[1934]
The clock had now struck eight on the wall clock in the main room. It was filled with furnishings such as a bed, sofa, large table, and other items. It was as if the bedroom, study, and living room had been rolled into one. Not to mention several shirts were scattered on the floor of the main room, seemingly recently ransacked. Not far from the shirts, the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard, along with a voice saying, "Why, why?"
A young man passed by, buttoning his yellow shirt and tucking it into his trousers. He then approached a nearby mirror and combed his curly brown hair back to the left side. He paid no further attention to the atmosphere outside his communal area: the morning sun was shining brightly and it felt warm for the first time since the spring of April. Muscovites were already out and about in the streets. Some walked barefoot, some with light or heavy luggage. Some strolled leisurely, wanting to enjoy the mid-spring and summer mornings, while others ran, in a rush to get something done and failing to notice the beauty of Moscow in the morning.
This included the young man in the yellow shirt, who had emerged from his communal and was descending the stairs, carrying a backpack, trumpet case and his brown jacket. His face looked panicked, as he was late for real. He had just descended to the ground floor, then opened the main door of his communal, and turned right toward the main street with full speed. His hope that the tram he was about to board hadn't gone far had been granted. Tram number 16 had just arrived at the terminal, and the conductor had already shouted that it would depart soon. The young man boarded the tram, but unfortunately, he couldn't find a seat because it was full. He was forced to stand for ten minutes, with the tram stopping frequently to let off passengers. He became even more panicked, when the transit tram had already departed. There was no way he was going to be late on his first day of work, the young man thought.
Ten minutes later, tram number 16 arrived at certain street. The young man paid the conductor 8 kopecks and got off to catch tram number 10, which had just stopped to let off passengers. He boarded right after a little girl in a school uniform got off. Sure enough, the tram started moving. The young man had to stand again, as the tram had been full for fifteen minutes. The journey to his destination seemed even longer for the young man, making him curse himself for waking up late and knowing that the trip to the destination would take two trams and take half an hour at the latest. He glanced at the clock on the tram wall; it read 9:15. But unsure if the time on the tram was accurate, the young man decided to assume he was already too late.
Finally, tram number 10 stopped near the large white buildings. The young man paid the conductor 8 kopecks again and crossed the street into the city park... which will lead him to a large military-themed building. Sweat messed up his curly hair again, and he had to wipe it with his hands several times during the running. When he found it, he quickly made his way through the open door and was about to burst into the building and climb the stairs.
Unexpectedly, there was a black-haired young man who was about to descend on the stairs. They were both hit hard, nearly falling over. But the black-haired man managed to catch the trumpet case before fell to the floor.
"Ouch!" the black-haired young man shouted. Then he looked at the young man in the yellow shirt in annoyance.
"Ah, I'm sorry! I'm late!" the young man in the yellow shirt panicked.
"It's okay.... But late? I don't think so yet..." The young man in the green shirt was confused, while returning the trumpet case to the young man in yellow shirt.
This made the young man in yellow shirt more confused than ever. "What time is it?"
"It's still half past ten. Practice starts in half an hour," the black-haired young man explained, then he blinked, "Hey, from what I see, you look like a new member joining today... No wonder I didn't recognise you!" A friendly smile spread across the young man's lips, seemingly understanding the accident.
"Ah... Yes..." The young man in the yellow shirt didn't say anything else. He just remembered that he had deliberately set the clock in his apartment back an hour earlier to prevent being late. Then the clock on the tram had indeed shown the correct number...
"Nice to meet you! My name is Petronov Dmitry Sergeevich. And what's your name?" the black-haired young man asked, extending his hand. The young man in the yellow shirt returned the handshake.
"Mikhailov Alexei Yurievich. Nice to meet you too."
"You said you were late... What do you mean?" Dmitry asked. Alexei smiled sheepishly, remembering his forgetfulness about the clock in his apartment.
"I have a habit of turning the clock forward one hour in my room," Alexei said. Dmitry finally laughed too.
"Oh my, so diligent! But, that's normal for every new members... Although this is the first time I've seen a new member arrive half an hour early," Dmitry said. "When I first set foot here, it was five minutes before practice started. But when I arrived at the practice room, everyone was still unpacking their instruments. The choir artists were just looking for the sheet music to sing. Rubber hour, as they say... ahahahaha..." Dmitry just chuckled as he straightened his green shirt. Alexei just shook his head at Dmitry's casual remark.
But eventually, the two of them walked to the first floor together, starting to get to know each other. They briefly approached the reception desk on the first floor, which was occupied by a young conscript. Dmitry was going to inform Alexei's attendance. However, he was still busy writing something in a large book, so he didn't notice Dmitry and Alexei at all. Then the two of them continued their journey to the third floor, where the rehearsal room located.
Soon they arrived. The choir and ballet section's partition was much larger than the orchestra's. "Unfortunately, Alexei, I'm in a different section from you... so I can't tell you too much about orchestra's routine. But that's okay, the others will cover it," Dmitry said when clearing his throat and helped Alexei to sat on empty chair, preserved for brass section.
Alexei put down all of his belongings, then took his trumpet from the trumpet case, then blew it once to make sure it still sounded.
"You must have forgotten to wipe it, huh? So the trumpet's all crusty?" quipped a young man with short blond hair who stood with his double-bass.
Alexei's turned his face and grimaced, "Hahaha, I forgot about it last night. Don't worry, I will wipe it soon."
Then that blond man saw Dmitry next to Alexei, and said, "So he is the new trumpeter, Dim?"
"Correct, Stiva. Come on guys, introduce each other," Dmitry said simply. Alexei and that blond man finally shook hands with full grin.
"Mikhailov Alexei Yurievich."
"Tabanin Stepan Alekseevich."
"Ah, Alexei," Dmitry called. "I shall go back to my section. And welcome to this ensemble, okay?"
Then Dmitry walked behind the orchestra's partition, and sitting down on the rows of chairs for chorists. But Alexei quickly giggled when seeing Dmitry patted his head and rushed outside again with holding his trousers. It seems that man forgot he was going to the toilet, thought Alexei.
===
[Bonus Part: Dmitry's POV]
During the trip after work, Alexei wrote something in a small notebook. Dmitry actually chose not to look at its contents, considering it none of his business. However, he knew what Alexei was writing because he was mumbling it loudly enough for only Dmitry to hear.
"April 6, 1934. Rehearsal of the new song Polyushko Pole, which again featured Klim Voroshilov. It was boring, but what else could I do... Then I met the new members, Dmitry, Stepan, Vadim, Naxim, Ivan and Semyon. Dmitry and Vadim was quite a fun guy, despite his serious and stiff appearance. Both of them was so cold, I swear, as if they never melt. Semyon and others? I don't really know because I haven't getting know more about him yet. But he seemed friendly and smiled a lot..." Alexei muttered as he continued writing with his pencil. Dmitry furrowed his brows, confused by Alexei's slightly offensive description.
"Diary?" Dmitry asked. Alexei nodded without looking at Dmitry.
"But I won't tell you what it says," Alexei said with a smile.
"But you just mumbled, and read everything you wrote," Dmitry said with a straight face. Alexei paused, realizing his carelessness.
"Oh, yes. I forgot." But then they both chuckled. Just after Alexei had written his diary entry, they saw a street sign that led to their first transit. They stopped the tram and paid the conductor 16 kopecks.
They were now walking on the smaller street that not reached by the tram. Dmitry told more stories about the activities of the other Alexandrov Ensemble members, since he was there before Alexei. Sometimes he would share funny stories from rehearsals and concerts... sometimes even from Alexandrov himself, who apparently had a good sense of humor. Before they knew it, they had arrived at Dmitry's.
"Okay, I'm here," Dmitry said shortly.
"I'm continuing my journey now, Dima. See you tomorrow!" Alexei said, patting Dmitry on the shoulder. Then he walked again, leaving Dmitry standing there alone.
Now Dmitry walked unsteadily into the communal area, tired from the day. His mind was blank, but that didn't mean he was sad. Just tired. Yes, tired. He looked out the window of the ground-floor corridor, seeing the flickering streetlights, several people gathered around a bonfire in a small alley, two Militia patrolling. It was a monotonous night, just like the night before since a year ago. He climbed the stairs to the first floor and walked a short distance to the far right corner of the corridor. The door was unlocked, and he entered his cramped communal room. It was a bit messy. Dmitry took off his green shirt and hung it on the opened wardrobe, washed his face, and put hot water in the kettle to make a cup of tea.
Five minutes later, Dmitry sat for a moment on a chair in the kitchen, drinking the hot tea. He sighed, thinking about his strenuous training. But this was the risk, Dmitry thought. For protection, for a shelter he may wanted...
He washed his tea cup, then turned off the lights. Dmitry climbed to the bed, wearing only his trousers. His thoughts now only wanted to rest his voice and his mind.