After the painful death of her parents, thirty-nine-year-old Kati decides to leave everything behind and leave forever. However, before closing the doors of her hometown, she is determined to take an unusual step – to write thirty-seven farewell letters to those who left a mark on her life: the strict math teacher, the kind cashier, the indifferent ex-husband…
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All the words are laid down on wax paper – the same one her father had been collecting for decades and carefully wrapping her sandwiches in every morning for school. Wanting to finally cut ties with the past, Kati walks through the town streets and reads these letters directly to the recipients’ eyes.
But the carefully planned departure is stopped by Severinas. He is a former piano tuner, who ended up on the street after a disaster he caused himself and carries a heavy burden of guilt. Although they seem to be from different worlds, Severinas hears Kati’s deepest hidden pain without words and believes that this meeting is not accidental. Encountering another wounded person makes Kati question: will running away really help heal, or is it just an attempt to hide from herself? After all, fate may decide who comes into our lives, but only the heart chooses who stays in it.
A poetic novel, breathing subtle humor and life wisdom, reminds us that the greatest miracles and true healing of the soul lie in the ability to forgive and let another person hear you.
The book was translated from German by Eglė Greverė.
We invite you to read an excerpt from the book:
In a world where the pace is ever faster, the one who stands still becomes invisible.
Severinas watched Kati reading without moving for a long time. With every smile, every sigh, he tried to guess which part she was reading. It seemed he turned the pages more and more carefully, respectfully. Finally, after putting the book aside, he gently stroked the yellow cover. He looked ahead for a while longer, then started the car engine and drove away.
Severinas followed, but after just a few steps, the “beetle” had already disappeared. Still, Severinas did not stop walking in that direction, because if he had learned anything in recent years, it was to keep walking. Gradually and relentlessly, walking became a part of him, and he barely noticed it, like breathing. And all the time he looked to see if he would spot the orange Kati “beetle,” the only one in the settlement.
Gradually, all the streets and houses began to resemble each other, as the evening painted them gray, which with every stroke grew darker.
Nowhere any orange.
Instead, the sounds of the piano, like a chain of light overshadowing the darkness, caught Severinas and led him to a house whose veranda doors to the garden were open.
Johann Sebastian Bach’s Prelude in C major, the first part of the “Well-Tempered Clavier.” Severinas hadn’t heard it for a long time, and he loved its perfect simplicity, the uninterrupted flow of sixteenth notes, bringing peace and bliss.
Severinas longed for both and stepped – completely without thinking – into the garden. With shopping center bags tightly packed, pulling his hands down, and a patched-up backpack that now consisted of more patches than the original. Signs of poverty that people fear as if it were a contagious disease.
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The longer Severinas stood in the garden, the sadder he became, because the piano was a bit out of tune, some sounds were dirty.
– Excuse me, may I interrupt? – Severinas shouted towards the terrace. – Hello!
The playing stopped, and a woman appeared in the doorway. About fifty years old, dark braids wrapped around her head, a puffy dress, and shiny shoes suitable for a New Year’s concert.
– Get off our lawn immediately! We don’t give alms!
– You play wonderfully.
– Thank you, but… Please leave now!
– Your piano is out of tune.
– What?
– Not much. Only three keys.
– Thanks for the note. – She wanted to close the door.
– I know I don’t look like it, but I am a piano tuner and could quickly fix your instrument. – Severinas looked at the face, which seemed no less out of tune than the piano. – Sorry, that was a bad idea. Have a good evening.
– Wait. – The woman turned and shouted inside the house. – Pauli, come here!
– Mom, – a voice came from the second floor. – You know I’m playing on the computer now!
– There is a man in our garden. He wants to tune the piano.
After a few seconds, Paul’s voice was heard behind the festively dressed mother.
– Are you imagining the Vienna Opera again? – The young man appeared in the doorway, two heads taller than his mother, and unlike her, wearing faded T-shirts and boxing shorts, looking completely unprepared for an opera ball. – Oh, what a neat tramp.
Severinas put one bag on the ground and put his hand inside.
– Here, look: a wrench, a dust blower*, a tuning wedge, sandpaper strips, and a tuning device. It won’t take long.
He still carried his tools; without them, he felt out of place.
Despite what happened the last time he tuned a piano with them.
Since then, he hadn’t used them, hadn’t even held them. They were remnants of a life long gone. Only such a detuning he could not overlook.
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