Masha runs a tiny bakery there. She is thirty-four, far away from Moscow, living in her grandfather's old wooden house. The bakery is not big - just two tables, an old samovar that stays warm all day, and a few plants on the windowsill that stay green even in the snow.
Masha's grandfather, Ivan Petrovich, was known in the whole town for one habit. Every winter, when the lake froze completely, he would go to the lake early in the morning, press his ear to the ice and listen, and then come home and write something in a small notebook.
As a child Masha would ask, "Dedushka, what do you listen to in the ice?"
He would laugh and say, "The ice sings, Mashenka. A different song every year."
Masha used to think he was joking.
Last winter, her grandfather passed away. He left the house, the bakery and all his books to Masha.
This year, for the first time, Masha was running the bakery alone. By the end of November the lake had started to freeze. One day while cleaning a cupboard, she found a wooden box. There was nothing valuable inside. Just a thick notebook, and on every page a date was written - 1978, 1982, 1991, 2005... and under every date two or three lines.
12 February 1987 - Today the ice sang slowly, like a mother humming a lullaby.
3 March 1999 - Today the sound was sharp, like a bell ringing far away.
28 January 2014 - Today the ice was quiet, just breathing.
On the last page 2023 was written, but nothing under it. The page was empty.
Masha understood. Her grandfather used to write down the sound of the lake freezing every year.
The next morning, for the first time, she went to the lake like her grandfather did. Thick jacket, hat, gloves. The whole of Baikal was frozen like white glass. Tourists were taking pictures on the shore. She went a little further, where there was no one, knelt down and put her ear to the ice.
At first, nothing. Only wind.
Then slowly a sound came. A faint chime, as if someone had touched a string far away. Then another, then another. The water under the ice was moving and its echo was coming up through the top layer.
Masha's eyes filled up. It felt as if her grandfather was sitting right there beside her.
She started going every day. Every morning before opening the bakery. Sometimes she took a small tape recorder with her. She started recording those sounds.
People in the town first laughed. "Masha has become just like her grandfather."
Then one day a little girl, Anya, who bought bread from the bakery every day on her way to school, asked, "Does the ice really sing?"
Masha said, "Come, I'll show you tomorrow morning."
The next day she took Anya to the lake. They both put their ears to the ice. Anya whispered, "Didi, this sounds like a piano."
After that day, two people came, then four. Masha never called anyone, she just took whoever asked.
She started writing in her grandfather's notebook.
15 December 2025 - Today the ice sang for the first time. The sound was new, clear.
9 January 2026 - Today there were two sounds, one slow, one fast, like two people talking. Anya says it sounds like a violin.
In February a research team came from St. Petersburg to study the lake. They heard Masha's recordings and were amazed. They told her that Baikal's ice is one of the clearest and thickest in the world, and when the temperature changes the layers of ice expand and contract, which is why it makes these sounds.
Masha said, "I know it's science. But for my grandfather, it was a song."
The team, with her permission, took some of her recordings and in return put a small board on her bakery window - "You can listen to the songs of Baikal here."
Now people, along with buying bread, stop for a minute to listen to those recordings.
Last night Masha filled the last empty page of the notebook.
28 February 2026 - Today the ice sang for a very long time. It felt like Dedushka was saying, you have learned how to listen, Mashenka.
She closed the notebook and kept it near the samovar. Outside, Baikal was still frozen, white, quiet, but singing from inside.