But a tuner’s work is not complete once he puts down his tools at the end of a job. It only comes alive when the client plays the piano, and that is why you have to walk and take the slow route. You have to listen to the wishes of whoever is performing, and you can’t expect to get there in a single leap without making any tweaks. You get closer as you check things, one step at a time. You tread that path with utmost care, which is why you leave footprints. At some point you’ll get confused and need those footprints to retrace your steps. You work out how far back you need to go, and where you made your mistake, until you’re satisfied with the adjustments. And you can take someone’s request into consideration and retune on their behalf, too. You will struggle mightily, remember with your ears and your body where and how you went wrong, but en route towards your chosen goal you can still listen to another person’s desires and make those wishes come true.

‘Oh.’

I said this more or less to myself, but Mr Yanagi, who’d been resting with his eyes shut in the passenger seat beside me, sat bolt upright.

‘What’s wrong?’ he said.

‘Nothing.’

‘This car doesn’t have snow tyres so drive carefully, will you? I mean, can you believe we’re getting such a snowfall at this time of year?’

‘A noodle place with a good reputation,’ I replied.

‘What?’

I thought, They make the taste strong so the first bite is memorable because they don’t know who’ll be eating it. If they knew who was eating it, they could adjust it to suit individual preferences.

Aloud, I said, ‘Shall we stop by at this noodle place, then?’

Mr Yanagi looked over at me and smiled. ‘Why not? It’s fine so long as we don’t do it too often. So where is this popular noodle place, anyway?’

‘I’m sorry. It’s a metaphor.’

Disappointment washed over Mr Yanagi’s face.

‘I’ll look for one – a place you’ll really like,’ I said.

Mr Yanagi’s eyes stayed firmly shut after this.

As I drove I mulled over the day’s activities. The client’s remarks weren’t just from spite, I decided. Something really was missing from the sound I had created. Mr Kamijo might not be the most diligent pianist, and might not have touched his piano at home for some time. But when he did, he sensed that something wasn’t right – that the piano sounded different from usual.

Mr Yanagi was capable of things that were way beyond me. I knew this, but still it was scary to have a client confront and reject you like that. And it was doubly scary that I had no idea what it was I had done wrong or had missed.

‘Scary? What is?’