The Cello Lessons – Part 1: Open Strings

"You are playing it like an apology," said Tobias.

Felix lowered the bow. He was thirty-three, a software engineer from Linz, sitting in a sunny music room in Salzburg, gripping a rented cello with the care of a man handling a sleeping baby. The room had a high ceiling, a battered upright piano and a view of the green hills. Dust floated in the light.

"I don't want to break it."

"You will not break it."

"I'm not good at it."

"No. Nobody is, at first. But you are being polite to it." Tobias, thirty-six, tall and long-limbed, with untidy fair hair, a worn jumper and kind grey eyes, sat down across from him and took up his own cello. "Listen."

He drew the bow across the lowest string. A deep, warm, rich note rolled out, filling the room. Felix felt it in his ribs.

"That is a C," said Tobias. "It is the lowest note. It should not be quiet. It should shake the furniture."

"I'll try."

"Do not try. Do."

Felix drew the bow. It was thin and scratchy. Tobias shook his head, smiling, and came round behind him, placing a hand on his bow arm. "Use the weight of your arm. Not the muscle. Let it fall into the string."

The bow dropped. The note swelled, rich and low. Felix's eyes widened.

"There," murmured Tobias.

"It's... it's enormous."

"It is you."

For weeks, Felix came every Thursday. He learned scales, then simple pieces. He practised in his flat until the neighbours knocked. Tobias taught patiently, firmly, with a dry humour. They drank tea after lessons in the little kitchen at the back, talking about everything but music.

"Can I ask you something?" said Felix.

"Yes."

"Why did you say it should shake the furniture?"

"Because I wanted you to take up room," said Tobias. "You apologise for it constantly."

Felix looked at his hands. "Nobody's ever noticed."

"I notice. It is my job. Green?" said Tobias, a little shyly, a colour of a string.

"Green," said Felix, smiling. "Very green. Again."

Continue the story: Part 2 – The Recital.