And I feel as if I’m way at the bottom. Facing the first step of a long, steep staircase.

My violin lies at the very top, on the landing. I move the bow…on air.

I ask to be allowed to get my violin. I climb onto the first step.

But the person in charge of the step pushes me aside and asks: ‘Where are you going?’ I point to my bow and explain that my violin’s up there.

‘But what do you plan to play on the violin? Tell us, describe it to us. We’ll discuss it; we’ll correct it; we’ll add to it; we’ll coordinate it with the other steps; we’ll reject or confirm it.’

I say that I’m a composer. And I write not with words, but with sounds.

Then they ask me not to worry. And take away the bow.