Текст книги "A violinist died in a god"
Автор книги: Daria Sokolkina
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 2 страниц)
– That's great! It'll make your problem easier. Good luck! There's dad here, telling me I should practice. See you in class!
– Bye, Sasha.
I made it in an hour. I don't know if Sasha's gift helped me or I'm just a brave fool by nature. The scariest part was the E – my eye can barely catch it, what can I say about my hands. I played a couple of songs from Kesha's music notebook.
In the notes, Kesha's teacher wrote that Kesha's fingers handle the process poorly and sometimes bleed. Some notes had small brown spots on them. I had my back twisted a bit when I noticed.
I went to bed listening to classical music – I found mom's disc she didn't like for some reason.
-
I almost skipped on my way, whistling pieces. They were mostly Brahms' Hungarian dances.
While Iosif hurried at the speed of snails, I had time to finish the book.
– Good afternoon, Kamnev. Are you performing Brahms with your mouth? Where did you learn about him?
– I don't need to live under a rock.
– That's also right. – He unlocked the class door. – Today's topic is very interesting – note duration.
– Duration? I know about it already.
He showed his teeth in disgust.
– But how?
– My brother had a music notebook. It's written about everything in there.
Iosif lowered his eyelids.
– I don't think his teacher explained the quarter notes very well.
Now it was my time to ask him, "but how."
– I'll show you. Let's tune first.
I took my device out of the case. The A wasn't an A.
– Give me that.
– I can tune already. I will.
– You can't.
– Are you sure?
I grabbed the peg and began pinching the A, gradually pushing the peg into the pegbox.
– Can't you hear that? It's an A flat. More.
– I don't know about you but I have no desire to break the string. It's an A natural.
He exhaled quickly.
– Where are you from, so smart?
I smiled.
– Okay, nevermind. Durations.
While we were looking at the new subject, Sasha arrived.
– Hello, Alexandra Sergeievna! – Iosif rolled around to see the newcomer. – Look, Kamnev, Sasha can say right now how many thirty-second notes there are in a whole note.
– No, Iosif Seraphimovich, I can't, – she looked at the floor.
– But I can! – A voice could be heard behind their backs. – Thirty-two thirty-second notes.
– You're some kind of unrecognized genius, Kamnev.
– I could say the same but without being sarcastic, – Sasha opened her case.
– Shush. Let's continue.
While we were looking through not-so-new information for me, I noticed a small piece on the table, a one-page piece. Stealthily, while Iosif was distracted with Sasha's tarantella, I picked up my diva and began playing in the silent moment.
– Get this, thitry-second notes – they're light, quick… Kamnev, what are you doing?
I continued performing the piece, not looking at him, even when he put his trembling chicken leg upon my shoulder.
– Kamnev, respond, goddammit!
I stopped.
– What should I tell you? Here we mostly have eighth notes. Eighth and quarter pauses. Everything's just too simple.
– We're done for today. You know the durations, I don't need anything else from you today.
– But we still have some times left. Maybe you could show me something new?
– Get out, Kamnev.
I didn't say anything.
While I was getting dressed in the hallway, my ears caught a funny conversation.
– …It's impossible. No. I refuse to believe in it. He studied before me, somewhere.
– Iosif Seraphimovich, don't worry.
– Alexander Pavlovich! – Sasha rushed from behind the corner.
– What's up, Sasha? You had to leave too?
She only smiled.
– There's a concert in the school soon. Unfortunately, despite all your talent, you won't be performing. I've been getting ready for this my whole life. Do you know Vittorio Monti?
– I think I do. He wrote something similar to your tarantella.
Sasha laughed out loud and began making a parody of Monti's fast part of the piece.
– The entrance is free. Come to the concert! It's going to happen right in the concert hall. I'll be looking for you in the seats.
– I'm sold. I'll come.
– Good luck, Alexander Pavlovich! God loves you.
How kind she is. If she isn't the purest creature on this earth then I don't know who is.
-
Today was a warm sunny day. I learned this when I went to smoke on the balcony.
Mom said she needed to do something, asked me to lock the door after her and left.
I was sleeping when Sasha called. She invited me to the park. I got ready instantly.
Sasha sat on a bench, swinging her legs while reading some notebook. She was so deep into the words she didn't raise her eyes.
– Hi, Sasha.
– Oh! Good afternoon, Alexander Pavlovich. – She shut the notebook. – I would like to share something special with you.
– And what is it?
– Something special, that's what I'm saying. At home, mom would laugh. She doesn't like it when I read them or compose new ones.
– Poems, right?
– No, arias! – A thousand tiny bells blessed my ears.
– Could you read me one of them?
Sasha opened her thick notebook and began reading:
Us both, we will die on the sunrise,
Me, you, on this sad, sinful earth.
The dusk, it will shine ever brighter,
The days didn't give us this girth.
She went silent.
– And what comes next, Sasha?
– I haven't composed it yet. – She turned the page quickly. – I also have an idea for a waltz.
We will be born, we won't be the same, no,
We wlll be close to the ones who will care for,
If you're not certain – look to the skies up above.
There you will see what Lord sees when he's sleeping.
Birds, they come back to be gone from their keeping.
But nothing could fill the hole in me where once was love.
– And what's the melody? Sasha, why won't you sing?
– I'll try to make up one now.
Sasha began singing the lyrics in a 3/4 time signature, in the waltz rhythm. Her magic took me where there isn't any pain or tears.
I almost fell off the bench.
– How was that? – Her face frowned. – Alexander Pavlovich, why are you silent? I did think it would be pathetic.
– No, don't say that. – I got out of coma. – It's beautiful…
– Don't lie to me if it isn't so. – She got an over-the-top sad expression. – Ha-ha! Bought that? Thank you very much, – she closed the notebook. – And you, have you ever written poems?
– I only wrote one stupid poem when I was little. I don't even know what it means.
– Can you tell me it?
– Okay, – I showed my teeth.
Time has passed, mur bears still sleep,
Day has long been done.
In the morn, they'll see a film,
But they sleep for now.
It seemed Sasha was ready to pop from laughter. So was I.
– And now, let's get serious. Try to compose a good poem, at least two lines.
– Sasha, I can't…
– Pretend that you can.
– This curse of mine, you'll be beside me, – I got still, – my fate, it wears a ball and chain…
– Yeah, with Iosif Seraphimovich it won't be pleasant at all.
High heels walked behind us and stopped.
– Oh, I forgot! Czardas. Alexander Pavlovich, dad's going to kill me. I have to go.
– See you, Sasha.
Sasha ran as fact as she could, almost losing the notebook. The stranger took her place.
– What a wonderful beginning! You're talented.
She looked like a marigold bud that didn't have time to see the sun and died under the snow. Her hazelnut hair wasn't long, and her shape wasn't too attractive, but she didn't lose any charisma from that.
– H-hello.
– Isn't your name Alexander Pavlovich? – The woman smiled. – I'm Marina Vasilievna. You shouldn't be called by your name and your patronymic at your age.
– You seem familiar. I saw you on our town's TV channel.
– That's because my last name is Zlatokrylova.
– That's right! – I jumped. – You sing!
– I do, my dear. And I respect any youth that begins its way. Tell me, are you a musician? – You have a very good size of your poem.
– Well…
I didn't hide anything and told her my story in all its honesty.
– I see. My condolences. It's always hard to lose one's loved ones. But you're doing good – you didn't leave your brother's instrument to get covered with dust and now you're using it well.
– My mom wanted to exchange it to pinot grigio.
– What tastes. Your mom doesn't know what's being brewed at Abrau Durso.
Now we smiled together. I exhaled through my nose loudly.
Marina Vasilievna got a piece of paper from her bag, scribbled a number on it and handed it to me.
– Call me, don't be shy. But if you have my fans among your friends, I'll shoot you, – she winked.
– Thank you, Marina Vasilievna. I respect your genius, – my face got red.
– It's mutual, dear Sasha.
– W-would you like to go to a concert with me? My friend will be performing a solo there.
– My dear, it's always easy to find me when it's about good performers. But for now – goodbye.
– Goodbye, Marina Vasilievna.
I kept the piece of paper in my hand as if it were the most precious thing I've ever had. When I got home, I hid it in a forgotten book. Just in case.
-
The day of Sasha's concert has come.
I woke up a few hours before the concert because I wanted to practice for some time. This day seemed generous to me, almost ready to share the youth's talents with me, the youth that's going to ignite that fire in me that got dimmed long ago, when Kesha was still with me.
While practicing with the mockery Iosif has given me, I didn't notice how time flew by and hurried to catch a taxi.
Grumpy dark skies don't have mercy and never tell where to go. But I notived the school building and ran right towards it.
That same rosin smell. It's surpsiring how I have it everywhere I go. By the corner of my eye, I noticed children in black and heard them tuning. Double notes seemed to have lost their charm for me, because now I heard them often.
I took my coat off, left it in the dressing room and entered the hall.
It's been a while since my last visit to such halls, so I started looking around.
The stage is bright under the majestic yellowish lights from above. Upon it, there lie two mighty double basses, chairs for performers everywhere on it. I shivered because I couldn't wait.
Teachers sat on their places like pigeons on warm ground in winter. I sat on a peasant seat but I didn't complain.
Finally early birds began walking out, to each their own instrument – some carried heavy cellos in fragile hands, some were similar to me or Sasha, one boy had a tuba in his arms.
I saw Sasha and felt chills coming down my spine. I was filled with pure happiness. I almost forgot to clap.
A lady came to the stage and told us about the concert. She soon left the view. In deathly silence began the celebration under the conductor's hand. I drowned in greatness of the instruments and their range and sound diversity. I couldn't believe children could copy the composer's intention so exactly. It seemed to me it would never end, but soon they announced the end of the first part.
Some parents and teachers began leaving. This gave me the chance to sit closer to the stage.
The third ring has rung, everyone came back. Fortunately, the person who had my seat has left, so nobody claimed it. The second part began. The announcer lady spoke fiery words and finished by naming the piece.
– …solo by Alexandra Tchernookova!
My heart jumped. My soul, my pride and sorrow, my angel. Little Sasha is performing her solo. I looked as careful as I could and forgot to breathe.
Everything in her had grace, no movement of hers could be named clumsy. She tuned with barely noticeable bow jumps, like a mother kissing her child goodnight. The grand piano began playing, Sasha put the bow into the strings.
God himself told my heart to sing. If it could sing, it would want to do it, but it wouldn't disturb the harmony, it wouldn't interrupt the perfection. I believed without any doubt that Sasha never makes mistakes, either at home, at school or on stage. Her hands seemed blessed by God's lips to me, the spotlight shining looked like a halo. My mind got blurred, but, oh my, what a pleasure it was to obey the blur and get away from all thoughts for the sake of just one of them, the final one, for this spark, this flash, blessing right before the ending, when it all ends, but you don't go anywhere, letting this thousand suns to swallow you whole instead.
A voice got me back from the hypnosis, a voice of a couple sitting close to me.
– Look, she's playing so well. I bet she didn't have a childhood.
– Yeah, it's either a happy childhood or hard work. On stage her whole life. What a shame we weren't given to a music school.
It seemed a knife sliced me. A lightning flashed in my brain and tore it through.
I remembered about all my sorrows again. I began pleading someone I didn't know, I asked for time to come back. Give me the possibility to live this life again, let it be doable. I'll wake up now, and this was just a rehearsal, and I'll be able to convince my poor single mother that I can be like Kesha. Let Kesha not be born at all, and she won't cry because of him, she'll get me into the music school instead of him. I won't be able to even speak yet, and only strings will cry in our family. Please, take my tears, and give me back my spring, just so I don't regret about the wasted summer in my winter.
The final note. The ending. Applause.
I clapped convulsively, feeling heat on my forehead and cheeks. It got painful for my eyes to see, my nose got stuffed. I didn't notice when I began sobbing, and I didn't want to.
While Sasha was leaving the stage, I ran into the restroom. I rubbed my eyes with tap water like crazy; they still kept their red. I only managed to rinse my nose.
I closed the restroom door and didn't have time to react, the birdie ran into me. She was already there. What an agile creature you are.
– Alexander Pavlovich! I heard you clapping. You clapped the loudest!
– Great job, Sasha. – I rubbed one eye, then the other.
– Why didn't you share it with me? – Sasha chuckled.
– Sasha, what do you mean?
– You wouldn't cry because of me playing. Be honest, what crimes against the law have you commited? Where does it grow? – She poked my shoulder with her bow.
I smiled silently and squeezed my stomach to let out a laugh. Sasha's face changed. Her crystal eyes now looked at me with a soldier's homesickness.
– No way, Alexander Pavlovich. Did you cry.
I didn't utter a single word. I didn't have the power to.
She put her occupied hands behind my back and got in my chest with her head.
– Listen and enjoy, but please, don't cry. I will play for you, but don't be sad. Everything's yet to come.
– Sasha, go and discuss the concert with your classmates, – I exhaled without any feelings. – I will go and get some fresh air.
– Okay. See you on the lesson. Until next time! – She played a tango ending jokingly. I smiled.
While taking my coat from the dressing room, I noticed a familiar yellow head from the window. From the head came smoke, strong and frequent. The listener stood in the street light shadow.
I ignored the lovely couple and went out of the school building. I decided to sit on the bench and smoke.
– Here you are! Why are you sitting in the cold? You could smoke next to the window, – Sasha rowed through snow with her boots.
– Oh, I didn't even notice, Sasha.
– Well, okay.
We watched the fading skies silently for a couple of minutes. I felt my nose getting red. First stars began waking up. We both had smoke coming out of our mouths – my smoke was from the tobacco, Sasha's from the cold.
– Alexander Pavlovich… – I turned my head with a dead cigarette goby in my teeth. – If you had a possibility to wish for anything, what would you ask for?
– You know, this has been torturing me since a very long time. I would wish for time to come back.
– Are you worried it's wasted? – Sasha's eyebrows got close to each other.
– Well… I am.
– Who told you it's true? You're blooming. You aren't yet late to start anything. You're alive, you hsine with energy. Turn your back on Iosif and don't compare yourself to him. Don't compare yourself to me – what I do wasn't my desire. You started it because you yourself wanted it. Isn't this wealth?
– You're right, Sasha. I never looked at my life by this angle.
– You have time. – She looked at the dark above us. – Time will give you what you lost. It won't give it to me.
– Sasha, what do you mean?
– Time won't give me back my mom.
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