The tuner

[Игорь Николаевич]

На русском языке вроде выходил в одной из русскоязычных газет Ванкувера. Здесь английский вариант.

The tuner

When one leaves Vancouver early in the morning with the first rays of the sun and before the highways are choked with cars, one can enjoy driving at speed through the great morning landscapes of the area. After leaving behind the vast and dusty summer suburbs, one comes upon a range of overgrown green hills and then huge fields on either side of the highway, yet with mountains low on the horizon. Until the sunshine touches the tops of the hills, they seem to be flat, as if cut out of cardboard as a decoration in a children's puppet theatre.

Closer to Chilliwack, the valley narrows. To left and right, the mountains loom closer to the highway and here and there, just as in the Ukraine, tall poplars stand among the cultivated fields and huge gardens.

The road continues down the centre of the valley, between fields and farms. And along this road, Alexander drives in his not very new Toyota from Vancouver to Chilliwack to see a new customer. He has missed the countryside after living in a big city, and watches the rising sun and the eagles circling above the plain. Alexander's boss called yesterday late at night, warning him about a long trip, but Alexander agreed to go. In six months of living in Canada, he has never left Vancouver and any trip further into the mountains promises something new, or at least a distraction from the everyday life of a big city.

The road stretched straight ahead to the horizon against the foot of high mountains, and as the traffic was not heavy, Alexander sank deeper into his thoughts. In recent days, these frequently turned to different things. As a matter of fact, the move to Canada had prompted much more thinking and reflecting. And the first question his thinking led him to was, had it been worthwhile? Had it been worth breaking all connections, leaving parents and friends to go to a foreign country? How did this happen? Probably before it happened in reality, it happened in the mind. Indeed, something had happened in his head when he took the decision to lay everything aside and to go away, without much money and without understanding the consequences.

But what is emigration to a foreign country if not proof to yourself and to others that you are still somehow worthy? This is perhaps your last chance to feel young enough to radically change your life, to break with the past, to change the flow of your life from an already known destination to something new, unknown, possibly dangerous, but at the same time so tempting and desired.

It is easier to dare to take on unexpected changes when you are alone. But Alexander was not alone. He had a wife Olga and a son Mishka. Mishka was 12 years old and for him the change was probably the most difficult. Alexander and Olga understood this clearly: it is not easy to leave all one’s friends at a time when one’s childhood gradually gives way to adolescence, when friendships have already developed into strong and seemingly eternal bonds, and when something else looms on the horizon, the first signs of an incipient love.
Recently, Alexander’s relationship with his son had become strained. He explained this to himself as an early sign of his son’s growing up, an early desire to become independent. Since last summer, before his departure for Canada, relations had become more tense.

Last summer, while they were still in their native country, Alexander went with his son on an overnight boat fishing trip many kilometres from their home ...

Meanwhile, Chilliwack came into sight. The car exited the highway and Alexander began to search for the client’s house. His GPS system kept saying that this house number did not exist, and the nearest house stood at the end of a cul-de-sac. But Alexander was persistent and after driving around and asking the way, he finally found the house. No wonder the number wasn't in his navigation system, for it was brand new, barely finished, but it was already inhabited. The entrance gate stood wide open, and at the front of the house some workers installed paving tiles, while among rhododendron bushes a busy gardener could be seen.

Alexander asked the workers whether the owner was home, and entered the large hall, from which several doors went off in different directions, while a long curved stairway led to the second floor.

"Hello, is anybody home?" he called out tentatively. Nobody answered.

He took a couple of steps as he thought about which door to open. Then he heard swift footsteps, and suddenly a small, lithe woman of about 45 in overalls and rubber boots and with gardening gloves on her hands came running towards him. Her hair was dishevelled, her face flushed, but her eyes were brave and strongly expressed that determination that you usually only see in those who take responsibility for their own lives and homes.

"You are probably the tuner, aren't you?" said the woman, trying to tidy her hair with the back of a gloved hand. "I'm Helen. And what is your name?"

"I'm Alex," said Alexander. In six months of living here, he had learned to introduce himself by the local shortened version of his name.

"Sorry for all this mess," said Nancy. "We have a housewarming party this weekend. There is a lot to do. My husband will play, and the piano has not been tuned. And Mr. Schmidt, who is our usual tuner, is away on vacation, so I had to call you from Vancouver. Sorry for bothering you. Would you like some coffee or tea?" she asked immediately.

"No, thank you. Where is the instrument? "

"It is in the dining room. Please follow me." The woman went ahead, almost running, and he hurried after her.

A grand piano stood in the large glassed-in veranda at the back of the house. It was an fine old German instrument and looked very beautiful.
"We transported it from the old house, and it went out-of-tune", said Nancy. "And I think something is wrong with one of the pedals. I play a little myself, but mostly my husband does. He used to play in a concert hall," she added proudly.

The grand piano was really out-of-tune, but that wasn’t a big problem. It was the pedal that troubled Alexander more. He always had some tools and materials in his car, but who knew what repairs needed to be done and how long they would take.

"Well, then I will start," he said.

"Yes, please do," Nancy responded. "I'll be around the back. I am planting flowers and want to be finished before the party. If you need anything, just come out into the yard and call for me. The washroom is here and this door leads to the kitchen. If you want to drink, just help yourself to the water in the fridge."

Nancy left. And immediately came back. "There's something else," she said more quietly, as if begging him. "I really want my son Michael to watch your work. He is very quiet and will not interfere. It will be interesting for him to see you at work."

"Looks like a nannying job," Alexander thought, but he kept these thoughts to himself. The customer is always right, so he simply replied, "Yes, of course."

Nancy went out and came back pushing a big wheelchair with a person inside. He was not a child, but neither was he an adult person. Generally it is difficult to determine the age of such people. He was thin, practically desiccated, with a long face and a frozen gaze directed somewhere to the side. His hands were curled, one lying quietly on a thick plaid, the other, horribly misshapen, hanging over his body, swaying with every movement of the chair.

"This is Michael," said Nancy. "Michael, say hello to the gentleman." Nothing changed with the person in the chair. "He said hello," confirmed Nancy. "In fact, he is an ordinary boy 16 years old, just God has given him such a body. But within himself and in his mind he is not that different from us.”

"Can he talk?" asked Alexander.

"He cannot talk like us, but it is possible to communicate with him by other means. Do not worry. I'll be nearby. Let him sit there in the corner and watch. It will be interesting for him.”

"Okay," was Alexander’s only reply.

Nancy left, and he started to work. With the pedal, as supposed, the problem was not that simple. The grand piano was old and some parts had fallen into disrepair, but he could replace them. This would take some time, and Alexander’s thoughts began to wander.


Yes, it was two years ago. He had offered to take his son fishing. It was mid-summer and the weather was perfect. The days were long and an evening could be spent with rods along the banks of the river that ran past their town.

Alexander borrowed a boat and the fishing gear from his friends. He could not tell whether his son was very excited about trip, but by the way he enthusiastically packed his backpack Alexander guessed that his son was looking forward to the adventure, although with apprehension. He had never before been away from home for a night under the stars.

All day long they rowed down the river, and the town soon disappeared in the distance. Along the river, broad meadows stretched, with cows grazing and planted areas and tractors working. Sometimes the houses of a small village came into view, close together and carefully positioned on the banks, as if afraid of falling into the water. Then civilisation disappeared completely, and only a huge dark forest stared out from both banks at the boat, seeming to frown ever more deeply in the evening darkness.

Yes, evening fell and a place to sleep would soon have to be found. Alexander chose a convenient place on the bank, a pleasant meadow with a small creek. They unloaded the boat, and had already started to erect their tents when they heard an engine roar in the distance and made out a large farmer’s truck off in the woods. Two men came walking out along the track, huge and glistening with sweat in the light of the setting sun. They looked around and slowly came to Alexander

"Hey, man," one of them said, "This is our place. We come here every Saturday for fishing."

"I came first," said Alexander.

"Yes, that’s okay," said the other, "There is enough room here, of course you can stay. But, you see, two more cars are coming. There are actually twelve of us, and we invited some girls, and you're with your kid. You decide for yourself".

Alexander began to carry the things back to the boat.

"Dad, why are we leaving? We came first. This is our place!" his son protested.

Alexander did not answer, but his mood had soured. Now I am a coward in my son’s eyes. "They will scare away all the fish,” he said at last. “You heard, there will be 12 people. We'll find another quiet place. There is enough room along the river."

They pushed off from the shore. Alexander, trying to get away and find a new place before sunset, rowed with a vengeance. The boat sped along the river, but as ill luck would have it, both banks were overgrown with dense bushes that stuck out into the water. Meanwhile, the sun set and night fell.

"Dad, we will not have to spend the night in the boat, will we?" the son asked. He was really getting scared.

"Now, now, son," Alexander kept saying, and just rowed harder, despite his growing tiredness.

Finally they found a clear spot just large enough to land the boat. It was a small place surrounded by bushes and the trees of the big black forest. Alexander moored the boat and quickly began to unload.

"First, we will make a fire," he said. "Then we will be able to see better and can pitch the tent and cook supper.

Alexander gathered a few big sticks, broke them over his knee, bundled them together and started a fire.

"Just sit by the fire and warm yourself," he said to his son. "I'll quickly pitch the tent."

He went to the river to the boat, but the boat was not there.

"I must have forgotten to tie it up," thought Alexander, looking out over the black water. The boat was nowhere to be seen, although it couldn’t have floated far.

"I will go along the bank to look for it," he thought, and turned to make off down the river, but ran immediately into a solid wall of bushes. The forest surrounded him on all sides. No way could he walk along the river. Well, that meant he would have to swim. He turned to his son.

"The boat floated away," he said. "I have to catch it. I'll swim, and you wait here by the fire. I will be quick."

"Daddy do not leave, I'm afraid," his son begged.

"Be a man, Michael. Don’t be scared. Sit by the fire. I'll be right back, I promise.”

"Do you really promise?" asked the boy.

"Yes, I promise. I will be back before the fire goes out. I promise," said Alexander, and went back to the river.

He needed to swim to the middle of the river to look around. There was still enough light to see and the boat was sure to be visible on the water. Alexander took off his shoes – they were too heavy for swimming -- and went into the water in his jeans and t-shirt.

The water was surprisingly warm and welcoming. After a couple of strong strokes, he looked back and could see the white flames of the fire between the trees. Alexander swam down the river, looking in all directions for the boat. It could not have gone so far! Then he saw something in the bushes on the other bank that he thought could be a boat. He swam to the other side. The river was not very wide. On other occasions, when he had been fresh and rested, Alexander had been able to swim across it in a few minutes, but now, late at night and rather exhausted, he suddenly realised how fast the current was and how much effort would be needed to get to the other bank. He looked around but the fire was no longer to be seen. He turned back and swam towards the boat with confidence.

But it wasn’t a boat, only a thick old log peacefully floating on the water near the shore. Holding on to the log, Alexander caught his breath. It was getting very dark, and the boat couldn’t be found today for sure. He needed to get back, for the fire would soon go out, and Mishka would be scared.

After a little rest, he pushed away from the log and swam back towards the other side. But it proved to be out of the question to swim against the current, which picked him up and carried him downriver. Alexander swam quite slowly to preserve his strength. The riverside grew closer and closer, and Alexander was breathing heavily. He felt his strength waning, but the river was not too wide, and Alexander was sure he would be able to make it across. Inside, though, he was full of anger at himself -- that because of his stupidity he had run out of energy and caused his child to suffer. Finally, the shore was quite close, but he still could not get out of water. A thousand bush branches pointed at him like long, gnarled fingers directing him to "Get out of here!" He slowly swam along the bank looking for a place to land, knowing that he was moving farther and farther from his son. In the end, he found a place free of the bushes and tried to get out.

Suddenly his entire left leg was pierced by a sharp pain. He’d probably stepped on a sharp rock or on a snag. Somehow, he climbed out of the water, sat on the bank and tried to inspect his foot. It hurt, and he could see that he was bleeding from the heel. Alexander washed the wound, took off his t-shirt and used it to bandage his foot. He had to get back to the fire.

He couldn't stay near the water because of the bushes. He climbed a little higher up the slope, and, limping, went through the black forest, all the time listening for the sound of the river, and trying not to stray too far and get lost.

The forest surrounded him like a massive black wall. Branches punished him for his stupidity, punching him in the face. His foot hurt and it became harder and harder to walk. He spent, so he thought, much time limping in the right direction, but still he didn't reach the clearing and the fire. Suddenly, he realised, the sound he had used for orientation in the forest was not of water but only of the leaves of the trees as they rustled in the rising night wind. He froze in horror as he recognised he was lost, and that his son Misha was sitting alone by the dying embers, waiting for him and probably weeping with fear.

"Miiishka" he shouted. "Where are you?" In response, the forest seemed to rustle even more loudly. He went in what he thought was the direction of the river, but there were only tree branches, which slapped him in the face and scratched his naked torso.

"Miiishka" he shouted again.

"Ahh," came the response from somewhere behind him. "Paaaapa."

He turned back and, still shouting, began to plunge through the bushes, protecting only his eyes with his hand. The bushes scratched his body, and sometimes he stumbled and fell, but soon he came out into the clearing. The fire had died and Mishka sat on his haunches by the cooling coals, hugging his knees to his chin, but not crying.

"You promised to come quickly. You promised!" was all he said.


Perhaps because of this unfortunate night, his son Mishka had drawn away from him, beginning to treat him more and more as a stranger. Alexander noticed it in the glance his son would give him when they were together. He did not look like somebody gazing on a stranger, but as if Alexander didn't exist at all: his son just looked beyond him. He tried to talk to his son. Who knows, maybe this whole trip to Canada was Alexander’s attempt to start again, to reunite his family and get his son back?

Meanwhile, the work at hand neared completion. The pedal was quicker and easier to fix than Alexander had initially feared. Now he could turn to tuning the grand piano. Alexander sat down and played first a few bars from Beethoven’s Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor, and then a few simple tunes he had known since childhood. The grand piano responded perfectly, and the music resounded through the house. It seemed to Alexander that the man in the wheelchair slightly shifted as the music rang out, but maybe he had just imagined this.

After hearing the sounds of the grand piano, Nancy ran in the room. "Oh, how lovely, how good!" she twittered. "You play wonderfully. Have you given concerts before?"

"Only in restaurants," Alexander wanted to say, but restrained himself. In his musician’s career, he had not got beyond a restaurant orchestra. Not everyone becomes a great musician after graduating from music school.

"Michael, did you like it?" Nancy turned to the man in the corner. "Now he will thank you," she said and ran into another room. She returned quickly with a laptop. "Look, I will attach these two plates here and here, and now Michael can talk to us. You see how he can move his thumb and index finger!" she said proudly. Alexander noticed that the fingers actually moved and soon the first word appeared on the screen.

"YA"

"You see, he said YES!" Nancy proudly exclaimed.

"YA ZNAU"

"Well, when he gets excited, some words come wrongly. But he will correct it."

"Wait a minute." Alexander said, "This is not English. This is Russian!" It means, "I know."

"But this cannot be!" murmured Nancy. "Many years have passed!"

Alexander leaned over to the person in a wheelchair, "What do you know?" he asked in Russian.

"YA ZNAU ETU PESNU" (I know this song), appeared on the screen "IGRAI PLEASE"

"He can speak Russian," Alexander said to Nancy, "He asked me to play more."

"But that's impossible!" exclaimed Nancy. "When we brought him over, he was not even five years old!"

"You brought him from where?" asked Alexander, surprised.

"We adopted him in the Ukraine. We could not have children and had been waiting for the possibility of adopting. Finally we were allowed to adopt a child from the Ukraine, and we immediately agreed. But when we arrived, we were told that the child was sick. And we were told that either we take this child, or we would not be allowed to adopt another child in the future, so we agreed. Michael was four and a half years old. We did not know whether he could speak at all. So when we brought him to our home, we taught him to speak from the beginning and of course in English. It is amazing that after all these years, he still remembers his Russian!"

"Michael? That means Mishka." Alexander thought. "His name is the same as my son's name. Indeed, there are a lot of bears in Canada!”

"I'll play you some more Mishka," Alexander said in Russian, and sat down at the grand piano. He played and played all the tunes he remembered from his childhood, and all that Michael could remember from his. He played for a long time, forgetting about those people behind him who were not from his old home in another country. He played those tunes that he had first heard in his childhood, the songs sung to him by his mother who was so far away from him as well! Finally he stopped. The piano keys were coloured red by the rays of the setting sun. Evening came.

He took a long farewell from Michael, he looked into his room, looked at the Spiderman posters on the walls, at the pictures of Michael printed out from his computer. Nancy asked him to come back to visit Michael and to talk to him in Russian, and he gladly promised.

The road took his car and led it back to the big city. He was driving back to the big city, which was looming in the distance with its millions of lights.

"How strangely this turns out," he thought. "One person in a family cannot get along with his own son, because he is simply too busy to find time for him. In another family, a woman spends her whole life not on herself but on her son, and she will spend it to the end being proud of her son and loving him as he is."

He also thought about Michael: "One person has freedom of movement, the joy of communication with other people and still he suffers, looking at himself in this big world and full of doubt and suffering. Another person is not the owner of his own body but only of two fingers, but he happily enjoys what he is owner of -- his mind. He preserves every droplet of his past life, every word heard in childhood, and enjoys every act in his life, even a simple melody heard once very long ago."

And he thought: "What a great thing it is to come back home to the family, to the place where someone is waiting for you! All of us must arrange something great. Exactly! We must to go together on a picnic! Or take an overnight trip! There are so many beautiful places around the city. We will go together, me and Olga and Mishka. And we can take Michael and Nancy with us – all of us together. We will find a beautiful spot and make a fire, a big fire, which will never go out and will warm all of us!"

And when he imagined that fire and all the people gathering around it, his heart suddenly felt good, as if his whole soul was suddenly filled with a warm happiness he had not experienced for a long time.