by Diane Baumer
He would usually make fun of her plain clothing style. Overreacting amused him so much... “The Widow of Music,” he would dub her. Aurora smiled even though it was not funny to her. References to death would cause the pianist to shiver. However, what else could she do if there was no wickedness in François’ intentions? Any hint of pessimism or sadness would make him sick.
I’d need a constant transfusion of his joy. Without a piano I’m a still life. I feel like one of those luxuriant huge trees whose leaves sound imposing when swayed by the wind, yet they are supported by a hollow trunk.
She reproached herself for not listening to the voice of sound judgment when it had advised her against starting a relationship with him. He was too attractive, too social, too self-sufficient... Too great a man for me. Why should an insecure person like me be with such a guy? Just to head for the abyss…
Now, there was no going back. She was hopelessly in love with him and relied heavily on his overflowing optimism to live. How did I dare to even imagine something like this happening to me? The only thing I can do is to press black and white keys. That’s the sole thing I’ve done in my lifetime.
When she leaned over the orchestra, she was taken over by panic. Among all the seats taken by people who admired her, she only cared about one which was still empty. Where could he possibly be? This is unusual. It really is, no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise.
“Five minutes to start, Miss Maldonado.”
A man approached holding a dossier in his hand.
“What is all this frightened face about? Don’t tell me you still get nervous before a concert.”
“I...”
I don’t, unless I’m awaiting a death confirmation, she thought.
“I will give a short speech before you start. I am Juan Suárez. I was a friend of your father’s. Jerónimo Maldonado… He was such an excellent person and had such a talented voice! I am really sorry about what happened. Your mother was a wonderful woman, too. Every time I remember her accompanying him on the piano despite how sick she was, I get goosebumps. Do you remember me?”
Lina tried to recall. Unfortunately, she had few memories of her childhood.
“I am sorry...”
“Don’t worry. You were too young. I remember you so clearly – you were such a cheerful and spirited kid.”
Cheerful? Are you talking about myself? she wondered.
“If your parents are somewhere listening to your music, they will feel so proud of you. Well, I didn’t mean to make you sad. I will leave you alone. I didn’t want to bother you, but greeting you was too tempting…”
Lina felt ashamed of herself. If my parents could see me now, they wouldn’t understand me letting myself be ruined by a man – one who isn’t considerate enough to tell me why he abandons me before a concert. I’ll just go onstage and perform better than ever. Indeed, my audience deserves some respect.
The pianist felt she was recovering her strength. How stupid she had been! Throwing away years of sacrifice for a latecomer... Fortunately enough, she had regained sanity in time! I don’t care about him. I am a little indifferent to him. If he comes, I’ll be fine; otherwise, I’ll be fine all the same.
The poor wretch was so eager to prove she had the situation under control that she tested her fortitude by peering into the concert hall. When she realized he was not there, the reins of her sanity slipped out of her hands.
She limped into the dressing room. The man in charge of keeping the key was not there.
“This is an emergency! I need somebody to open the door.”
“Don’t worry, calm down – I will see if I can find my colleague.”
When Lina was finally inside, she pounced on her phone.
He probably called, I got it... Anyway, why doesn’t the light flicker?
The pianist dialed his number in nervousness. After several tones, the voicemail popped up: “Thank you for calling. This is François’ voicemail. Please leave a message after the tone – I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
I think I’ll call the police. I’ll ask them to search for him in hospitals, funeral homes, or wherever.
She did not have time to dial the number. A sudden retching forced her to take the wastebasket so she would not vomit on the floor.
Once again, the attendant knocked on the door.
“Miss Maldonado, is everything okay? They are already introducing you.”
Lina was not able to say a single word. I can’t play today, I just can’t. I’m paralyzed. If nothing serious had happened to him, he would have called.
She wrote one last text – Cancel. I’m not feeling well.
Seconds later she got a reply: Traffic jam. Don’t be ridiculous. Go out there and play. I’m nearly the auditorium.
Once more, Lina found herself defeated in the battle against her weakness. She walked toward the stage, with her hands on her chest and breathing with difficulty – and trembling. Sooner rather than later, it would all end up in a nervous breakdown. For sure! Besides, how was she supposed to control the tempo with her internal metronome throbbing wildly? If she was dragged by an unbridled rhythm, the concert would be a disaster.
Applause began to spin around the soloist at great speed. She greeted in embarrassment. Would they notice that she had been about to cancel because of her dependence on a man?
In the audience there was a four-year-old girl.
“My parents would also take me to concerts. Fix this in your memory, sweetie, in case the angel of death carries them away, as was my own experience,” Lina said to herself as she adjusted the height of the piano stool.
She kept her eyes closed until she was completely sure that no muscle in her body intended to betray her. I need to control my breathing.
As her hands caressed the keyboard, the pianist felt that it was vibrating slightly. Mom! Don’t leave me alone. I feel like I’m about to pass out. Are you really here, or is this just one of my fantasies? Oh, I wish I could know for sure...
She heard a childlike voice among the audience. The little girl was asking her mother when the concert would begin.
Yes, mom, here I go, the pianist said to herself.
With her face dropped by exhaustion and an alarming waxen paleness that no make-up could conceal, Lina Maldonado shocked the entire audience by magnificently performing Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Six moments musicaux, Op. 16, No. 4.
Who is moving my fingers? This vigor is not mine. I can barely hold myself.
This was followed by several works by the same composer – Prelude, Op. 23, No. 7 and Études-tableaux, Op. 39, No. 1 and Op. 33, No. 8.
When she concluded the piece, she peeked at his seat. François was not there yet. What if he had suffered an accident after the text? No, not again. I’ll just focus on the music. What shall I play next? I can’t remember. The program had Rachmaninoff on it, and then...
Her fingers groped in anguish all over the keyboard. Lina hoped they would find their position instinctively. I’m going blank... blank... What can I do? Should I just play anything at all? I’m so sorry... I don’t know what is next ...
Lina imagined that the audience would start leaving in disappointment as she remained sitting at the piano for good, aging in complete solitude.
The little finger on her left hand stopped when it pressed one of the keys. The rest of the hand was placed over the notes of the arpeggio. Was that major or minor? None of the fingertips was on the third.
She put her imagination to the test. That is Scriabin’s Study, Op. 2, No. 1 in C-sharp minor! Andante, luckily enough. This will help me calm down.
Although it only lasted for three minutes, the piece filled the room with a romantic melancholy.
Such calmness became overwhelmed by the Study, Op. 8, No. 12 by the same composer. The audience watched in awe as Lina’s convulsive ha
nds miraculously collapsed on the right keys, over and over again. Being on the verge of delirium, she began to listen to the terrible warning of the harmonic specters escaping from the strings – Your soul is ours. You can’t give it away, or else we’ll take him away from you, like we did with the others.
As soon as the first part came to an end, the ecstatic spectators broke into applause. They had her standing, humiliated before the empty seat, for a ten-minute-long ovation.
2. The urgency
François gestured in disgust when he saw Lina calling again. She gets so annoying at concerts! I’m not his slave.
Beautiful Endzela was lying on him, brimming with sensuality.
“My Knight of the Ardent Sword, I will make you merit the merit that Your Excellency merits.”
“Huh?”
Is this supposed to be a tongue-twister?
He signaled the young Georgian to slow down the rhythm of her movements to avoid achieving orgasm too soon. It then turns out that women in the East have a reputation for being cold… She really drives me crazy!
Excited by her novelistic mind, Endzela Dzagnidze was about to levitate. The man of her dreams demanding tenderness on their first time together seemed to be an undeniable proof of his love. She started licking the Belgian’s ear as she whispered with a medieval grace.
“My rosy-cheeked Apollo, Endzela’s tongue is as soft as a poet’s quill...”
“Huh?”
“Rubicund...”
“What?”
“Do you like my inmoniums? Or rather... Incomiums? What was the word, François?”2
“I don’t know... I can’t understand anything you are saying, but don’t worry – what I see is enough for me... Put your hair up in a bun, please. It conceals your body, which is a shame to miss.”
She did as requested and lay down in a position opposite of his.
“My noble gentleman, give me your grace, and give me some solace.”
“Where did you learn that stuff?”
“From Spanish literature classics. I like dedicating beautiful words to you.”
“You flatter me, milady.”
“You don’t deserve less, my lord.”
François frowned at his phone flickering again. I should put it on speaker, so Lina can hear us. She can be a real maniac…
The young secretary, sensing he was distracted, strove to excite him. She was head over heels in love with her boss – he was an art market investment advisor, spoke several languages; he was Belgian, handsome, elegant... At first, she had strictly forbidden herself to succumb to temptation! The girl had repeated every morning that falling in love with him would sooner or later bring about complications. Given her current situation, she could not take her chances. The Georgian had found the job when she was about to lose her Spanish residency.
However, François was the most attractive man she had ever seen in her life – he was over six feet tall, with painstakingly-ruffled light brown hair, slanted almond-shaped eyes which stood out against his long black lashes; unique nose, jaw, and cheekbones; not-too-muscular virile body, golden skin, manly voice; he was mature, charming...
In the interview, everything turned out to be crystal-clear to him. She had perfectly met the requirements for the post – proficient in Russian and English, polite, beautiful… François liked everything about Endzela – her idealism, her sweetness, her innocence, her good manners...
For a while, his subtle attempts to take her to bed proved unsuccessful. That girl was like an impregnable wall. Had the noble gentleman not been right before her eyes at all times, he would have given up. François had an excessive amount of women at his disposal. However, after seeing her, smelling her fragrance, and hearing her voice day after day, his lust for the Georgian girl became an obsession.
Endzela herself would gather rational arguments to resist. In times of weakness, she would think of her four-year-old son Vasyl. She had left him in Georgia in the care of her mother and grandfather. The girl would send them money every month. She was the only source of income for the family, so she could not throw it all away.
How had her life changed since that time she called François and proposed a meeting? She had received an envelope with the keys to an apartment and a note – “Send your earnings to Vasyl. I don’t want your son to suffer any sort of hardship. This is not a gift for you. Accept it in his behalf.” François loved children. Sometimes he cried when she talked about Vasyl – he always emphasized that parents had to love their children unconditionally. The Belgian was perfect. Why miss an opportunity like that?
The Belgian was perfect. Why miss an opportunity like that?
At long last, there they were, in a luxurious hotel near the auditorium where Lina was awaiting him in nervousness.
They had just changed positions when the phone flickered again. François looked at it out of the corner of his eye. She just won’t stop rattling my cage. She’s so stodgy, clingy, schmo, nuts... What time is it? How time flies! Is there a never-ending intermission? I need to be there before the concert ends.
Endzela noticed that the call had upset him.
“Is there anything wrong? If it’s urgent, just answer.”
“No. It’s just... I have to finish quickly. There’s a problem with a client I need to work out.”
No sooner said than done, François lay on her and finished in fifteen seconds. She was left longing for more, but did not say anything because this was their first time.
François asked her if it was customary in her country to recite literary quotes while making love. Endzela could not help but laugh with that sweet, spontaneous chuckle that the Belgian used to find so dazzling.
“No, it’s just me. Do you like them?”
“I like everything about you.”
“It’s a shame you don’t understand my language. If you could, together we would enjoy the poets and writers from my country. I got my degree in Georgian Studies for the love of their texts.”
“Miss, you should make your choices using this one,” he said as he pointed at his head. “You should have studied something more practical. You’ll never find a job with that major, you know? You should be a little smarter. I’ll make love to you nonstop until my ambition rubs off on you.”
“Oh, my brain treasures a great wealth. I’m satisfied with that. My dream is to become a translator or an interpreter. I spend all my free time studying Spanish to get my degree.”
“I’ll correct you if you make a mistake. I speak it as well as French. My mom is a Spaniard. She fell in love with my father and moved to Belgium. François is the fruit of their love,” he said as his deeply-touched eyes became wet.
She wanted to give her sensitive lover the delicacy of her kisses as she spaced out words from her homeland.
“What did you just say?” he asked curiously as he heard her speak in Georgian.
Endzela said it again more slowly, keeping her passionate captivating tone.
François repeated the syllables, not understanding what they were supposed to mean.
“Did I get that right? That sounds pretty…”
She nodded.
“It means – ‘I speak of the lower passions of a man who, when not lustfully kissing, strives to imitate love, but only faints from afar.’ This was written by Shota Rustaveli, one of the greatest poets in history and in my country. Do you like my mouth when it speaks my language?”
“Yes, I do like your mouth – both listening to and tasting it.”
He approached her lips, and they kissed.
3. Imaginations
In the dressing room, Lina cursed the vulnerable being in the mirror. How can I expect him to respect me if I can’t respect myself? The wait is over. I’m going home.
The door opened wide and François walked toward her exultantly – he was carrying a bouquet of flowers.
>
“You were amazing! Nothing compares to such great mastery! Plus, what an outstanding control! You didn’t get a single note wrong.”
Her decay turned to rage. How does he dare to lie so shamelessly?
She kicked the bouquet.
“You liar! You just got here!”
François picked up the flowers unhurriedly.
“Cool down, Miss Spanish lady... That’s your tension from the concert – don’t take it out on me. It’s not fair, considering the stress I’ve been through to make it here and see you play!”
When the Belgian put his hand around her waist, Lina writhed in pain.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“I fell,” she said trying to downplay it.
François dares to accuse me of using a strategy to make him feel bad.
“You see? I can’t leave you alone even for a minute! Luckily, you were sublime. François is still trembling! Put your hand on my heart. Feel that strong beating?”
“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. Your seat was empty.”
“I’m so sorry. I just kept it a secret – I didn’t want to make you worry. Your poor mind is overwhelmed by itself. I had a strong pain on the left side of my chest and went to the hospital. Do you remember at noon you told me I was looking too serious? François was not feeling well. Fortunately, there’s nothing to worry about. Just a pulled muscle. I got here late because of traffic, so the usher seated me at the back. You see how simple everything is?”
Lina put her hand on her heart in fright.
“I knew there was something wrong with you. And yet, I made myself believe it was just my imagination. Did the doctor make sure everything else was fine? Oh, François... I’m scared.”
Once again, the Belgian threw his arms around the pianist’s wrist as he started to whisper in her ear.
“It’s over now. Everything is okay. Forget about it. Don’t start getting obsessed. François will always be there for you, alive and kicking. Nothing can destroy him.”