Martinu paced up and down the stage. He’d only had time to write in between rehearsals, so he didn’t have much time to write his latest, currently-unfinished piece.
Which, by the way, was to be performed next week.
Need this author say more?
“Sir?” A stage hand peeked out of the prop room. Martinu jumped.
“Hm? What?” he mumbled, distracted.
“The director wants to see you. He needs to go over your premiere next week.”
He shuddered. “Thank you.” Then an idea struck him. “You there!” he called to the retreating stage hand.
“Yes sir?” he called tentatively.
“Look into the prop room. What are the first six instruments you can see from the very spot you are in?”
The stage hand looked rather confused, but peered into the room as he was instructed. “Um… an oboe, a piano… two bassoons… a flute… and a giant clarinet.”
“That’s all I can see, sir.”
The composer nodded and smiled, satisfied. “Thank you very much. Could you please tell the director I'll have to meet with him later? I’m a bit tied up at the moment.” Martinu scurried back to his podium, notes flying around in his head.