– 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.
