That had been before, and it was again daytime. I was climbing a mountain with my double bass, playing a few notes every few minutes. It was a piece by Bottessini, i think, and this is how it was supposed to be performed. Then one of the strings broke, and as I started to go back the way i had come I realized that this was a different version than the one I had played before. It looked very difficult to get back down, especially with the bass. It seemed like I would need both of my hands to steady my descent and I had no idea what to do with the instrument. I started up again and remembered something. There was a cave somewhere that served as a shortcut and that was why this didn't seem familiar. I looked around the coniferous trees for a path that branched off.
I was handing over a red 100 dollar bill for a new string and was very much indoors again. I was standing at the side of a booth where the luthier was saying something to me while a line of people were paying someone else at a cash register for ice skates, I think. The luthier was very insistent and had decided that he had to make a new hole in the bass. But it was trepanning he was talking about. Two assistants wielding hammers walked away briskly saying let's get it done. Someone else waiting to pay shook his head no at me telling me that the man was crazy and not to let them do it. I kept explaining that perhaps it didn't sound loud enough because i had two basses and didn't play this one very much - that this was the instrument I climbed mountains with but the other one sounded much better and that perhaps it didn't need a trepanation. I was talking to no one and had to walk through the warehouse to find the office where the luthier was. As I approached I noticed three names on wooden plates next to the two offices. The bottom name was the once-famous composer and luthier. A Russian cellist I knew was being consulted in the office in front of me. He was sitting with his back towards me and nodding at the person at the desk but looked back at me as I walked by and raised his eyebrows. The luthier, who was also the composer of something and apparently someone respected in another era but just permitted to hang around these days, was in the next office, to the left of the first, shaking his head.