibly have produced such intricate work?’
‘That craftsman’s name is nature,’ the entrepreneur replied. ‘You are holding in your hands a living flower bud, sprayed with a layer of gold dust – the very latest technology. Thanks to the film of gold the beauty of the living flower has been rendered eternal. It will never wilt.’
Everyone applauded, but the capitalist raised his hand.
‘The time has come to explain the main idea behind the establishment of our Theatrical and Cinematographic Company. I decided to invest money in your theatre group because Noah Noaevich was the first person working in the theatre to realise that truly colossal success is impossible without sensationalism. But that is only the first stage. Now that the newspapers of both of Russia’s capital cities are writing about Noah’s Ark, my plan is to elevate your fame to an even higher level – first of all, right across the whole of Russia, and then right around the world. This cannot possibly be achieved by means of theatrical touring, but there is another means: the cinematograph.’
‘You wish to make a film of our production?’ Stern asked. ‘But what about the sound, the words?’
‘No, my partner and I wish to create a new type of cinematograph, which will become a fully fledged art form. The scenarios will be written by authors with a literary reputation. We won’t ask just anyone to act in the films, but first-class actors. We will not be satisfied, as others are, with cardboard or canvas scenery. But the most important thing is that we shall make millions of people love the faces of our stars. Oh, this concept has an immense future! The art of an outstanding theatrical actor is like a living flower – it is spellbinding, but the enchantment comes to an end when the curtain closes. I wish to render your art imperishable by coating it in gold. What do you think about that?’
No one said anything, and many of the actors turned to look at Stern. He got up. It was clear that he did not wish to upset his benefactor.
‘Mmmm … Highly respected Andrei Gordeevich, I understand your desire to earn greater profit, that is only natural for an entrepreneur. And I myself, God knows, never let slip an opportunity to milk the golden calf.’ A ripple of laughter ran round the room and Noah Noaevich inclined his head comically, as if to say: Guilty, I admit it. ‘But surely you find the results of our Moscow tour satisfactory? I don’t think any theatre has ever had takings like this – no offence intended to my colleagues in the Art Theatre. Today’s premiere brought in more than ten thousand roubles! Naturally, it would only be just for us to start sharing, in mutually advantageous proportions, with the company that has given us shelter.’
‘Ten thousand roubles?’ Shustrov repeated. ‘That’s a joke. A successful film will be watched by at least a million people and on average each of them will pay fifty kopecks at the box office. Minus the production costs and the theatre-owners’ commission, plus foreign sales and the trade in photocards – and the net profit will be at least two hundred thousand.’
‘How much?’ Mephistov gasped.
‘And we intend to produce at least a dozen pictures like that in a year. So count it up for yourselves,’ Andrei Gordeevich continued. ‘And at the same time bear in mind, ladies and gentlemen, that one of our stars will receive up to three hundred roubles for a day of filming, a second-level actor like Mr Sensiblin or Madam Reginina will receive a hundred, and a third-level actor will get fifty. And that’s not counting the nationwide adoration that will be guaranteed by our own press, working together with Noah Noaevich’s brilliant gift f
or creating sensations.’
Eliza suddenly stood up, her face blazing with inspiration and the pearl droplets in her tall hairstyle glittering.
‘When money is the cornerstone of everything, it is the end of genuine art! You have given me this rose and, of course, it is beautiful. But you are mistaken when you say that it is alive! It died as soon as you condemned it to this golden captivity! It was transformed into the mummified corpse of a flower! It is the same with your cinematograph. The theatre is life! And like all life, it is instantaneous and unrepeatable. There will never be another moment exactly the same, it cannot be halted, and that is why it is beautiful. You Fausts, who dream of halting a beautiful moment, fail to grasp that beauty cannot be recorded, it will die immediately. That is what the play we acted today is about! You must understand, Andrei Gordeevich, that eternity and immortality are the enemies of art, I am afraid of them! A play may be good or bad, but it is alive. A film is a fly in amber. Exactly as if it were alive, only it is dead. I shall never, do you hear, never act in front of that box of yours with its big glass eye!’
God, how lovely she was at that moment! Erast Petrovich pressed his hand against his left side, feeling a stabbing pain in his heart. He looked away and told himself: Yes, she is magnificent, she is magical and miraculous, but she is not yours, she doesn’t belong to you. Don’t give way to weakness, don’t lose your dignity.
It should be said that not many of those present liked Shustrov’s mathematically dry address. If they had applauded the entrepreneur, it was merely out of politeness, while Eliza’s impassioned speech was greeted with loud exclamations of approval and clapping.
The grande dame Reginina asked in a loud voice:
‘Well, sir, so you assess my value at only a third of Madam Altairsky’s?’
‘Not your value,’ the entrepreneur began explaining, ‘but the contribution of your roles. You see, during filming I intend to make extensive use of a new approach known as “blow-up”, that is, showing an actor’s face across the entire screen. For this technique flawlessly attractive and young faces are preferable …’
‘But the cinematographic business has no interest in old fogeys like you and me, Vasilisochka,’ the company’s ‘philosopher’ put in. ‘We shall be cast aside, like worn-out shoes. But everything is in God’s hands, I’m an old stager, I’ve been around the block on my own account, and I’ll certainly get by without the protection of the cinematograph. Am I right, my foxy little sister?’ he asked Vulpinova, who was sitting next to him.
But she was looking at the millionaire, not Sensiblin, and smiling at him in an extremely pleasant manner.
‘Tell me, my dear Andrei Gordeevich, is it your intention to make films in the Gothic style? I read in a newspaper that the American public has fallen in love with films about vampiresses, sorceresses and witches.’
It really was quite incredible, the way Mr Shustrov had of saying appalling things to people in the politest possible tone of voice.
‘We are thinking about it, madam. But research has indicated that even a negative heroine, whether it be a sorceress or a vampiress, must possess an attractive appearance. Otherwise the public will not buy the tickets. I think that with your distinctive face it would be best to avoid close-ups.’
Xanthippe Petrovna’s ‘distinctive face’ immediately shed its smile and contorted in a malign grimace, which suited it far better.
The discussion of the cinematograph soon stumbled to a halt, although Shustrov tried to go back to the subject. When everyone got up from the table and started wandering about at will, he came over to Erast Petrovich and started explaining that cinematic scenario writing was a career with a wonderful future; it promised great fame and an immense income. The capitalist offered to arrange a meeting with his partner, Monsieur Simon, who would be able to explain all this better and was a highly engaging individual altogether. But Fandorin failed to show any interest in the profession with a wonderful future or the engaging partner, and he fled from his tedious conversation partner just as soon as he could.
Then Shustrov set to work on Eliza. He took her aside and started saying something to her with a very serious air. She listened, twirling the golden rose in her hands and smiling benignly. When the impudent fellow permitted himself the liberty of taking her by the elbow, she did not pull away from him. And Fandorin did not like it at all when the young man led her out of the room. As he walked past them with a cigar, Erast Petrovich heard Shustrov say:
‘Eliza, I need to talk to you alone about an important matter.’
‘Well then, see me to my dressing room,’ she replied, running a rapid glance over Fandorin’s face. ‘I need to remove my make-up.’
And out they went.
I can’t take any more, Erast Petrovich told himself. What this woman does is no concern of mine, but there is no point in my watching her flirt with men. It smacks too much of masochism. He calculated when he could leave without it looking like an insult, and decided that it would be in about ten minutes.
Exactly ten minutes later he approached Stern and said goodbye in a whisper, trying not to attract anyone’s attention to his departure.
Noah Noaevich was looking either disconcerted or preoccupied. He had probably been alarmed by his patron’s speech.
‘A brilliant debut, brilliant, congratulations,’ he murmured, shaking Erast Petrovich by the hand. ‘Let’s think about the next play.’
‘D-definitely.’
Fandorin set off towards the way out with a sense of relief, manoeuvring between the actors and the guests, most of whom were holding cups of tea or glasses of cognac.
The doors opened towards Erast Petrovich of their own volition and he barely managed to catch Eliza as she literally fell against him bodily. Her face was frozen in a mask of horror and her pupils were so distended that her eyes seemed black.
‘Aaaaah …’ she moaned, not seeming to recognise Fandorin. ‘Aaaaah …’
Shustrov came running along the corridor, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief.
‘What have you done to her, damn you to hell?’ Erast Petrovich shouted at him.
‘Back there …’ mumbled the entrepreneur, who was always so calm, pointing with a trembling finger. ‘There, in the dressing room … Eliza took the key off the board and opened the door … And there … We have to call the police! The telephone … Where’s the telephone?’
The dead man was lying in the dressing room right next to the door, in a fetal pose – curled up, with his hands pressed against his stomach. Trying not to step in the vast pool of blood, Fandorin cautiously removed a folding knife with a very sharp, slightly curving blade from the clenched fingers.
‘A clasp knife,’ Masa said behind him.
‘I can see that for myself. Move back and don’t let anyone through. There’s a lot of evidence here,’ Erast Petrovich told him drily.
There were splashes of blood everywhere in the room, the inside of the door was covered with bloody hand prints and the red tracks of boots with pointed soles could be seen on the floor. The dead man was wearing cavalry boots exactly like that.
‘Let me in!’ Stern shouted angrily. ‘This is my theatre! I have to know what’s happened.’
‘I advise you not to g-go in. The police won’t like it.’
Noah Noaevich glanced into the dressing room, turned pale and stopped insisting.
‘The poor boy. Was he stabbed to death?’
‘I don’t know yet. I believe the cornet died from loss of blood. The broad knife wound on the stomach didn’t kill him instantly. He floundered round the room and grabbed at the door handle, then his strength deserted him.’
‘But … why couldn’t he get out into the corridor?’
Fandorin didn’t answer. He remembered how he had walked along the corridor before the banquet and been surprised that the door was locked. Apparently Limbach must have been lying there, only a step away, obviously already dead or unconscious.
‘A sea of
blood,’ Stern told the others, looking back. ‘The hussar was stabbed or he stabbed himself. Either way, we’ll be in all the newspapers again tomorrow. The reporters will sniff out in an instant that the youngster was one of Eliza’s admirers. How is she, by the way?’
‘Simochka and Zoya Comedina and Gullibin are with her,’ Vasilisa Prokofievna replied. ‘She’s barely conscious, the poor soul. I can imagine what it’s like, to open the door of your own dressing room and see something like that … I don’t know how she’ll survive it.’
These words were uttered with a special significance, which Fandorin understood perfectly well.
‘At least now it’s clear why the cornet wasn’t on the rampage at the premiere,’ Sensiblin remarked cold-bloodedly. ‘I wonder how on earth he got in here. And when.’
Stepping on the toes of his shoes between the splashes of blood, Fandorin took hold of a card protruding from the pocket of the formal red hussar’s jacket and pulled it out. It was a pass to the artistes’ floor, without which no outsider would have been allowed in here on the day of a premiere.
‘In view of the fact that none of the actors saw Limbach, he must have found his way into the corridor after the performance had already begun. Mr Stern, who hands out passes like this one?’
Noah Noaevich took the card and shrugged.
‘Any of the actors. Sometimes myself or Georges. Visitors normally use their passes during the interval or after the performance. But we performed without an interval, and everybody went to the buffet immediately after the show. No one came in here.’
‘Painfur,’ said Masa.
‘What do you mean?’
‘When the sutomach is cut right across, it’s painfur. He is not a samurai, he yerred. Very roud.’
‘Of course he yelled. But there was music playing in the hall, and there wasn’t a soul here. No one heard.’
‘Rook, master.’ Masa’s finger was pointing at the door.
In among the drying streaks of blood, two crudely daubed letters could be made out: ‘Li’. The second letter was smeared, as if the writer had run out of strength.