17
Winter. An exam on the music of Handel and Bach. We take our questions, gather our thoughts. S. B. is examining a different group, in the same hall. They play the students music, and they have to identify it by ear. It’s Schumann’s Carnaval. I guess which theme it is straightaway, and before I can stop myself, I whisper aloud: “Chiarina.” It echoes round the room: “Rina… Rina…” Since then, S. B. calls me Rina. Strange name…
I look at the piano, and my thoughts carry me into worlds with other harmonies. Unexpectedly lost in thought – farewell, reality! hello, unknown land where dreams come true and people do what they are born to do! The legendary writer Kozma Prutkov was right: what’s stopping us from inventing water resistant gunpowder?
I don’t remember how the exam went; seems I gu
