Where is the line?

I don’t remember how many days had passed since I met Denis Dau. By then, Department K had issued me a huge, warm, chunky-knit sweater the color of mud, as it was either late summer or early autumn. One morning, Vera came to me and asked about my relationship with Denis. I told her I liked him very much—that he was my spiritual relative.
Vera began to push a specific line: that he and I should have sex on camera. "You like him, don't you! If you two form a relationship, you won't be just a housekeeper anymore. Seduce him," she said, or something to that effect. I asked if Denis himself wanted this, and then promised I’d try. It piqued my interest, even though I hadn't thought in that direction at all before this conversation. Moreover, I was so starved for the "black angels"; I wanted to be in Jürges’s lens again without the barriers of Nora’s dresses, without this entire carnival that depersonalized me and forced me to act by someone else's rules. I wanted to be real in the frame.
During the day, I had a talk with Denis himself. We realized that the same conversation had been held with both of us. We laughed at them and asked each other: "Well, shall we try?" And we decided to try. That evening, before the shoot, I found myself in the studio next to Ilya for some reason. In his presence, Vera told me: "Erotic scenes are seen only by the cameramen, Ilya, and me; sex scenes are seen only by the cameramen." I said, "Okay." Ilya took my hand. I flinched and drew back slightly, but I didn't pull my hand away. Along with the fear, I felt a kind of magnetism from Ilya, a sense of magic. It lasted only a few seconds.
The first filming night didn't result in sex. We were very embarrassed in front of the cameras. But it turned out to be very funny. Like two Siamese twins who are horrified by each other's presence but cannot separate, we lay on my terrible bed on a scratchy blanket (the props department had probably removed the bedspread on purpose) and mostly just laughed. I improvised, inventing a story on the fly about how I wanted us to become husband and wife. It both frightened and amused Denis.
The next day, while I was washing dishes, Nora suddenly asked if I was a jealous person. I replied with pride that if I like the person who is liked by the one I like, I wouldn't be jealous, but rather happy for them both. She expressed a sort of joyful understanding and said she was exactly the same.
And the very next day, she took him away from me, right in front of the camera, in the presence of the "black angels." It happened in the room of her "son"—by then already my lover. She caught us on his large, luxurious, comfortable bed and sternly gave me some chore to do. I simply got dressed in silence and left, while Nora, completely uninhibited—unlike me—proceeded to do her business with Denis. I don’t understand why she did it. Apparently, Ilya wanted to create an ancient Oedipal story transposed onto the Institute. To make matters worse, one of the director's assistants told me afterward that my scene hadn't even been planned—as if to ask what I was even doing there—even though they had previously said it was. Now they claimed, "not right now." I felt awkward and stung; I tried to push that moment out of my mind.
Later, perhaps on a different day, there was finally a "natural" scene between us. It took place back in my room, on my small, springy bed. This time, everything happened, while the "black angels" hovered over us with the camera and the fluffy boom mic.
I was greatly amused by the fact that at the beginning of the filming block, Department K spent a long time sewing various wires into my dresses so they could later connect a microphone during "fixations." Yet, when the fixations actually occurred, I mostly took those dresses off. But I recently learned from one of Ilya's interviews that they saved all the recorded audio and even transcribed it into texts they intend to publish.
Then there was the scene where Nora and I ate a watermelon that Kolya (by then I knew Denis’s real name was Nikolai) and I had bought at the Kharkiv market. That morning, he was terribly irritated with Nora; she was displaying a toxic, hypocritical maternal concern toward him. When we got out into the "freedom" of the city, he shared his feelings about Nora at length—about her actions and words, and how vulgar they were. But at the market, we had fun. Unlike me, Kolya wasn't shy around the vendors; in his artistic, ringing voice, he asked everyone: "Do you know who Ilya Andreyevich Khrzhanovsky is?" I turned bright red, ready to sink through the floor, yet at the same time, I felt proud to be beside such a bright, radiant boy. Kolya helped me a lot, carrying the groceries to the car and then from the car to the studio, and it felt so good! We were dressed in our 1966 costumes: Kolya in beige trousers and a stylish green jacket, and I in a black dress with small white flowers. I wasn't jealous—or perhaps I suppressed my jealousy, or simply saw no reason for it.
Back at the Institute, when we kissed, he compared our kisses to the music of Erik Satie. At that time, Gnossiennes would play periodically over the Institute’s radio at night when there was no filming. Kolya tried to take me out to the "Office" studio to let me listen to his classical and avant-garde compositions. I admired them, and I admired him—the fire of creativity pouring from his soul. When we had to be in D2, he composed and performed new music there, or played classics like Brahms's Hungarian Dances. He also wrote poetry; I remember a line: "Undress, show your flowers."
Once, he went somewhere into the Institute’s laboratories and returned radiant with ideas for experiments. Specifically, he told me about the Milgram experiment, where some people torture others while experimenters check how far the former are willing to go in intensifying the pain and suffering of the latter. It wasn't for nothing that Ilya had once asked me to tell Denis about my "tendencies." I thought to myself later: "Have you completely lost it? Why would I drag this beautiful angel into this filth?"
Denis visited D1 and the buffet, where Victoria—transformed into a repulsive Soviet matron—listened to his poetry with rapture. I, however, couldn't go there; I’d immediately be questioned about why I’d left "Old Dau" unattended. Despite the scene with Nora, my relationship with Kolya wasn't ruined yet. I was in love with him—not just as a talent or a kindred spirit, but as a young woman in love with a young man. At some point, I stopped sleeping alone on my servant’s bed and began sleeping with Denis on his enormous one. This irritated Nora, but as long as Denis protected me, she held back. I must remind you that Nora is a character. It’s hard to tell where the feelings of the character ended and the true feelings of the actress Radmila began. I wasn't obligated to reveal my true emotions either; I suppose I could have played a part, pretended, invented anything about myself. But I couldn't, or perhaps I didn't dare. I was afraid of being unnatural. So I lived as I lived, portraying nothing.
Whenever you entered or left the Institute, you had to sign in at the checkpoint. I started signing as "Anna Dau." I don’t remember if I was ever punished for it. But I was always being punished anyway—my body was protesting. From the endless dishwashing and the uncontrolled binging on oatmeal cookies and "Belochka" chocolates, a rash broke out on my hands. I had to scramble for gloves and creams in Department G. Once, when the mathematicians and their girlfriends came for tea, I had to wash a mountain of cups and saucers, and I had a minor breakdown. Denis said he’d wash the dishes for me, and he did. Then he gave me a ride in his "father’s" wheelchair. A "fixation" team appeared out of nowhere immediately, and I rejoiced at the presence of the "black angels." I didn't pay direct attention to them, but I always felt their presence and their focus on me with a sense of joy and internal warmth. To me, they truly were angels, like in the film Wings of Desire, which I watched seven years later. It felt as if only they understood me, looking at me not with prejudice, contempt, or indifference, but with interest and affection.
At the studio, I encountered another intriguing and notorious figure. This happened before Denis entered my life. I was passing through the studio where a large group was gathered at a communal table, Ilya among them. He called me over and introduced me to the photographer Boris Mikhailov. I remember this took place right after I’d had a run-in with the janitors who refused to carry water to D2; I had walked to the studio in tears to find out where the water was coming from. By the time I reached the second floor, I had wiped away the tears, but the distress and a readiness to explode into hysterics were still written on my face.
When Ilya said, "Do whatever he wants," my feelings shifted to pure astonishment. I knew who Boris Mikhailov was—or rather, I knew of his controversial work involving homeless people, often photographed naked, and his exhibitions worldwide. I waited for him to come and photograph me, but it never happened. He did, however, photograph Denis and me together once, while we were clothed.
I must say a few words about "Old Dau." It's curious that I haven't mentioned much about him in this post. My job was to escort him to the Office so the makeup artists could work on him—specifically, to attach a prosthetic nose like Teodor's. A few times we went on foot; he moved very slowly with a cane due to his bad leg and semi-blindness. I had to ensure he didn't stumble over the stone steps, guiding his every move. Eventually, he pleaded that the distance was too much (and the set was quite vast in length), so they began transporting us in authentic period cars. I would arrange the drivers in advance to meet us. When Denis lived with us, he helped me with this and seemed to enjoy interacting with his "father."
I should also mention that when the young mathematicians, including Edik, visited us, the cameras were rolling. In particular, they filmed a scene in Dau’s room, by his bed. Edik approached to introduce himself and asked a question: "What sacrifices are you prepared to make for the sake of science?" In my mind, that phrase echoed as if spoken in the voice of Ilya Khrzhanovsky: "What sacrifices are you prepared to make for the sake of art? Where is the line?"