During my work, I often have to deal with passengers who have taken too much baggage, or irregular baggage. Most of the time, it’s not a problem, because there are tariffs and transport regulations for irregular baggage. And sometimes it leads to something special.
In lock-step, they approach the full-service check-in counter. A group of eight musicians, each with a cello strapped to their backs. Very clearly, they had prepared well for their trip by booking sixteen economy comfort seats — one for themselves and one for their cellos. This trip was taking them to Europe’s high, cold north, where they would provide a warm performance.
If there’s one musical instrument that moves me, it’s the cello. It’s melancholy voice touches me. The cellist at the counter was clearly charmed by my enthusiasm and opened his music case especially to introduce his beloved to me. And there lay his faithful companion in her velvet bed, showing off her curvatures proudly. It was clear to see that she had been cut from the costliest wood. Her strings shone like golden locks of hair in the sun. With his left hand, the cellist stroked his instrument as only a lover can. I understood. His cello was nothing less than his life partner. It was only logical that she should get a comfort class seat next to him.
I could see that the cellist had cared well for her and that, together, they were determined to conquer the musical world. He played a song for me. And, following this spontaneous intermezzo, he strapped his whited cello case carefully onto his back and joined the rest of the group. Their rhythmic march to customs was music to my ears.
Would the harp-playing angels on high dare to challenge this cello octet to a heavenly concert? Hallelujah!