Kalinushka

 

“There used to be an anecdote around 1933, about small incident that happened before concert. They might lose in time and the history slowly went silent. Still, the incident has strengthened Alexandrov Ensemble’s influence toward the nation’s future dignity …”

  

 

 

Chapter 1: UNKNOWN CALL

 

The telephone has ringing three times in the dark of midnight. Vladimir Alexandrovich, the young man in his pyjamas rubbed his face many times as he walked towards the telephone quickly.

“Who’s calling at this hour?”

The telephone picked up, and he answered with a drawled voice, “…Hel-Hello?”

“Call Alexander Vasilyevich to be here now!”

Vladimir Alexandrovich shifted his hand and looked at the phone’s speaker before interrogating in annoyance, “Who is… this?”

But as he heard the answer from the other side of the phone, Vladimir Alexandrovich widened his eyes over another thing he saw. His old man rushed to the front door while changing clothes and putting on the hat.

“It’s me, Stalin…”

And before he answered back, the phone was already hung up. The beeping sound echoed in Vladimir Alexandrovich’s ear. The door also slammed without any farewell words.

“Damn, Papa’s instinct is actually getting stronger after watched by our Leader.”

Vladimir Alexandrovich turned his head toward another mocking voice. His youngest brother, Alexander Alexandrovich, crossed his arms and leaned near the window. Such is the contrast with the solemn face under the pyjamas with the voice before.

  

 

Chapter 2: MIDNIGHT SNACK

 

“You always arrived early, Alexander. Maybe we should have a snack first before we talk.”

The lounge room inside the Kremlin Palace may look vast and provide comfy seats. But this doesn’t make Alexander Vasilyevich Alexandrov, the leader of Alexandrov Ensemble, look relaxed. He still sat on the living chair, with his forehead wiped with a handkerchief numerous times. His breath was uneven when the man in thick moustache calmly ordered the arriving maid, “I want the finest whiskey and some cake.”

The pipe on that man exhaled a smoke as he continued, “Do you want anything else, Alexander?”

Alexander Vasilyevich put down his handkerchief, then his eyes shot to Stalin himself as he retorted, “I want a ‘please let me take a longer breath after fucking running for ten minutes’.”

The maid somewhat flinched with Alexander Vasilyevich’s sharp words, but Stalin immediately faced her with a chuckle, “He wants the wine instead. You can go now.”

“Ah, alright. I will provide them soon,” flustered the maid before she left the room.

 

 

Chapter 3: A VERY SHORT DEADLINE

 

The poured wine was slowly sipped by Alexander Vasilyevich. Stalin continued smoking his pipe after he was full enough of the whiskey and cake. It took another five minutes until Alexander Vasilyevich wondered, “Is there something you need from me, sir?”

Stalin’s lips pulled into a smirk around his pipe. He pointed the stem at Alexander Vasilyevich and hummed, “You know, I missed a folk song. Once I heard it as a teenager, and I tried to find anyone who could perform it soon. Well, the upcoming one is your ensemble…”

“And what song is that you want?”

“Kalinushka.”

Alexander Vasilyevich raised his eyebrow while putting down his now-empty glass. “Kalinushka? You mean Kalinka?”

“No, no. Ka-li-nush-ka. You hear me perfectly,” corrected Stalin as he coughed three times, “I want that song to be performed at the upcoming concert. Doesn’t matter whether you put the song at the beginning or the end, but I want to hear it.”

Both of Alexander Vasilyevich’s hands clenched. He stuttered with a faint voice, “T-the concert will be… be held in t-two days…”

Though of course, the stutter is still lost from Stalin’s last smile, “Oh, I know you can. I will be waiting.”

 

  

Chapter 4: TOES GOES

 

The Art House of Alexandrov Ensemble become noisy between midnight and the twilight hour. Many choir artists arrived with a brisk walk. They gathered in the narrow rehearsal room, with their wet shirts glued when they were cramped together.

“Firstly, I apologise for contacting you all, asking you to come here as soon as possible,” announced Alexander Vasilyevich. He paused to see if his artists were fully paying attention to him, then he continued, “There’s something that I need to ask: Does anybody know the Kalinushka song? Stalin wants us to perform it in our concert, and I admit I have no clue about this folk song’s score. I only know a Navy Quartet used to perform that around two months ago, when I attended their concert.”

The choir artists are looking at each other. Hoping one of them will stand up to share the knowledge. Yet… all of them are just sitting, doing the same head turning left-right before staring back at Alexander Vasilyevich.

“Oh, God… No one knows this song, too?!” concerned Alexander Vasilyevich.

Oleg from the tenor section raised his hand, “About that Navy Quartet... What if we seek those four people? They might still have the score.”

Alexander Vasilyevich’s face immediately turned unpleasant and sceptical, “You may be right. And now another problem: we don’t know where they lived.”

The choir artists now had the tense face. Alexander Vasilyevich touched his chin, thinking hard. And he snapped his finger, “Ah, I remember they are actually still part of the Red Army, not part of the Navy. So it means we can seek them at military bases around Moscow. I can only hope they are still in Moscow, not doing any tours outside of the city…”

Alexander Vasilyevich immediately pointed at several artists on the front, who already gulped to heard the next command, “First and second row, go seek them at those military bases. And try your best to come back before noon. Do this for your own good.”

Without unnecessary question spoken, the pointed people are running outside the room.

 

Chapter 5: SMALL HELP FROM THE ELDEST

 

For now, the only noise inside the apartment was the chess pieces knocking their opponents, and the clinking cutlery nearby. Boris Alexandrovich and Vladimir Alexandrovich were just in the middle of challenging their wits, while Alexander Alexandrovich was eating a piece of vanilla cake. Not long after that, the living room’s telephone rings beside Boris Alexandrovich. He picked it up before it rang twice, pausing Vladimir Alexandrovich’s hand that was just picking the black rook.

“Hello?” called Boris while he took a glance at the chess board, but he quickly moved his eyes to the telephone and responded, “I will be there soon.”

The young brothers tilted their heads, seeing Boris Alexandrovich get up from the chair and tidy his suit. Boris Alexandrovich stated to them, “Papa needs some help with the schedule. Sasha, please continue my game. See ya!”

Alexander Alexandrovich shrugged. After Boris Alexandrovich closed the door, he changed his seat across from Vladimir Alexandrovich. However, Alexander Alexandrovich twitched his eyes as he witnessed a lot of gaping holes that would lead to losing on many sides. And as Alexander Alexandrovich just moved the white knight, Vladimir Alexandrovich soon bulldozed with the black rook and snickered, “Checkmate!”

“Borya already knew he lost, so he left this to me, huh,” grumbled Alexander Alexandrovich as he brought his cake plate to the sink.

  

Chapter 6: HARD CHOICES

 

The sky has turned violet, and the sun is still too shy to show up from the east. But the appointed choir artists had dressed in their gymnastyorka uniform, because this is part of their duty right now…

No more time shall be wasted.

And so, they gathered outside the art house to read a large map, held by one man with round glasses.

“There are thirteen military bases around Moscow. Good news: all of this will only take one to two hours if we use the tram right now. Bad news: we still don’t know if the Navy Quartet do live at one of the bases,” Fyodor announced as he examined each of the military base names printed on the Moscow City map.

Vasily smoked his cigarette while asking, “How did you know about these thirteen bases?”

“Look at this map, stupid,” Fyodor lowered his voice with scorn. Vasily huffed, tried to stand on his tiptoes behind the tall artists.

“And there are twenty of us who got this task…” hinted Dmitry when counting his peers around him. Oleg, who leaned to Fyodor, nodded, “Minus thirteen… Seven of us will be doubled, then. Besides, Alexander Vasilyevich and his son only copied the permission slip into ten.”

Fyodor handed the map to the tallest artist, Anatoli, and stated, “I will go to Yekaterininskiye base on my own. Tolya, you choose now.”

“Ah, okay. Olya and I will go to Pokrovskiye base,” Anatoli quickly decided as he skimmed the names on the map, followed by Oleg, who was now approaching Anatoli. The other choir artists quickly hooted other military base names and took one by one of the slips.

“Spasskiye”

“Fanagoriiskiye”

“Hamovnicheskiye”

“Petrovskiye”

“Sokolnicheskiye”

“Nikolaevskiye”

“Lefortovskiye”

“Krutintskiye”

“Kremlevskiye”

“Astrakhanskiye”

“Chernyshevskiye, then!” Vasily roared as he snatched the permission slip. But not before he pulled Dmitry’s collar with his entire stamina and dragged him violently, “Dim, you go with me! We will take that tram!”

“Ah- WHAT?! Aaaahhh!!!”

Dmitry’s shrill voice was faint, as those two jumped onto the moving tram. Leaving the other confused eighteen artists staring at the empty street for some seconds. Fyodor took off his glasses as he muttered, “Since when Vasya could drag Dima with that size?”

“Maybe since he changed his cigarette brand last week?” chimed Oleg with a dry laugh, followed by the short snorts from other artists including Anatoli.

Though it instead made Fyodor roll his eyes and muttered, even in lower voice, “Not funny, Olya.”

 

  

Chapter 7: LUNCH TIME (PART I)

 

The hands on the clock move fast that day. From pointing down to the south, then to the west, and soon it will go to the north. Meanwhile, Anatoli and Oleg sat on the tram seat with their heads resting on the window.

“Damn, we can’t find them…” whined Anatoli as he tousled his red hair.

Oleg sighed. He rubbed Anatoli’s shoulder even if he also felt unsure, and said, “Well, we’ve tried our best, Tolya...”

The tram paused the journey for a while, when several new passengers entered. Fyodor was among them, looking just as stressed.

“Ah, it’s you guys. Have you found the score?”

Oleg and Anatoli shook their head in unison. Fyodor sat beside them, then took off his glasses after he exhaled deeply.

“I hope any of us can find it....”

Although as they arrived at Zemledelcheski Pereulok, they witness the other fifteen choir artists already standing outside the art house in anxious faces. Their silent exchange asked the same fear; Navy Quartet didn’t stay at Mosc-

“GUYS!!!!”

There is a high-pitched scream behind the artists. When they turned their heads, Dmitry was seen to hoist Vasily on his shoulders. And Vasily… was raising a brown folder with word the “Калинушка”.

Never have the choir artists ever felt the relief deeper than today. Without hesitation, everyone hugged both Dmitry and Vasily with boisterous, tearful cheer.

  

Chapter 8: ON THE WAY

 

**Six hours ago**

“Why did you choose that base?!” wheezed Dmitry, who still lost his breath while sitting on the tram.

Vasily fanned himself with military cap, his smug widening as he piped, “Closer than the art house, and it means we can go back faster!”

“But what about our lives–” Dmitry’s fret stopped by Vasily’s cap smack his face lightly.

“Ah, that’s just a mere threat so we could do the task seriously. I’m very sure the base that Fedya choose is the one where those Quartet live,” assured Vasily before he back fanning himself again.

“Dunno… I still want my soul intact and not at Siberia...” whined Dmitry.

Soon, they reached at Chernyshevskiye base around 7 am. They faced the guard who stood at the gate of the base. Vasily took out the permission slip and handed it with smug, “Good morning, comrade!”

“What’s your business?” interrogated the guard as he read the permission slip.

“We, the choir artists of Alexander Vasilyevich’s ensemble, got a serious task; seek the members of Navy Quartet in military base. There is something that we need to discuss about their popular song.”

The guard hummed as he took step backwards to open the gate, “Ooooh, Navy Quartet... Yes, those four are live in here. Luckily, they weren’t performing any concert, so you can meet them. I will escort you there.”

As the gate opened and the guard brought the permission slip, Dmitry followed the guard with relief, “Oh thank–”

“Fuck!” cursed Vasily under his breath while walking behind Dmitry.

 

Chapter 9: NOT INVOLVED

 

“I was so surprised, comrade! For the first time we are visited by fellow musician!”

“To be honest, we are a newbie in music world. So… until we are being noticed by famous music group...”

The Navy Quartet members simpered after they eagerly pour the tea to Dmitry and Vasily’s teacups. Dmitry thanked them, and Vasily quickly sipped before he addressed, “Well, we are also glad to meet you too. Because we need your help.”

“What help?”

“Alexander Vasilyevich said, you’ve performed Kalinushka song in a concert two months ago. He’s interested, and wants to know the score and lyric... And yeah, that’s because Stalin also wants us to perform that song tomorrow. Soooo… we were sent here to learn the song from you,” informed Vasily, with his head scratched and trying to pull polite smile.

The Navy Quartet members’ faces turned sour fast. They look at each other before one of them lamented, “Ah... about that, we are sorry... but we don’t have them too. Back then... we only learn Kalinushka song by ear, listening his voice...”

“Kto zhe s vami razuchival? Who taught you all?” coaxed Dmitry with his face trying his best not to lost in despair.

“A gusli player... we only remember his surname... Severskiy...”

Dmitry’s back almost bend like a shrimp until that member continued to speak, “But we still have his address… The place where we learn this song, too. I will write it for you.”

“Ah! So–” Dmitry and Vasily began to exclaim, but were cut off by the quartet's immediate assurance.

“Here’s the address. There’s still time to go to his house and learn the song. Send our regards when you meet him later, yeah?”

The small, folded paper from the Navy Quartet members carefully handed to Vasily. Vasily gulped his tea, then nodded his head before he pulled Dmitry again. Dmitry waved to the Navy Quartet members, quickly shouted, “Thanks for the tea and the address!”

The two choir artists closed the door and left the base, continuing their mission from the ensemble. Little did they know…

“I am unsure our aid could help them...”

“Must be. Because I don’t want to hear a big news about disbanded music group in one night.”

 

And such the exchange caused Alexander Vasilyevich had nonstop hiccup inside his office, till he thought someone has talking at his back badly.

 

 

Chapter 10: LUNCH TIME (PART II)

 

The noon almost turned into afternoon. Two men are working relentlessly inside the office. Alexander Vasilyevich repeatedly humming, playing the brown piano, and scribble the score paper with pencil. Meanwhile, Boris rewriting the program’s list and its synopsis before he typed it onto the typewriter.

“Score for bass section is done now.” Alexander Vasilyevich leaned to his chair and stretched his back. “I can only glad my pitch perfect still being useful… and the artists who found the song have good memory. At least to remember the tune and wrote its lyric...”

“Is it true that we still have a time to practicing this song, papa?” asked Boris from behind the typewriter, as he took a glance over the clock. One o’clock in the afternoon. Alexander Vasilevich straightened his back again, then he rearranged the scores to one big folder.

“Still, still... The choir has been given another task to call the rest of orchestra artists. They can learn to memorise the lyric first, too. By the time we finished, they will just learn to adjusting the lyric with the tune.”

After he rearranged the score, Alexander Vasilyevich suddenly facepalmed and grunted, “Damn, I forgot our Leader hinted me to add more classic Russian instruments for Kalinushka song… We don’t have other Russian instruments except bayan.”

He turned his head to Boris Alexandrovich, who look back at the old man with concerned face. Knowing that hint was against the ensemble’s principal since the beginning. Alexander Vasilyevich sighed heavily, and waved his hand to Boris Alexandrovich “... Maybe… we can make some collaboration with balalaika players who usually perform at radio. Borya, call the station and ask if they can lend a help.”

Without more words spoken, Boris Alexandrovich stood up and walk to other office that has the telephone. Alexander Vasilyevich continued working on the score for the tenor section, till seven minutes passed. The door opened again, and Boris Alexandrovich entered the room to informed, “They said the balalaika players are at outside of Moscow, but promised those players will arrive around 4 pm.”

Alexander Vasilevich nodded, “Fine. Just in case, if they couldn’t come, we will be focusing this song in acapella version. The orchestra doesn’t need to join. By the way, have you finished rewriting the program list?”

“Yes, I have. Except Kalinushka since you requested to left it blank for now.”

“Correct, since we still determine the schedule to perform Kalinushka. Should I add the song at the beginning, middle or the end of concert, Borya?” asked Alexander Vasilyevich.

“At the end, I guess? We already scheduled the other songs and this song came in last minute,” responded Boris Alexandrovich.

Alexander Vasilyevich rubbed his face as he stated, “Wouldn’t our Leader displeased? For he’s waiting for too long. The beginning of the concert will be good.”

“But in the same time he’ll be pleased because his waiting was worth for the song. Putting in the beginning like papa said might cause hassle impression from our Leader,” countered Boris Alexandrovich.

Alexander Vasilyevich sighed once again. He reread the program list, then finally proposed, “What about at the middle of concert? Giving him surprise but not waiting for too long?”

“Hmm yes, it was the good solution. Although...” Boris pondered when he look at the list together with his father, “It’s just weird that we will perform a sad tune in the middle of two march songs.”

“Well, you can’t please someone too much. Okay, now you can finish the program list and send that to him,” concluded Alexander Vasilyevich with a shrug, before he walked back to the piano.

“Uhh... Papa? You still pissed with our Leader because of last night?”

Boris Alexandrovich’s last question would never be answered, as Alexander Vasilyevich drown himself in his duty and his piano fast enough.

 

 

Chapter 11: SCARY

 

Twelve balalaika players have arrived at 4 pm sharp. One of them is a young man with shoulder-length black hair, who stepped up to the front and shook hands with Alexander Vasilyevich.

“Can you all play the Kalinushka song?” asked Alexander Vasilyevich after shaking hand.

“Yes,” responded that young man.

“Show them to me,” Alexander Vasilyevich pinpointing the empty chairs near the choir artists, and the balalaika players quickly sat on them. They took out their balalaika from the case and started playing Kalinushka song they usually know.

Two bar lines played. It took less than twenty-five seconds for Alexander Vasilyevich and Boris Alexandrovich to be horrified by the played tune.

“Papa, their version of Kalinushka is totally different from what you have composed!” gasped Boris Alexandrovich in a hushed voice.

Meanwhile, Alexander Vasilyevich stayed listening till the song ended. By the time the young man and the other balalaika players stopped their plucking, he announced with a weary, strained voice, “Well, bad news: we need another pulling all-nighter. There shall be only one Kalinushka now. Ready, everyone?”

And nobody among the balalaika players and choir artists have stood up from the chair after that.

 

  

Chapter 12: NEW CHANCE

 

The rearranging and writing of the scores for balalaika has done in the same hall, where the choir artists are training by themselves. Alexander Vasilyevich privately instruct the cramped balalaika players with his piano, making sure they are learning the one he has composed since the afternoon.

Soon, the lamps are turned on when the night comes. Several artists take turns in break time, including catching a short nap on the floor… with their caps covering their faces. The twelve balalaika players also took turns to go outside of the rehearsal hall. They had to be fitted by the costume crew for their temporary gymnastyorka.

The last one to be fitted is that young man in shoulder-length hair. He went back with an uncomfortable look; the available largest size of gymnastyorka uniform, was still too short for a 184-centimetre young man. He kept pulling the narrow collar as he sat near a chubby, red-haired accordionist who just finished snacking.

“Hi,” greeted the accordionist after he wiped his hands with a handkerchief and offered his hand, “My name is Semyon.”

“Vadim,” responded the young man shortly.

Semyon curled his lips before he admired, “Thanks a lot for helping us! It’s quite a chaos here, you know…”

“Yes, I heard it was quite an urgent task when we got called by the radio station. Also... I think it won’t hurt to get some additional income. So, we agreed to help. I hope this went smoothly, though,” noted Vadim.

“Oh! Don’t worry, we are all impressed with your playing! Even if you have a different version, you are adaptable fast enough with our maestro. Things will be okay.”

“Good to hear, then…”

Semyon sighed, his smile was wider instead of lost despite hearing Vadim’s monotone voice, “And I am glad our leader finally agreed to use balalaika. I heard he used to be so against them… Due to the instrument associated with music played at bars.”

“Is that so?”

Vadim’s question was left unanswered. Semyon winked before he stood up and excused himself to the toilet. Vadim’s gaze followed Semyon, who disappeared after leaving the hall. Then he changed the direction to Alexander Vasilyevich, who was still having a discussion with Boris Alexandrovich in private.

“Well, I hope he can change his mind to be better...” whispered Vadim with a slight smirk.

  

Chapter 13: NOT TODAY

 

Many hours have passed. The window showed the salmon sky. The lamps inside rehearsal hall turned off one by one. It was also the time Alexander Vasilyevich putting down his baton and wiped his sweat.

“Well done! As we have rehearsed, this song will be performed at middle of the concert. Please remember the order, because this afternoon we will have last rehearsal at The Congress,” reminded Alexander Vasilyevich. He paused to clasp his hand first, then continued speaking, “You all can go home and clean yourselves. We will meet again at the hall, 2 pm sharp. See you soon, eagles!”

And soon, the rehearsal hall becomes empty. Only Alexander Vasilyevich remained. He tidied his music scores and baton in peace–

“Hello there, Alexander! I’ve overheard from behind the door, and I already felt guilty to hearing the spoiler first!”

Alexander Vasilyevich a bit flinched to hear the familiar annoying voice, but then he furrowed his eyebrows toward the words spoken. The Commissar of Defence himself, Kliment Voroshilov, sauntered from the same rehearsal hall’s door.

“Spoiler?” asked Alexander Vasilyevich.

“A folk song, Alexander! I have heard the entire song you’ve rehearsed today, suddenly putting folk song in the middle of military songs, played in a congress meeting? Of course, this will surprise our Leader…” Voroshilov immediately embraced Alexander Vasilyevich, then continued murmuring, “Ahem, I mean our Joseph Stalin. This isn’t your effort to piss him off, right?”

However, Voroshilov didn’t witness the usual silent stare from Alexander Vasilyevich. The man instead lifting a small booklet from the music stand, then handed it to Voroshilov. “If you want to prank me like that, Klim Efremovich, it’s too late,” quipped Alexander Vasilyevich.

“What do you mean?” confused Voroshilov as he read the booklet.

“My son Boris already went to the Leader to give him the repertoire list, the booklet and the invitation card. So, our Leader can be sure his folk song request will be fulfilled.”

The revelation made that small booklet collided to the floor, after Voroshilov’s jaw and arms dropped fast. It took another five seconds until that Commissar choose to grunted and left the rehearsal hall. Alexander Vasilyevich now pulled a smirk, then bowed to the empty hall.

“No more stupid teasing today, I guess…”

  

Chapter 14: CONCERT TIME

 

Six hours later, Alexandrov Ensemble has gathered in the large hall. The stage is prepared nearby the hundreds of chairs and tables, which will be seated by the entire Congress and Stalin.  attend the anniversary party of the Congress’ establishment.

One by one propaganda and classic military song passing by. The formal claps filled the air. Until the middle part of concert arrived, which Kalinushka song performed with a bit strained voices. The Congress, include Voroshilov looked stunned and discomfort for the sudden change of the song. However, Stalin pulled his widest smile. He is the one who clap loudest when the song ended… even he stands up and making sure everyone give ovation harder than the formal clap.

“Incredible. My Alexander put Kalinushka among march songs. I can feel he tell us the metaphor; there will be no loyal soldiers if there are no faithful civilians to the state. No more doubt he is such a genius professor, composer and conductor at the same time,” he bespoke to Voroshilov, before sitting again and allow Alexander Vasilyevich to continue the concert.

But of course those words were not heard by anyone in the ensemble. Boris Alexandrovich who stood behind the curtain focused on giving thumbs up to his father. And Alexander Vasilyevich smiled back to his son in relief, probably also followed by the ensemble members are secretly wiping their forehead before singing the next song.

For now, another hour has passed without hitch.

   

Chapter 15: DON’T ENTER

 

“Oh boy... I really need a good sleep after this endless nightmare…”

Dmitry yawned and stretched his arms, whining beside Vasily. Meanwhile that short man nodded, lit up his cigarette and inhale the smoke as soon as possible. Both of them taking a short walk to lessen the tension after concert, plus waiting for the provided lunch from the Congress’ anniversary party. But as they make turn to the right side of corridor, they saw Boris Alexandrovich leaned on the wall…

And that man in brown suit immediately raised his hand with eyes glared.

“Stop there, young lads. Seek other way to unwind for now.”

“What happened? Is there any important meeting?” Vasily raised his eyebrows and sway his cigarette.

“A rather important time to save your lives, in exact. Our Commissars were having nice chat nearby. I almost took wrong turn, too,” answered Boris Alexandrovich who turned his head before pushing Dmitry and Vasily.

“I DON’T CARE WITH YOUR ARGUMENT!!”

“FUCK YOU!!!”

“YOU ARE NOW USING THAT MAN AS YOUR ARMOR!!!”

“IF OUR LEADER HAVE DECIDED, THEN WE HAVE TO FOLLOW!!!”

“WHERE IS THAT ATTITUDE OF YOURS YESTERDAY?!! THINKING THAT MAN WITH BATON CAN BE PLAYED!!!”

“HUH, AT LEAST I REPENT. NOW IT’S YOUR FAULT TO MAKE MORE ENEMIES!! TRY TO BEFRIEND MORE PEOPLE FROM MIDDLE CLASS, IDIOT!!”

Dmitry and Vasily froze a bit when hearing another scream. Boris Alexandrovich pat their backs harder and shook his head. And so, three of them makes no sound to take large steps onto the large hall, where all ensemble members are gathered and chattered without burden.

“What a day…” sighed Boris Alexandrovich after letting Dmitry and Vasily gathered again with the choir artists.