A grandma. A small slum. On her anniversary day she turns the 40 years old record on her reel-to-reel tape-recorder. To the strains of the young friends’ and relatives’ voices she thoroughly lays a holiday table. Dishes, tea service, cutlery. A long raw of glasses on the white cloth. Anniversary greetings, wishes of happiness and long life, dreams and plans of the people of bygone epoch are heard at the record. It’s hard for grandma, but she keeps carefully laying the table. Finally, the record stops. The grandma sits at the served table: there are no food or drinks, only dishes and cutlery. For a moment she sits with no motion. She cries silently. Then the grandma sighs and starts to draw the cloth.

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