....But still it couldn’t believe it! Wasn’t it anything else for those hands? For those hands that touched it, over and over for long years? Wasn’t it anything more than just... just a music box?

And yet it remembered how they touched it with joy, with care, with kindness!
And it sang to them as beautifully as it could. It was always singing to them as beautifully as it could, even when they pressed its keys playfully, even at their first lessons!




  “...No, nobody is here...”
the big piano answered to itself, and the notes coming out of its chords seemed to it so out of tune in that dark attic.

“...They’re all gone...”


It felt void the space around it.
The old lamps and the beautiful rocking chair, the noisy children’s toys and the baby’s cradle wouldn’t be there any more. There wouldn’t be anything. No one would listen to it in that deserted attic in the middle –or at the edge?– of nowhere.


There wouldn’t be anyone in the house either.
The lower floors would be empty. The children had long grown up. Maybe they had long gone. Maybe they had their own families and homes.
Maybe the only thing they left behind them would be that piano! So difficult to move. So big to fit anywhere else.
An aged piano, in an aged attic, in a house also aged. In a house lost in nowhere.


“Pity” it said, and a row of tuneless notes echoed in the attic....