Daria Sokolkina - A violinist died in a god

– 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.