Mr Yanagi had a good reputation among the clients. Primarily, of course, because he was a skilled tuner, but being good at conversation was also important. He could follow any topic a client might bring up, and chime in intelligently. As for me, it seemed the best I could manage was to stand to one side and be awkward.

‘Oh, I’m not talking about the art of conversation or being cultured or anything like that. But I think it helps with the essence of tuning a piano.’

The essence of tuning. I didn’t understand what that meant. I was a mere apprentice, hovering on the periphery.

‘Knowing specific names of things so you can picture the details is more important than you might think.’

I must have looked lost because Mr Yanagi pondered a while before offering an example. ‘For instance,’ he began, and I braced myself. His examples could be quite obscure. ‘Do you like cheese?’ he asked.

‘I do.’ I knew he was heading for a complicated analogy but could find no other way to respond.

‘I like cheese too. Much like most people – or so I thought. A little while ago I sampled some award-winning hardcore cheese covered in mould and was blown away. This cheese was in a category all of its own, with a quite extraordinary flavour and a smell few people could tolerate. Still, a lot of people acknowledged how great it was, and it won a prize. There are those who love it and can’t get enough of it. The power of taste can be pretty profound.’

I considered this as I walked along. Tuning and cheese. How on earth were the two connected?

‘You see, Tomura, if a client asked you to tune their piano so it was like cheese, what would you do?’

I stopped and looked earnestly at Mr Yanagi, and raised my arms in a ‘what-do-I-know?’ sort of way.

‘First,’ he said, grabbing the bull by the horns, ‘I’d find out what type of cheese they meant. ‘Natural or processed, and how long it was aged for.’

Where was he going with this? And what did it have to do with finding tone?

‘Bear with me.’ Mr Yanagi smiled and nodded. ‘Think about eggs – boiled eggs, for example. Some people like them soft-boiled, others like them harder.’

I remained nonplussed.

‘But even within the soft-boiled category, there are degrees: some like the yolks to run away from them, others prefer them just on the turn – soft, but not runny. I like them a little harder myself, by the way, sprinkled with a little salt and a drizzle of olive oil. Delicious.’

I’d never eaten a boiled egg with olive oil. I didn’t even own a bottle of the stuff.