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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.

– That's great! It'll make your problem easier. Good luck! There's dad here, telling me I should practice. See you in class!

– Bye, Sasha.

I made it in an hour. I don't know if Sasha's gift helped me or I'm just a brave fool by nature. The scariest part was the E – my eye can barely catch it, what can I say about my hands. I played a couple of songs from Kesha's music notebook.

In the notes, Kesha's teacher wrote that Kesha's fingers handle the process poorly and sometimes bleed. Some notes had small brown spots on them. I had my back twisted a bit when I noticed.

I went to bed listening to classical music – I found mom's disc she didn't like for some reason.

–

I almost skipped on my way, whistling pieces. They were mostly Brahms' Hungarian dances.

While Iosif hurried at the speed of snails, I had time to finish the book.

– Good afternoon, Kamnev. Are you performing Brahms with your mouth? Where did you learn about him?

– I don't need to live under a rock.

– That's also right. – He unlocked the class door. – Today's topic is very interesting – note duration.

– Duration? I know about it already.

He showed his teeth in disgust.

– But how?

– My brother had a music notebook. It's written about everything in there.

Iosif lowered his eyelids.

– I don't think his teacher explained the quarter notes very well.

Now it was my time to ask him, "but how."

– I'll show you. Let's tune first.

I took my device out of the case. The A wasn't an A.

– Give me that.

– I can tune already. I will.

– You can't.

– Are you sure?