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A GREAT SINGER'S FAME
I have all "A"s in my report card and only one "B" for penmanship. Which means I have straight "A"s, except for a "C" in singing. This is how I got it.
It was during our singing lesson. At first, we all sang "The White Birch Tree". It sounded very nice, but Boris Sergeyevich, our singing teacher, kept wincing and saying,
"Draw out your vowels!"
We started drawing out our vowels, but he clapped for silence and said, "You sound like cats yowling! I'll go over it with each one of you in-di-vi-dually."
That means one at a time.
He called on Misha first. Misha went over to the piano and whispered something to him. Then Boris Sergeyevich began to play and Misha began to sing in a piping voice:
See the snowflakes flutter down On the sparkling ice.
He was a scream. He sounded just like our kitten Murzik meow-ing. That was no way to sing. You could hardly hear him. I burst out laughing.
Boris Sergeyevich gave Misha an "A", looked at me and said,
"All right, my laughing friend, let's hear you now."
I ran up to the piano.
"What'll you sing?" he asked politely.
"A Civil War song. 'Budyonny, Lead Us into Battle'."
Boris Sergeyevich shook his head and began to play, but I stopped him right away.
"Please play it louder."
"We won't be able to hear you then."
"Sure, you will."
He started playing again. I took a deep breath and began to sing:
A red flag waves In the bright blue sky...
I really like that song. I can just see the bright blue sky on a hot day. And the horses' hooves on the road, and their beautiful purple eyes, and the red flag waving in the wind.
I shut my eyes tight from the glory of it all and shouted at the top of my voice:
We're galloping off towards the enemy lines!I was singing so well I'm sure people could hear me across the street.
I pressed my fists into my stomach. This made my voice so loud I nearly burst.
We're coming like an avalanche!
I stopped, because I was all perspired and my knees were trembling.
Boris Sergeyevich kept on playing, but he was scrunched over the piano and his shoulders were shaking.
"How's that?" I asked.
"Monstrous!" He'd never said such a nice thing about anyone before.
"It's a great song, isn't it?"
"Yes." He dabbed at his eyes with his hankie.
"Too bad you played it so quiet. It would've sounded much better if you'd played it louder."
"I'll bear that in mind. Did it strike you, though, that I was playing one song and you were singing something slightly different?"
"No. It doesn't really matter. But you still should've played it louder."
"Well, then, since you didn't notice the difference, I'll give you a 'C'. For effort."
You could've knocked me over with a feather. He couldn't mean it! A "C" was no mark for such fine singing. We could barely hear Misha singing and he got an "A". So I said,
"I'll rest up a few minutes, Boris Sergeyevich, and then I'll sing it even louder. You'll see. It's because I didn't have much for breakfast. Otherwise I could've sung it so loud I'd've made everyone deaf. I know another song. Whenever I sing it at home all the neighbors come running to see what's the matter."
"And what song is that?"
"A very sad one." I began to sing it:
I loved you... And my love may still not...
But Boris Sergeyevich shut me up in a minute. "All right. That's enough. We'll discuss it next time."
Then the bell rang for recess.
Mommy was waiting for me downstairs. We were leaving when Boris Sergeyevich came up to us. He was smiling.
"Your son may grow up to be as famous as Lobachevsky or Mendeleyev. Or Surikov, or Koltsov. I won't be surprised if he becomes a famous athlete or boxer, but there's one thing I can vouch for: he'll never share Ivan Kozlovsky's fame as a singer. Never," he said.
Mommy turned all red and said, "You never can tell!"
All the way home I kept wondering whether Ivan Kozlovsky really sings louder than me.