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-CHAPTER ONE-1135Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡckEWx3Wao1
Winter Etude
November 2008
It was a snowy mid-November evening when Violet first heard classical music from outside the music auditorium. Her mother’s hand was in hers and Violet looked up at her, her blue eyes eager and curious to know more about the melodious sounds that were coming from within the tall brick structure. The music was growing louder and increasing in intensity as they passed the front door. She peeked inside through the glass, letting go of her mother’s hands. Violet saw the condensation of her excited breath as she looked at the marble floor and the chandelier, which sparkled like wintry crystals. To a girl as young as her at ten years of age, the sight, in addition to the floating piano music, was made of complete magic.
“Mommy, can we please go in?” Violet asked, turning to look at her mother. “I want to go in so bad!”
She shook her head, trying her best to lead Violet away from the door. “We can’t go in. You know we shouldn’t. I have a class to teach at the other school. We were only passing through.”
Violet’s heart sank as she remembered the class that her mother had to teach. She was an English teacher at a neighboring university. She sighed, thinking of everything that she was going to miss by passing this up.
“You know what, sweetie? The class isn’t until three hours from now. I’ll let you go in just this once. Just for a few minutes.”
Violet’s heart leapt and beat rapidly in her chest. All of this was new to her, but even though it was going to be a unique experience for her, she just had to hear the music. It reminded her of magic, something unattainable, needing to be reached with her hands.
She opened the door and the acidic smell of old wood tickled at her nose, but soon enough, the music danced around her, almost as if it was human and standing in front of her. She gasped and closed her eyes, imagining that she was in a castle and she was a princess.
“I can go in?” she asked.
“Go ahead,” her mother said. “I need to make a quick phone call.”
Violet nodded and dashed to the auditorium door, opening it. The music was all over the place now. Seeping from every corner of the wall, vibrating inside her as her heart found the rhythm. It was dark save for the light on the stage. The music had faded and was now in oblivion. Violet didn’t know what to do now. She was alone in the aisle, just waiting for the music to start again. She hoped it wasn’t over. The pianist left the stage after he bowed, leaving the audience behind with a graceful gesture.
Then she saw him. A person probably a little older than herself. He bowed as the audience applauded and walked, with a serious face, to the piano bench. His hair was dark and his eyes were focused as he remained sitting on the piano bench. His hands were massive, his eyes were intense as he seemed to stare into nothing but open space. Was he also lost in his own world? At that point, Violet found herself longing to be on the stage, just so that she could hear the music closer and see everything that he was doing.
He was playing singular notes. They were ominous, slow, directed, as if the music was in some kind of mourning. Then the moment came— the moment that left Violet standing there, in complete awe. His fingers weren’t fingers anymore. They were little people, dancing on their own stage, making beautiful music that made Violet’s heart soar. How was it humanly possible that a human being as young as him could play so fast and with such virtuosity? She found herself wishing that, one day, she too would be able to play with that kind of command. He wasn’t even looking at the piano, but Violet felt like he was looking right at her.
A hand on her shoulders brought her out of her reverie and back into the reality of where she was standing in the auditorium. She let out a gasp and looked to her side, noticing a man looking at her with narrowed eyes.
“Young girl,” he said. He had a thick European accent.
“Y-yes?” she whispered in return, her legs feeling like wet noodles.
“Find a seat. You are not supposed to be standing in the aisle.”
There was a seat next to him. She was hesitant to take it, but there were no other open seats near her and she didn’t want to make a scene by leaving. That would have been even more rude than standing in the aisle.
She didn’t want to leave her mother waiting, but it was too late to leave. She moved her feet and noticed a program on the floor. She bent down to pick it up.
2008 Young Artist’s International Piano Competition
Violet didn’t recognize any of the names or pictures on the program. Not until she got to the picture of the person playing.
His name is Alexander Kafka. He’s fourteen years old. A child prodigy. Taught by his grandfather, also of the same name. He is playing Winter Etude by Frederic Chopin. I don’t know who Chopin is, but he sounds hard. Really, really hard.
Violet noticed the old man sitting next to her, his hands imitating every movement of Alexander’s. She heard him whisper a few expletives. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself as the one paying the music on the stage. She felt the light beating on her neck, her heart racing at the thought of several people’s eyes on her. She imagined a world full of musical notes. Violet found herself longing more and more to be one with the music.
Violet’s eyelids flicked open. Alexander Kafka’s hands were now gliding across the keyboard. His playing was effortless. True. Passionate. But his piece was now over. The thunderous applause came soon after. Alexander was now standing in front of the piano and bowed, afterward walking off the stage. Violet found herself wanting to stay for the next piece he was going to perform, but there was no way her mother was going to let her stay in that long.
Forget that. Stay.
As the applause was still going, Violet knew that it was time to leave the auditorium. She frowned as she got up, never forgetting the music. It was going to stay in her ears. She wanted it to stay.
She opened the door and she peered out, looking for her mother. Her mother was there, waiting by the front entrance. Violet frowned, hoping that her mother was still talking to the person she needed to talk to. That way, she could have sneaked in and stayed for a while longer. But she realized that things weren’t ever going to be like that. After all, her mother did have a class to teach and Violet had her fifth-grade homework to do. She had to write that darned book report on A Wrinkle in Time. A book that she was finding difficult to understand the more that she read it. Even her mother’s constant explanations about the book were not proving fruitful in the least.
“Violet!” Her mother’s voice was sharp and pointed.
“Sorry, Mom.”
“What took so long?” she asked as she opened the door, letting her daughter out first.
Violet felt the rush of cold air attack her face. She took a deep breath and braced herself as she walked down the cement steps.
“I’m sorry Mom. I was listening to the music and lost track of the time.”
“You’re always doing that…” She shook her head. “Always getting distracted. Now how much of Wrinkle in Time have you read since yesterday? Mrs. Peterson’s book report is due in two days.”
“I’ve read the whole thing, Mom.” Violet grimaced. She didn’t even want to think of reading or writing at that moment. It was the music that was still ringing in her ears, still staying deep in her heart, not wanting to leave.
“Hmm,” she said, shaking her head. “We’ll talk more about it later. What do you want from the cafeteria? We’ll get something to eat at the food court once we get there. They’re open till ten.”
Violet looked up at the sky. It was pitch black but there were no stars in the sky. To her, they were a rarity. The combinations of the lights from New York City and the traffic always made it too hard to see the night sky. But she looked at the electric light on her watch. It was now 6:30 PM.
“Alright,” Violet said. “I suppose that sounds good.” 1135Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz61J08Ao2j
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