Текст книги "A violinist died in a god"

Автор книги: Daria Sokolkina

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Daria Sokolkina
A violinist died in a god

My name is Alexander Kamnev. I gratuared from university and I don't know where to go next. My mother got lucky with her son. After that, she got me.

One spring night Innokentii Kamnev entered this world. Before he even had the idea of how the world works, he got engaged to a beautiful lady. The lady had her four strings for a long time now and was ready to sit on anyone's shoulder but not everyone could handle her. I was told so my whole life and even after Kesha disappeared. We asked for help where we needed to, and we didn't get any. To this day he's considered missing and neither me nor my mother know what happened to him.

My mother makes a good living despite the event. Every evening I see a bottle of semi-sweet or two among our food but I can't blame her. To lose a child is a heavy weight. I understand that drinking your sorrow away is a natural process.

All I knew about Kesha is that he once went through an appendicitis surgery and he obtained a scar on this stomach. My mom loved telling me about this while in a good mood caused by alcohol.

One morning I woke up again just like I did before. My mother's voice woke me up; she found something.

-

This summer morning that came to our small town, the sun hurried to appear in the sky, sharing its free warmth for another time, just like a caring mother would. A round-faced beautiful lady who got married to the soil without any regrets – some sentimental poet could say so about the star if they walked upon this dusty path without any shadows.

– Sasha, get up! It's two in the afternoon! – A voice resonated in a tight apartment.

There were a few empty bottles under Czech names next to my bed. Upon the bottles there lied my dark-brown hair, looking like willow leaves; I took my time disobeying the voice that could be heard from the hallway.

I opened my eyes and got up.

– What's up mom?

– Sasha, come and see, I found this thing in the closet! – She yelled, laughing. – It seems your brother left it.

I came to the closet shelf and took a mysterious case into my hands, got to the living room, put the case onto the table, unzipped it and lifted the cap.

It's not a guitar I used to have fun with. The instrument looked majestic and it seemed to me it looked below itself where I was. Its shiny body glowed in the light.

– And what shall I do with it? – I looked at my mom.

– What-what. – My mother scratched her teeth. – Sell this useless thing.

Suddenly I got a spark in my soul.

– Mom, I can become a virtuoso just like Kesha was! We have this music school down the road, I can go there.

– What things can come to your mind… You could sell it, and buy your mother a crate of wine. – My mother sighed and waved her arm. – Alright, you can go there, – she almost sang and disappeared in the hallway.

It's been a while since I got thrilled like this. I hurried to dress up, zipped the case, combed my hair and ran off to the street.

Going through the streets, I was being eaten by doubts. What is this mysterious good future chance going to give me? Would I be able to get steady in life like my beloved brother? What is hiding in the music school? I had yet to find it all out.

Shortly after my thoughts I reached my destination. I opened a heavy door, came inside and got surprised by high pre-revolutionary ceilings. Then I paid my attention to the walls and it wasn't in vain – the walls had portraits of the great ones on them, looking down at anyone who had courage to walk under them, just like they were supposed to. I completely forgot about the door and let it go so it slammed itself, hitting the case. Right after that I heard a gentle high-pitched voice:

– Careful! You need to be careful with such things.

I looked around and saw a God dandelion. Like a priestess, she walked in my direction, but in her age she could only be an old lady who weeps at someone's funeral. She looked behind my back as if she was looking for something.

– Good afternoon! Who are you going to give us? Where are the kids?

– Hello… – I was taken aback. – I don't have children…

The woman looked at the floor awkwardly, then she got back her smile.

– Do you want to do it yourself? – She shrugged her shoulders. – Well, it isn't bad, it's never too late.

I realized how much of an idiot I was. Children come here! The moment is wasted, and now I can only cheer up my dear mother by exchanging the cursed case with its content for booze.

The old lady continued, not knowing about my sorrows:

– It's great that you came here today. We're taking new students, you can sign up for the next academic year. Follow me, I'll check your hearing.

I got led into one of the countless rooms across the hallway that had a sweet smell. We walked through a small hall where all the performances took their place. What an honor it is, I thought, to play the instruments among proud parents. I wanted to throw up just from the thought of it.

I had the time to notice how nice and free I felt in a room where I ended my path. A ready piano, a lot of cases similar to mine, the sun looking into the windows with curiosity, appearing and disappearing.

I got taken back to reality by a low note and the priestess's voice – the lady opened the piano and pressed its keys separately, singing the notes at the same time. I heard at kindergarten that there were seven notes, and I knew them. Trying to copy the woman, I sang through the nose on high notes and almost lost my voice on low ones. With a still heart, I waited for her conclusion.

– Well, not bad, you have an ear for music.

You could say that again.

– We have one of our best students here. He came back to our town to be a teacher. He must come here soon. – She led me back to the entrance.

Suddenly, the door opened. The one that came in was quick as a lightning and interrupted the shrine's peace and quiet.

At that moment I thought that gifted people really were gifted but their sanity was taken from them. Some people were unlucky like me, and they were without both the gift and the sanity. But that thing that stood before me blossomed and got its rot at the same time. If I saw it in the backstreets at night, I wouldn't be able to tell right away that it was a human being.

Yellow faded hair, a knitted vest in the middle of summer, a big shirt that clearly wasn't the right size, dark pants, not zipped completely, extremely shiny blunt toe shoes. Its hands were fettered by shaking. I tried to look closer but the creature hid them behind its back when I did.

I felt sorry for it.

– Hello. – The creature showed friendliness. – Who is yet to be educated? – It repeated after the old lady.

I swallowed nervously. As it seemed to me, it sensed my fear.

– Then it comes to be that you came to study by yourself. Not bad. – The creature smirked. – Big hopes don't always end well, – it breathed under its nose.

Finally I learned who it was:

– Iosif Seraphimovich Padnogurov. – Still, he kept his hands behind his back. – Has your musical ear already been discovered? – Iosif threw a glance at the old one, she nodded humbly. – Marvellous. Sign up, come in September. I'll be in the first class upstairs. Tamara Ibragimovna, – he turned his back again, – you and I are very lucky. – Iosif laughed viciously, but this triumph didn't last. He choked and went upstairs as he promised. I saw tension in his face. I didn't have a chance to look at his palms – he hid them in his pockets.

A teacher for such a fine instrument, but with shaky hands? This thing alone seemed strange to me. Mysteries and no answers from the very first meeting. With a swarm of thoughts crawling onto one another I headed home, trying not to forget about traffic lights.

-

Autumn has begun. The waiting seemed so long, but I could shorten it.

Time has come for me to head to my new sanctuary. I jumped out of bed and dressed up quickly. I almost forgot the case and indoor shoes, so I came back, knocked on the mirror and ran down the street.

This dusty road is fading slowly but surely. The ground is absorbing what remains from the sunlight, getting ready for cold. Lovely trees will soon throw off their copper, leaving brown bones to be cared for by snow without fear. Even if this very snow is yet to be fallen – I'm already feeling it. I'm also feeling this wave approaching, a wave that will cover me whole and give a beginning to new grounds to discover, new passages of my destiny.

It feels great to walk along the road blessed by the sun one last time. Children are running in the street while playing with leaves, noisy and cheerful. I tried to guess which of them will be lucky like I never was. Young women are chatting, rolling over the leaves by stroller wheels. I smiled and thought, maybe some of these love gifts will be remade into pure gold.

Flying inside my thoughts, I almost crashed into the door. This time I'm not going to let it slam the case.

The great ones are looking at me. With a sigh, I lifted my eyes on them in return.

I quickly changed my shoes and went upstairs, found the right door and knocked on a half-erased number.

I didn't have time to remember him – he was here. I heard breath behind my back.

– Good afternoon, – Iosif chewed his words with a lean face.

– Let me, – he aimed a key to the keyhole. I moved and right after that he flashed into the room like a lightning, like he did before.

– Alexander Kamnev? – Iosif turned on the light.

– Yes, – I got stuck in the entrance for a moment.

– That's why I thought the last name was familiar. – He laughed. – Oh well, let's begin. Kamnev, tell me, what is the reason why you want to study?

I cursed myself in my mind again and felt regret from coming into the hallway to my mother. I didn't think about any reason from summer, so I decided to give him the very first thought I made just so he didn't have to wait.

– Oh, I want to become great. – I breathed that out, catching a curious look. – A professional whom the world has never seen before. To follow my dreams.

– In your age you'll have to hunt for your dreams. Do you know what price you're going to pay? Give me the case. – Iosif opened it the second I put it on the polised table. – Not everyone can become great. It's a heavy weight, I would say. Think twice.

– Why think? – I believed in my own speech. – I had a brother, and…

– We know, we know. Innokentii Palych. – It seemed he swallowed a good half of his words in desperate attempt to pronounce them all. – Say no more. – I shivered a bit. – Oh well, – Iosif looked into nowhere, – let's make you great, – he looked into my eyes; his laughter felt like thunder but it didn't last for long. Then he got a stone face again. – Do you know what that is? I got it from your case. – In his hand he held a ridiculous object with four legs.

– Looks like a hunched dog without a head.

– Good suggestion, – Iosif sighed. – Kamnev, it's a shoulder rest. With it you're destined to spend your learning process and further career. – He got the instrument from the pit and put the shoulder rest on it. – I'll tune it and we can begin.

Iosif took an orange box from the pocket of the case. I learned that it was called rosin. Then he grabbed the bow from the table and tightened its hair, polished it with rosin and opened the piano. He plucked the strings and began turning four black things knocked into the head of the instrument. Some time later he began pressing the piano keys in an order I didn't know, using the bow with his right hand, his left hand was busy turning little gears next to his chin. There was a fairytale-ish double sound.

– Watch this, Kamnev. There are four strings, G, D, A, E, – he plucked each. – Tuned in fifths, you'll get it soon. Understood?

I got confused.

– G, A… D, E?

– Well, almost. Replace A and D with one another. – Iosif smiled. – Would you look at that. I didn't even almost have to use the pegs, – he threw under his nose. – Kamnev, come here. – I did, and he placed the proud lady onto my shoulder by the shoulder rest. – Put your chin here. Hold it like this, yes.

– That's not comfortable. I have to keep my jaw open, – I replied in the process.

– You'll get used to it, rookie. Now put your right hand right here, pluck with your index finger.

For the first time strings sang under my hand, even though it sounded as if a kindergartener decided to touch a harp.

He felt my fear with his insides again.

– Why so unsure? Let me show you how you do it.

He stole the instrument right from under my jaw and reflected my actions like a false mirror, swinging slightly and plucking one string at a time like a fool. I didn't pay too much attention to this mockery; then it seemed very just. I understood I was very narrow in this industry and I needed to see what I did wrong.

– Put it on the table, Kamnev.

Iosif gave me a pencil.

– Iosif Seraphimovich, what's that for?

I shouldn't have opened my mouth.

– Is everyone in your family as stupid as you?! – His face got filled with blood and cooled down as quick as it got hot. He stared into the floor and went silent for a few seconds, then exhaled calmly, – first you learn it on a pencil. This is an important step, Kamnev.

I grabbed the writing instrument.

– Here you put your thumb, your middle and ring finger here, you feel the weight with your pinky. – I obeyed. – Do you feel how heavy it is?

– I do, Iosif Seraphimovich.

I felt nothing.

Someone knocked at the door.

– Come in! – Iosif yelled cheerfully.

An angel came to us from the heavens. From the first glance I could say she was about fifteen. A light dress, rusty hair gathered into a ponytail, a pretty-looking hard case.

The teacher tapped on his little apprentice's shoulder and took a couple of sheets from underneath a pile of books.

– Hello, Iosif Seraphimovich. – She smiled.

– Hello. Would you like to play this today? It's just for your level.

While observing this gentle scene, I cursed myself inside and tried to give my pinky strength just to feel the weight of the pencil.

– Iosif Seraphimovich… Why is such a grown person learning to play?

He turned around to look at me.

– Don't worry, he isn't here for long.

I felt chills on my back. Iosif laughed again, then coughed and turned his eyes away. While he popped his knuckles in awkwardness, I noticed that they shivered frequently. How could I forget about his hands?

The heavenly creature opened her oblong box, and I heard magical double sounds again. Iosif put the sheets on a weird stand and let his apprentice make a beautiful song flow. Inside I moaned, dying; I knew I'd never play like this. I thought about just one thing – they're blessed, the children who wake up to copy scales.

Iosif's voice returned me from the oblivion.

– What are you looking at, Kamnev? You'll do it yourself now.

– Now?! Iosif Seraphimovich, are you sure?

– Don't worry, – he handed me the bow, – you'll stroke the open strings, then I'll show you a simple piece.

I was so ashamed to hold the thick end of the bow and obey my teacher. Iosif mocked me again, and I understood why. Then he gave me my colossus back and began naming notes one by one.

– D, D, A, A, now here with your index finger. No, Kamnev, that's too high. Yes, there we go. G, G, F, F, E, E, D.

I felt like a baby bird stolen from the nest. Like a child not knowing alphabet who got forced to read. The bow became my personal devil. Before this moment I never found myself in a situation where I had to hold my fingers this way, the way seemed terribly uncomfortable and ridiculous. I could compare Iosif to my executioner, myself to an unlucky throne heir, fallen under the revolution, waiting for his head to jump off his shoulders.

Iosif repeated himself over and over for a good ten minutes and pointed at certain places on the fingerboard. I felt I sweat from my efforts. The angel played in the background, waiting for me to go.

Iosif moved away, took a sheet from his pile and wrote four notes with their names on it.

– These are open strings. You'll learn them. On the back there's a description of the parts of the instrument. Here you go. The lesson is over. Practice the piece.

I gathered my stuff.

– Goodbye, Alexander Palych, – he quipped.

– Goodbye, Iosif Seraphimovich, – I threw at him and headed to the door.

The serenade flew over me, bidding farewell to me.

At home I slept, ate quickly and began practicing a piece that felt more like a mockery. Thank goodness that I remembered the approximate places where to put my left hand on. The bow rode to the left and to the right, producing screeches.

Kesha had a musical ear, that's me who wasn't lucky. I knew for sure that I was missing the spots, and I couldn't imagine how you can't miss them on a fingerboard with no frets. The guitar was much easier when I was a school student.

My mother entered the room with a glass in her hand.

– Sasha, is that you playing? I almost choked. Play in tune, – she hiccupped.

– I'm trying, mom, – I looked at her with sad eyes.

– Play me something you know.

I began playing my new roulade with pride. D, D, A, A, B, B, A. My mother stopped me.

– Who are you hoping to become? – She slurred her words. – There's no chance at all, that you'll be better than your dead brother. Do you want to play to my grandchildren? They'll get traumatized if they have such a father! – My mother laughed, then frowned again. – Sasha, do you want to be the best? You'll have to forget about food and sleep. I'll be honest with you – I can't imagine you on stage. And, anyway, it's time to go to bed.

– Mom, – I got cheerful, – I'm sure we'll find Kesha, and I'll compete with him.

– Are you going to sleep? – She spoke a bit louder.

– I am.

I left the case on the end table next to my bed. While falling asleep, I remembered about the open string sheet and got it out. Empty circles on stripes. G, D, A, E. While looking at these marks, I thought about just how difficult my path is going to be.

-

I had a dream about me being able to play well. Something happened in the end but I couldn't remember.

I saw Kesha's music theory notebook in the closet. I decided to look through it when I get home.

I learned open strings while eating breakfast. I dressed up and went to another class.

Iosif was late, so I began reading the book I always have with me. I jumped when he arrived. He ran into the dressing room, left a note in an unknown notebook and came to me.

– Hello, Kamnev. Let's go.

I had to rush after him. We got to the closed door which he opened with a key.

– Alexander, – he was cheerful, – do you know their names?

I understood him and shouted four notes in a row.

– Correct. Today's subject is first position. Can you guess what that means?

– First position? – I hoped to guess. – Iosif Seraphimovich, are you talking about politics?

That familiar thunder laughing wounded my ears again.

– I'm going to explode! Kamnev, get it out already, – he slammed my case with his hand. – Let's get into it now.

This time I learned that positions is when your left hand is placed onto different parts of the fingerboard. Iosif gave me first position notes and told me this position was the simplest one, then he showed me it by playing in it.

About twenty minutes have passed while I was busy with intonation I couldn't catch, and the angel came to me again, when time began to feel like an eternity. She played something bright and quick several times, not once, because Iosif corrected her. I listened to it for a while and it was time for me to leave.

She looked at me for a moment and grabbed her side with her hands.

– Ow, Iosif Seraphimovich, it seems my liver is out of order! Can I leave early?

– Are you kidding? We have just begun. – The teacher looked at the clock. – Alright, you can learn this tarantella at home. Will you be able to do so without me?

– I'll try! – She laughed and began putting her stuff into her case.

I decided to sit in the school hallway and read the first position sheet. I didn't notice it but I began thinking out loud.

– On the first string, you have a note called C, on the third one there's also a C. This C goes to another octave, an octave is two notes, the first one and the eighth one, and because there are only seven notes, they always repeat themselves.

Suddenly I heard a bright voice.

– But of course! Everything's logical in music. That's the great harmony!

I lifted my eyes. The angel came to me.

– Hello! – She sounded like a tiny bell. – You're studying with me. What's your name?

I stopped for a while before telling her my name.

– Hi. Alexander.

– And your patronymic?

– What for?

– Well, you're older than me, – she smiled.

I moved around on the bench awkwardly and looked at her.

– Alexander Pavlovich.

– Pleased to meet you, Alexander Pavlovich! – She held out her hand, the one that was free from the case. I held out my hand, the one that wasn't holding the sheet. – My name is Sasha.

– Nice to meet you, Sasha. You and I, we're almost the same, huh? But… For how long have you been playing? – I was ready for a hit.

– About nine years.

The hit was juicy.

– I see, – I didn't show I was hurt.

– Conservatory students, go home this instant! – A voice roared next to us. – Someone's got a sore liver!

– Off we go, Iosif Seraphimovich! – Sasha chimed and grabbed her coat and boots.

I followed her example.

It's fresh outside. A bit chilly but my coat is saving me.

I heard hurrying footsteps, then a voice.

– Alexander Pavlovich! – Sasha ran to me. I almost crossed the road without her.

– What's up Sasha? – I turned around.

– Would you like something? It's on me! I know a pastry stand nearby.

I would never forgive myself.

– Of course, let's go. But aren't you sick in the stomach?

– But who told you everything in this life is fair?

I smiled in satisfaction.

We crossed a couple or roads and went to the stand. Sasha paid for two hot buns and gave me one. We began chewing; I've never eaten anythng as disgusting as this bun, but I couldn't even think about throwing it away.

– Alexander Pavlovich, follow me! There's a glade near here, I want to show you something.

Sasha led me to yellow untouched grass through the bushes. First snow melted a bit there, and I could stain my coat if I fell over.

Sasha invited me to lie down. With lack of choice and caution I lied onto the ground.

– Can you see the clouds in the sky? – She pointed up with a free hand.

– We're going to guess what they look like?

– Not at all! You see, – she turned her face to me, not lowering her hand, – there are two big clouds and that small one. What do you think, which ones are we?

I sought words.

– You have a lot of creativity, Sasha. I don't even know.

– Try to figure it out! You're older and wiser than me.

Yeah, right, wiser.

– It seems you're more experienced in music than me, so you are the big cloud. And me, I am that tiny cloud, following you.

She showed her teeth, smiling.

– It's not true! You and I, we're those two big clouds next to each other. Alexander Pavlovich, I want to let you know this: Iosif Seraphimovich loves to scold and hates to praise. And so, – she put her hand upon my shoulder and looked me in the eyes with confidence, – please be aware of this as well: even if he underestimates your potential you have for sure, you have to remember that you're able to do whatever you want to. Wonderful studying years and a shiny place on stage are waiting for us. All you need for that is to practice but what's even more important than that is to believe. There's no life without faith.

A few small teardrops appeared in my eyes. I didn't understand why she decided to share these words with me now, for we don't even know each other. What do I know about her? Her name is similar to mine and she's interested in the same instrument. That moment I felt I was blessed from above.

Sasha put me out of my thoughts with her bright voice.

– Don't lie here for too long, you'll catch a cold! – I didn't notice she was long on her legs and finished her bun and I still lied on the grass with my case, crookedly. – Let's get warm at my place? I live near here.

– Well, let's continue what we started.

She laughed.

Sasha lived on the second floor.

What a wonderful place. There were countless paintings and little sculptures, everything looked expensive, even though the walls put a lot of pressure. On the hangers, there was a proud fur coat and a tidy autumn coat. Underneath the closet I saw a bunch of squeaky clean shoes. One of the shelves contained a case, a bit bigger than mine.

– Wash your hands! Would you like me to heat you up some soup? – She yelled from the kitchen.

– Thank you Sasha, I haven't finished my bun yet! – I took my coat off in the hallway.

– You can leave your coat next to dad's. Leave your case at the door.

I took a hanger and put my trash next to expensive fabric. This made me smirk.

– Quick, come here! I want to let you listen to something.

I went to the small kitchen and saw something special. A recording player with a box full of records.

– Sasha, where did you get that from?

– It's my parents'. – She looked through the records and got one. – They got it from my grandpa. Do you know a romance, "Oh I still remember"?

– That's the first time I hear that name.

The needle scratched the record. Something clicked inside me; I remembered the time when I sat next to my mom on the couch and watched her crochet napkins.

A sad female voice sang:

Oh I still remember

Your hazelnut eyes,

The mem'ry you left right beside me.

Oh how I regret

That I couldn't disguise

The flame that's still burning inside.

They say it's a sin

To decide your own fate

And run after hopes that are hopeless.

I couldn't predict

That it's true in my dreams

And only in them you will be mine.

My sight was deceived by

The heavenly light.

It seems you were born with that blessing.

I will not forget

All the words you won't shed.

And happiness, a mystery.

We had our last brief seconds to listen to it until the end and the door opened. I heard the sound of a shoe slam my case.

– Sasha, goddammit, who have you brought?

I rushed to stand up from the stool but then I decided that it'll be for the best if I sit down again. Sasha hurried to put the record away and ran towards the one who came in.

– Dad, this is my friend. We study together.

– I told you not to touch my records. When will you learn to leave them alone? Okay, I'll take a look at your friend now.

A man entered the kitchen, tall, with barely noticeable grey and messy facial hair. He left his second coat in the hallway and now he wore a suit vest upon his shirt. It seemed he ironed his pants several times. Tobacco resonated from his clothes.

– Is that your friend? – He pointed right at me. – I thought he'd be your age. – Now he looked me in the eyes. – What mad men study at school?

– Hello. I'm Alexander.

He shaked my hand without any visible desire.

– Sergei Mitrophanovich. Violist.

– Nice to meet you.

Sergei Mitrophanovich's lip twitched.

We didn't have time to finish the conversation; someone rang at the door. That someone was very dedicated and wanted to get to us bad.

Sergei Mitrophanovich unlocked the door. The creature entered the hallway, and it wasn't less elegant.

A rich short fur coat, pearls in ears and on neck, vivid makeup. Pale ginger hair in a bun. An evening dress can be seen from underneath the furry ones who died and left their heritage.

– He-ello, – she took her time with her vowels. – What are you do-oing here? – She looked all over me, hungry for knowledge. – Whose co-oat is this? Yours? – She pulled my wardrobe item by its fabric.

I wanted to destroy her. I wanted to show her that lacking big sums doesn't mean lacking dignity.

Sasha rushed from the kitchen.

– And who-o are you, what's your name?

– Alexander. I study together with Sasha.

– Alexa-ander, – she smudged my name wistfully. – Ali-isa Sergeievna. – She didn't even hand out her skinny arm in a leather glove. I felt like she was ready to spit on me. – Please, get o-out with your sque-eaker. Alexandra Sergeievna needs to stu-udy.

My arm twitched abruptly, my throat closed. I said something inarticulate, not wanting it.

Suddenly Sasha, who stood behind me all that time, grabbed my arm with hers.

– Yes, I will. Just let me take my "squeaker."

Alisa Sergeievna opened her mouth and moved. Sergei Mitrophanovich sighed.

When I walked out of the building, it seemed to me I heard a cheerful voice. It was true.

– Alexander Pavlovich!

I lifted my head.

– Sasha! – She wiggled her legs that were hanging out of the metal balcony cage.

– Don't sit in the cold for too long.

– Don't worry. Catch!

I put the case on the ground and barely had time to catch a bottle of something.

– It's a gift for your patience.

– Who was that grumpy lady? Your father's friend?

– That's my mom.

I got silent.

– You're going to have fun tonight. Hope you like it. My phone number is there – you can call me when you need me.

I saw Alisa Sergeievna talk to Sasha about something. I smiled and headed home.

At home I stuffed my face with my mom, by food and her favorite which we drank together. I hope Sasha won't mind if she finds out I shared her gift with someone else.

When time has come to practice for a bit, I opened the case and plucked each string. That wasn't what I expected to hear – the strings said what they wanted to say and not what they were meant to, not something I heard before.

I dialed the number at my own risk.

– Hello! Alexander Pavlovich?

– Sasha! How did you know that I…

– Dad smashed the case. I heard everything, you know. And I knew you would call me to ask for tuning help.

– Iosif Seraphimovich said strings sounded in fifths. Is that two notes, the first and the fifth?

– Absolutely. Congratulations with your first success. I'm going to hit the tuning fork now, you'll hear it.

And I heard something. A bright iron voice saying "ah."

– Thank you, Sasha. But can you sing open strings to me?

Sasha repeated the iron voice on each pitch. Then she described to me in details how to tune.

– …And first you tune the A string.

– Thank you, Sasha. It just so happens I have the A in tune.