The next day, an elderly woman made an appointment by cell phone to meet the violin maker at the conservatory. He had his own workshop with various second-rate musical instruments that were out of order, lying on the shelves and waiting for repairs. Taking both small bodies with her, she showed her skills to the specialist.
“Let’s try to do something,” said the violin master, a lanky man who resembled Paganini in his appearance. “Leave this model to me,” he continued, carefully examining both brilliant hulls, pointing to a modest little hull, which already had some similarities with the fragile boat floating on the lake surface.
Two days later, when the wind direction was inspired by the song Solveig from Edward Grieg’s “Peer Gynt”, the music master called the visitor and offered to meet him in the workshop to deliver an urgent order – a long-awaited restored little beauty with all the necessary attributes – to her personally. The woman happily agreed.
The musical master met the woman in his workshop and demonstrated the abilities of a small violin. He touched unexpectedly appeared strings stretched by him on the tailpiece. The little violin issued a sparkling high tone, like a spring drop or a small babbling brook, hurrying among the stones of a mountain gorge, causing tears of joy to a woman. Paying for such trifles, the woman brought home her treasure, from which it was already possible to extract any fabulous sounds of melodies and tunes. Bow and rosin had to look for separately. It took a lot of work, as the seller in the musical instrument store first recorded the woman’s order and suggested that she call a month later when the necessary things appeared in the warehouse right there on the right side of the counter where all sorts of pieces of music masters stood proudly, how many are capable of making wonderful sounds and rhythms: clarinets, cellos, trumpets, timpani, cymbals, drums, button accordions, accordions, full violins and quarters, guitars, ukuleles, Kasio and Yamaha electric piano, synthesizers and something else that it was impossible to gaze immediately.
On the shelves under the glass were strings of different pitch. The bows were neatly folded on the rack, but the configuration was not there, as luck would have it.
“Don’t worry,” said the young salesman. “Once a month we always have receipts of the required goods. Now the beginning of the school year, and all the little fiddlestick bought up. Therefore, I will order a bow for you specifically and call you on the cell phone as soon as it goes down for sale.”
“How long will I have to wait for the arrival of a new batch of small bows for the fourth of violin?” asked jealously shopper, naively believing that everything is done by magic.
“Maybe a month or two. You do not worry everything in our power.”
“They say that Nora Roberts also played the violin as a child, but she didn’t have a relationship with her teachers, so she quit practicing music and doing needlework,” the customer thought, hoping that her thoughts would not be read by a smart salesman who looked like a real Kapellmeister or a member of a vocal-instrumental ensemble with long curly hair tied at the back with a ribbon. “He probably plays the bass guitar in the evening in a restaurant.”
“I have enough patience. I will wait for your call,” imagining that she has already bought the bow, the selfish woman said, not caring what the entire musical elite of the city would think of her.
“They will call.”
“Otherwise, I will come to you in the week, agreed?”
“Do not even think about doing it. So early bows of this size will not come to us. We must first call to Moscow and find out whether these products came from the factory. If not, they will order in a special workshop. Only when the product passes certification, they will call me, and I will inform you that everything is ready. This is not a simple matter to carve and polish such a small bow, and then pull horsehair rubbed with rosin to slide along the strings better. There are very few such bows, so if they go on sale, they are taken apart instantly.”
“How well you say, clearly explain what I do not understand. And what is behind your back? Doesn’t that bow fit for such a violin?” Asked the customer, pointing to a small bow, located in the corner of a large metal stand.
She pulled out of the paper bag a small body of a quarter-violin without strings, neatly covered with brownish varnish. The one that was next to the finished product.
“I am also shown to the seller. It means that we are quoted in the world of temptation and waste,” the restored building decided, without regretting the absence of strings. “But if I could speak out loud, I would have scolded the seller for genuine sluggishness,” the small corps again indignant to himself, who had brought considerable benefits in the musical upbringing of the child.
“This bow is not yet appreciated. He was ordered a month ago. Today they sent me from Moscow and I need to call the customer. Moreover, it is not suitable for your instrument, but much more and corresponds to the half of the violin, that is, the next in size for this body.”
“Yes, I am the smallest in the violin row,” thought the lacquered corps without strings again, which the customer immediately returned to the bag. Sadly sighing, the buyer showed her regret and hope.
“Thanks for the clarification, let’s hope,” she said disturbingly. All the nuances of flashed thoughts expressively reflected on her face when she left the store.
Two months passed before the music store salesman finally called the customer for the little bow.
The woman completely lost hope of purchase. Delighted and taking with her a lacquered case without strings, she rushed to the store.
“Really sent?!” she thought with delight.
“They take me back to the music class as before. Some kind of philosophical benefit lies in this,” argued the lacquered small case without strings, leaving two full friends and a small violin at home. Looking out of the bag with his curl, it watched large flakes of snow whirling in the air and sticking to the glass of the bus, where the happy customer was traveling, returning home with a bow and rosin.
Finally, these expensive things appeared in the hands of the demanding amateur of musical instruments.
“Hooray! Finally, I breathe and can live among the lovely creatures, surrounded by their care and attention,” thought the little violin enthusiastically when it saw next to her a small bow with taut horsehair, waxed with rosin.
New violin
Thirty Three Greetings
There lived in the world a small skinny boy nicknamed “Thirty-three reverences”, who dreamed of becoming a great man. He went to school, and in his spare time he helped his mother with the housework: he chopped firewood in the yard, brought water from the well, as they lived in the village, looked after the younger sister and brother, went to the bazaar, located under a canopy in an open field. Everywhere he had to bow, so he chose this nickname for himself, and people agreed to call him by that original name. Whenever he passed by the market by newspaper vendors, with milk, fish, meat, fruits and vegetables, they happily hailed him.
“Hi, thirty-three reverences.”
“Hello,” he replied respectfully, taking off his beret.
That’s how he continued to live, helping his family in everything. After school, having matured, he went to study further. He left for the big city, entered the university, began to attend lectures, practical classes and seminars. He had a lot to do on his own in the library after the sports section, as he was an excellent boxer for everything. But it so happened that his friends also called him the same nickname, because he constantly approached the professors table, bowing, or asked interesting questions at the end of the lecture with words of gratitude for what was heard, new for him, scientific data, important information, fascinating information. Although, in fact, he was called by the simple name Slava.
After graduating from university, Slava became a journalist. He also had to travel to cities and villages, write reports for news, and take an interview from builders, engineers, doctors, artists, directors, sailors and all those who stood around the clock at the post. He wandered in distant lands and reserved corners where no man’s foot had stepped, beating off thirty-three reverences in hard-to-reach places. With him on television worked as a speaker girl Marianne.
They became friends and became real responsible assistants of the entire team of journalists of the news channel, proof-readers, operators, broadcasters and the chief editor, who occasionally told them when they met in the morning to discuss the evening issues:
“I hope for all of your thirty-three reverences. Let people know how much labor they need to invest in any job they start.”
“We won’t let you down,” they answered, laughing. “We will tell about everything that we know. We will be able to convey greetings from working people from different countries to every reader and viewer who has not yet had time to go there.”
“With you, our work will be done well,” seriously encouraged them by the head of a large print and television mass communications corporation, which was located in a skyscraper made of glass and concrete. Finally, at Slava, after thirty-three business trips, where he also had to repeatedly meet with directors of enterprises, farmers, farmers, an apartment appeared for a beautiful bride, Marianna. This event so pleased him that they invited thirty guests to the wedding, and three musicians to amuse the people. He shook hands with everyone, nodded his head, and the bride joked in reply:
“Now we will dance with the bridegroom, bowing together to each guest and musicians for the gifts presented. Let them see how well we can do it.”
“Everyone knows that you know how to beat reverences,” the guests admired the newlyweds, giving thirty-three different bouquets of exotic and modest flowers – lavender, rose, gladiolus, ylang-ylang, orchids, magnolias, and Marianne was enraptured of their smell.
“We will tweet about our marriage to all working people who know us who have small children,” Slava replied, bowing out, just as he had done in his distant childhood.
Soon the newlyweds also had children: a son and a daughter. They were like their parents like two drops of water, and they constantly watched the kids, beating off thirty-three bows, helping the little ones to grow, to get stronger, to become as intelligent, attentive, hardworking and caring as they are.
Journalists at work
Choosing a Bride
Fantastic story
The mollusk was swimming in the princess’s imagination when she awoke to a sudden rumble and noise from a collision of two or three vehicles rushing along a cinder-shaped polygon. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, looked at the calendar and the mechanical clock mechanism in the form of a hut, acting on batteries. To her horror, she immediately discovered that she had put on her tracksuit inside out, but she did not change clothes and looked out of the window, from where ominous rattles and blows were born, hoping that she was swimming in weightlessness.
But there was no mollusk, no sea depths nearby, only the booming noises coming from the freeway. There was a continuous series of cars moving in the same direction – towards the airfield, where the hangars were outdated, military, supersonic airliners with half a dozen ammunition for strategic purposes.
“Have I really slept through the rehearsal,” she exclaimed, dressing quickly, running up to the door. “What a mediocrity!”
On the table in her room there was a bouquet of artificial flowers also on batteries, where exotic, electronic butterflies flew around, forming an aura, expanding the color space beyond recognition.
“How much can we tell ourselves to watch horror films less, otherwise I’ll fail completely and not be able to sing a single part in the new, operatic repertoire appointed by the main director,” she thought five minutes before the beginning of the audition, heading to her notorious electric car firm Suzuki, presented to her recently by her father in honor of the twentieth. She only saw him at work.
“Be extremely careful. Do not leave your transport unattended,” he warned harshly on rehearsal that day.
“Is something can happen?”
She was surprised with the naivety of one year old baby.
“A means of hijacking has already proven itself, but can lift into the air by helicopter. Then you won’t catch up with anything,” he joked.
“I will try,” she reassured the generous “dad.”
Parking was located next to a large supermarket. The princess has never had problems buying offal for student parties and barbeque rides to the forest, nearby, suburban array to breathe fresh air, without gas fumes and admire the remnants of green plantings, grown at great expense in closed premises, transplanted by gardeners back to tubs in the winter. Entry there was paid.
There, in the openwork metal gazebo, one could sit down and admire the beauty of the landscape, boat traffic on the river surface or order a taste reminiscent of sodium carbonate, champagne in the buffet along with all those vacationers who came there before to enjoy the pleasant summer breeze, bright green, colorful views of the surrounding, natural open-air. However, artists and photographers did not have to wait. They were constantly coming up, offering their services for small fees, so that oil portraits and pictures of girls in bathing suits on the beach were featured in all popular foreign magazines, including Australia and Oceania.
“I will break through the cork. What a pity that only birds, dragonflies and butterflies have wings”, she thought with growing anger, striking the steering wheel with her right hand, accompanying her thoughts with a cheerful chant from the “Circus Princess” by Kalman’s operetta.
“Finally, we found a suitable candidate for lovers of musical masterpieces. Perhaps my abilities will prove to everyone about the girl’s adamant pursuit of her dream – to find a decent groom. How many decent people we have in the troupe, but they are all busy with their own problems,” Regina clearly represented her talented employees. “We must spit on the circumstances,” she suddenly decided. “For a few hours to plunge into the spaceships of the universe on the spacecraft, go in for phantasmagoria, the universe or just batten down the hatches and sail far to the east, to the Pacific Ocean.” The traffic jam on the road, which led to the airfield, where astronauts took exercises on flying, multi-tier simulators in the form of inverted, plastic, table plates, gradually resolved.
Regina had a familiar guy – Gabrielle – from the command of military paratroopers: a tall brunette with tight, sporty, brand trousers. He was waiting for her always near the light frame with the detector in his hands, checking for the presence of weapons in the trunk. He reminded her of a cross between a former marine infantryman and Avatar from an old, same-name version of the film directed by Cameron, who spent dozens of years and millions of dollars in shooting the film, but did not live up to the expectations of the audience.
They met by chance in the winter when she returned late from a rehearsal. Gabriel helped her recharge the battery, as she always discharged her car near the airfield because of the severe frost and alpha radiation from several radars that monitored the take-off and landing of flying simulators. Her compact electric car worked exclusively on an electric battery, so Gabriel did not have much difficulty in understanding the engine structure and taking Regina to the house, talking about her cosmic everyday life, constant takeoffs, the risk of encountering her work colleague in the open space and exploding on the way.