ピアノが止まった二週間

The flat I live in is on the third floor, and in the flat below there is a primary-school girl. Since last summer, piano practice has started at seven every evening. My work is normally in the daytime, and though it is not every week, there are times when I work at night. On those days I make a point of sleeping from seven until half past nine, so the sound of the piano wakes me up at exactly that time.

At the end of May I wrote a short letter. "I am sorry to ask, and only on the days I work at night, but could you please make the practice time a little earlier? Thank you in advance for your kind consideration." I wrote only the number of my third-floor flat, and put it in the post box of the flat below during the night.

On my next night-work day, and the week after that as well, the sound of the piano was no longer to be heard at seven. One week was quiet, and two weeks were quiet. I wondered whether my letter had been too strong. When seven o'clock came, it was I who started looking at the clock.

On a Saturday in June I met the mother from the flat below on the stairs. I brought the letter up myself. She smiled and said, "Your letter did reach us." From the day after it, practice moved to six o'clock — but three days after that, she says, the girl fell over at school and broke her wrist. I hear she cannot play the piano for three weeks.

My voice suddenly would not come, and all I said was, "I hope it heals soon." The girl was standing quietly in the corridor. Her wrist healed, and from the beginning of July it was decided that she would practise from six o'clock again. Even now, when the sound starts at six, I think: so the wrist is all right again.