R. A. Ashinyants' book “Sweet Burden”

Excerpt from the chapter about studying at the Moscow Conservatory

 

 

 

It was time to take the ensemble class exam. It was not possible to persuade any of the students of the string department to play these easy pieces, as it had happened in previous years - everyone had an exam session, everyone was already ‘involved’ in ensembles by earlier arrangement. Time was inexorably approaching the fateful date, and there was no one to play. I don't know, perhaps Irina saw the solution in a dream. On the eve of the exam, on a Sunday morning. 

On the eve of the examination, on a Sunday morning, she pointed her finger at me, and in a tone of voice that allowed no objection, said a single word: ‘You!’ That ‘you’ sounded like a growl, like a judgement.

Naturally, a perplexed question followed: ‘Me? What does that mean?’ Then came the stupid dialogue:

- You're going to play!

- Me? Now? What am I supposed to play?

- Don't be daft. You're playing for the exam tomorrow. So take the violin and start practising.

- That's impossible! I've forgotten when I played in public. How can I do that? I'm not a student. You and I will be graded. How do you explain this strange ensemble, who's your ensemble partner?

My arguments seemed to have some effect at first, but the hopelessness of the situation brought her back to this adventurous idea. The more she insisted, the more it amused me: I pictured the whole scene in person, worthy of Molière, and could not help laughing. It was inevitable that a scene of despair would follow, full of reproaches... ‘Why did I get mixed up with such a soulless...’ In order to avoid family ‘trouble’ I submitted. But I could not play to the end of any play - I was torn by laughter, pictures of the upcoming exam I imagined very vividly, mentally I replayed the mise-en-scene, imagined myself in the role of an imaginary student.

The next day we played these unhappy pieces at the exam. I did my best. I gave out passions where there were none. However, the examiners liked our duet, liked the music too, and in any case it was necessary to encourage the author, who was also a good ensemble player. A grade appeared in her book of credits. And I, while the discussion was going on, was going to quietly sneak out. But it wasn't to be, I was stopped at the door. ‘Young man, where are you going? Give me your grade book! Who are you studying with?’ Questions I'd anticipated and didn't know how to answer. I don't say a word. Let Irina take the blame. Everyone is silent. Question marks in the air. Finally, Irina quietly ‘whimpered’, apparently expecting punishment: ‘This is my husband‘. Silence. Everyone looked at each other strangely, then looked at us curiously. Suddenly, someone giggled, then everyone started cheering and laughing, congratulating Irina, and I quietly left the room. In the exam sheet they wrote down ‘Irina Manoukian. Five pieces for violin and piano. Performers: I. Manoukian (class of S. A. Balasanyan), R. Manoukian’. The affiliation of this mysterious Manoukian to any class is unknown.