Human voice

While posting something on Facebook earlier I watched (as you do - err, what was I doing . . .) a video posted by a friend. The choice of song isn't something I would particularly listen to but the voice is extraordinary goose-bump wise.
The twenty-two year old from Kazakhstan, Dimash Kudaibergenov has an incredible octave range, and happily for him, he's lovely to watch too.
Someone has kindly made this collection of extracts of people's reaction to his singing - worth catching especially the girl's reaction at around 8.42 . . .
We are all moved by art, ballet, sunsets, orchestras, films, books, cake, etc, but perhaps a truly unusual and frisson-inducing voice unites most humans.
It was especially interesting to me to find this as I recently wrote a short story that features humans' emotional reactions to singing.
In the story, Dog, an Earth-visiting alien slowly pieces together but possibly never understands human behaviour. Befriended and given shelter by a young woman called Ruby, our hero is left in her flat while she goes to work. After trying all of the fridge's contents and exploring her book collection he takes a bath.  When his saviour returns and hears him singing in the bathroom she reacts in a way that surprises him.

Voice

I like this so much that I stand and try out all the modulations, tones and possibilities. Jars and bottles rattle. The water surface undulates against my legs.

As I reach the top note that I can see – blue with shimmering edges – the bathroom door opens. Ruby stands with the open-mouthed expression again. She has dropped her bag. Tears run.

I stop the singing and the sound continues, flailing itself against the tiles.

Taking a cloth from a pile, I step out and wrap my lower half.

“Forgive me, did my phonic experiment alarm you?”

She says nothing but steps forward, even lunges; grasps me and fastens her mouth to mine. Hot colour swarms in my head. My tongue dances in her mouth as her hands slide over my wet skin.

She pulls away suddenly: “Oh . . . I don’t know quite what happened. Sorry.”

I think about this gift: “So, that was a kiss?”

“It was . . . but I don’t usually go about seizing and kissing people – well, at least not without knowing them for a while.”

I pull her back to me: “Would you mind if we did it again?”