Sometimes at night, especially when it rains, my mind travels - more often back to my childhood. And then the violin teacher appears. He wore a faded frock coat and a disheveled wig - we used to laugh with him. But when my mother would enter the room after the lesson (perhaps for her sake), he played something different - a calm and serious melody that suddenly made us serious too, as if we vaguely guessed that deep down, music is not passion or dream, nostalgia or daydreaming, but another kind of justice.

[Excerpt from the text on the back cover of the edition]