The Old Piano. Сказка

There was an old piano which once belonged to a noble family. It was well decorated with ornaments and it had a beautiful warm sound. Everyone who heard it at concert was charmed by the brilliant clear notes. No matter who the perfomer was -- the lord’s young daughter who was still learning music, or a skilled pianist invited to an evening party -- the instrument sounded well and it seemed that the piano itself helped the performers to play.
But time passed and the nobles were forced to quit their luxurious house. The building has become a hospital for the people injured in the civil war and the piano wasn’t needed anymore. It was sold to a club where crowds gathered and sang revolutionary hymns and folk songs. This wasn’t quite what the piano liked. Its keyboard wasn’t treated with enough care, and several strings were out of tune. In fact, the piano was now somewhat like a country accordion. It felt sad that its art didn’t get respect anymore. Once the piano was a performer’s friend; now it has become only a tool. Many people made a lot of noise on the poor piano keys, playing snatches of songs without true love for the music. The old piano was worried whether it could get a decent owner again.
Several years ago, the club moved to another place and the house where it was previously situated now became a bookstore. There was not enough room for a piano among the shelves so it was put outside like a decoration. The piano couldn’t produce such a good sound as before because it needed serious restoration. They colored it with green wall paint and a flower bed was made round the piano legs. Flowers were very pretty but the situation was awkward. The ancient and pround instrument stood on the street, surrounded with dirty soil. Sometimes the shop workers came and watered the flowers, and the piano felt bad because of the moisture. It was so dissapointed in humans! It couldn’t understand why did they treat him so bad. It was not a garden sculpture, after all! But what could it do? Without performer’s hands the piano was mute and couldn’t tell anything.
The worst thing in being a musical instrument is that you cannot play yourself. No matter whether you are a Stradivari violin or a cheap recorder, your voice won’t be heard without a musician. But people can live without playing music while it is impossible for a piano to stay numb. The old piano came to a conclusion that though instruments are not just tools for people, humans also couldn’t do much music without the help of instruments. Therefore, the performer and his (her) instrument should support each other and work together. Each instrument dreams of finding its own perfect performer but not all of them succeed. Many instruments feel lonely and tired of long waiting for any musician. But how happy they are when somebody finally comes to take them! Violins, guitars or trumpets are a dozen times more happier than the person who buys them because there is nothing better for an instrument than to be owned and played with love and inspiration.
Now the piano felt better because it had hope for better times. It tried to think about all the good things in its long life: the sweet little hands of the nobleman’s daughter; the first kiss of her elder brother and his fiancee that happened in the living room next to the piano; sun rays falling down on the keyboard, caressing the keys… the nice process of cleaning and tuning… has it all really been so long ago? How many years have passed?
The man on the street checked his spectacles and uttered a sigh, touching the closed piano lid. He wore a long overcoat, a round hat and thick crochet mittens. Swiping away the snowdrops that kept falling, he mumbled something about cruel people, bad weather and warm room. The piano haven’t met this man before but it suddenly felt a sence of relief, like the person in front of it had already formed a bond with the shattered instument.
“You are a very precious thing,” said the man, “I don’t want to leave you here. Let’s come to my home”.