A Certain Music

by Walters

  'I'll make a picture for Frau Schwarz of us dancing,' she chirruped. 'And one for Papa too ... '

  She went in search of paper and crayons ...

  Twenty-three

  At the house in the Reinerstrasse the man was writing. An empty flask rocked to and fro along the floor. The night was wild, and papers fluttered in a draught of wind.

  It was a frenzy of writing ...

  '... as I reflect upon my miserable life,' he wrote, 'I am God's unhappiest creature. Not to hear ... If I belonged to any other profession, it would not be quite so bad; but in my profession this is a terrible affliction ... All hope of being cured has faded like the fallen leaves of autumn ... As for my music I am filled with dread ...'

  The pen fell from his hand. The darkness deepened.

  Suddenly he sat up. Something was different. It was the light. He pulled back the curtains and opened the window. It was snowing. Sheets of snow fell from the trees and the rooftops, and on the ground, carriages and carts ploughed furrows deep as trenches.

  He heard the town hall clock strike midnight, and as it did, a phantom-like creature in a black cloak appeared beneath his window and beckoned to him ...

  The man stepped from the door. It was cold. His boots sank in the snow, but the hand kept urging him on. Everywhere there were people, lots of people, stamping their feet and beating their hands on their chests in an effort to keep warm ... He moved on, keeping the black cloak in sight. From time to time he stumbled in a drift of snow.

  The strange creature had turned into a building, a place so derelict it was falling down; its beams splayed like fingers against the sky.

  The man followed. Along corridors through which snowflakes circled he went. At a door that hung from one hinge the creature stopped. He pushed against it.

  The room was big. From broken beams and gaping glass snowflakes swirled, they filled each crevice and corner.

  In the room there were chairs, hundreds and hundreds of empty chairs, and gathered together, grumbling and mumbling, was a crowd of phantom-like creatures similar to the first, in black cloaks.

  As the man stood there, two of them started to sing but since they couldn't be heard above the mumbling and grumbling they began to sing louder and louder. They raised their voices and bellowed like bulls. The man put his hands to his ears, for strangely he could hear everything.

  When he looked up the hand was beckoning again. He moved forward, and as he did the black cloaks parted to reveal what looked like a piano. It was exactly like a piano but it had no keys. The man recoiled in terror, for now all the people who had been in the snow had gathered in the room and were chanting 'Play, play, play ... Play, play, play ... '

  'I can't.'

  'Play, play, play ... '

  'There are no keys –'

  One started to laugh, and then another and another and now the whole room was rocking with laughter. Laughter, loud and terrible ...

  • • •

  The man blinked, he opened his eyes. He was in his bed. He was in his clothes, but this was his bed. There was sweat in his eyes and on his hands ... He staggered up, shuffled through food and paper and clothes ...

  He flung open the window and looked out upon the morning with its soft murmurings of spring ...

  Twenty-four

  The days yawn, the nights stretch sleepless, one after the other ... And a child counts the hours and the minutes and dreams of a tomorrow.

  And now the day before tomorrow had come.

  In the kitchen in her silk dress with blue lace and blue ribbons, the child practised walking. She had perfected a way to move so as to conceal all but the very tips of her newly covered boots. Around the table she glided, her shadow shape recurring on woodwork and glass ...

  As the sun slipped behind the granary Frau Schwarz arrived with a hessian bag, curling irons and a guessing game.

  The child sat very still, she watched transfixed as her hair turned from heavy braids to the waving locks of the princess in her story book. She thought, now I know why people who are beautiful are smiling inside, like my mother is now ... And the woman caught her daughter's look and knew her thinking ... She smiled back. A smile that said this is not us, we're simply Cinderella having her moment at the ball. But in having it, the memory will be there always and forever ... She stretched wide her arms and held her daughter close ...

  Frau Schwarz took off her spectacles and dabbed her eyes. Her nose also.

  'Frau Schwarz is our fairy godmother,' declared the child.

  'Such a load of nonsense.' The guest fumbled for her handkerchief and blew loudly. 'Well, Child –' She pointed to the bag. 'As you gather, I have been to market. Tell me, what do you see on top of these parcels?'

  'A pumpkin.'

  'Is it?'

  'Yes.'

  Frau Schwarz mused, went hum and hah. 'What if I said it was not a pumpkin but something else?'

  The child was silent.

  'Can you guess?'

  'No, Frau Schwarz.'

  'Well, think about it. I will come tomorrow for your answer.'

  The child turned to her mother who was most certainly hiding a smile ...

  Twenty-Five

  Tomorrow comes.

  The child cannot concentrate. The teacher speaks words she does not hear. The dots and dashes on the blackboard she does not see. She raises her hand because everybody else is ... She watches the hands on the round-faced clock measuring time in slow time ...

  The day will never end ...

  • • •

  On the table were bowls of broth and newly baked bread.

  'I can't –'

  'You must eat,' her mother replied.

  In silence, mother and daughter drank broth ...

  As the dishes were being packed away Frau Schwarz strode in, first to compliment the weather, then, 'Have you thought of an answer, Child?'

  'No, Frau Schwarz.'

  'Go to the window.'

  The child crossed the room ...

  'What do you see?'

  In the street stood an old four-wheeled, wide-hooded landau.

  'A carriage,' the child replied.

  'Are you certain?'

  'Yes.'

  'That's a relief. It was a pumpkin a moment ago.'

  The child gaped. The woman laughed. The guest feigned surprise. 'To drive through Vienna in a pumpkin would be strange, don't you agree? And now, the hair and then to dress ... '

  In a blue dress with her braids falling free, the child watched for her mother. She appeared, a vision in cream, side curls framing her face ...

  'Time,' announced Frau Schwarz.

  As in all the best fairytales, the carriage rolled away, if not into the sunset, then along streets splashed with late afternoon light. Down unknown and familiar paths the horse clopped. On and on, past the council buildings and into the Kaiserstrasse where the child had sat with her father and heard the street musicians play. The woman peered into the fast closing day. This was exciting. She pointed out new buildings, monuments and parklands. The child was silent. This was to be her moment of joy, this was what she had waited for, counted the hours and the minutes for. And now all she felt was fear ...

  Darkness fell. And still into the moving night they drove ...

  The driver flicked the whip. The horse turned a corner. And before them shone the lights of Vienna.

  The horse turned again, this time into a street of elms. And there it was.

  Both stared.

  It was indeed like a scene from a fairytale in which beautiful women in silks and laces, with glittering shoes and ribbons and feathers, stepped from carriages on the arms of equally beautiful men in black and white, with silk hats, and all of them were talking and laughing and waving to each other and pushing forward. As one they moved towards the arched door of a magnificent building whose sculpted edifice rose against the sky.

  The Karntnerthor Theatre.

  Mother and daughter stepped down also. They stood apart as the dr
iver joined the queue of carriages that were lined up. Silk pressed against silk and feathers tickled as they entered the theatre.

  Through rose light and mirrors they shuffled to where gowns and suits were lining up to present their tickets and take their seats.

  They joined the queue, and moved in ...

  Neither spoke. This was far beyond a dream. There were no words for this. They followed an usher down the aisle in the direction of the stage; down and down the red carpet they went, right to row four. They stared at the seats, at each other. They sat, the child on the aisle.

  In front of them was the stage with its curtain of velvet. They tried to take in the mouldings, the engravings in gold leaf, the marble statues, the richly painted frescoes, the scalloped drapes ... the boxes, also carved in gold leaf, that rose at the sides and beyond the boxes, again, embossed in gold, the galleries – the child counted one two three four – five levels ... And towering above, the sculpted dome, from which three enormous chandeliers dropped on heavy chains ...

  The whole place glowed.

  The child swung around. Behind her stretched row after row after row into which people were streaming.

  There would be no empty seat.

  She turned back to the stage. A huge stage and deserted but for drums and double basses, seats and music stands ...

  The child listened. The sound was like the buzzing of giant flies ...

  The buzzing grew louder, for now the musicians had entered. Men in evening dress were filling up the stage, moving to their seats, sitting, talking to each other, making strange sounds on their instruments ...

  Next the choir filed in. Here there were women as well. And now two other men took their seats at the front and two women, one in gold and the other in blue, took theirs.

  'The soloists,' her mother whispered.

  The buzzing was fading, stuttering like flies when they die ... to nothing. To silence ...

  The child was finding it hard to breathe. She closed her eyes. She put her hands to her ears. She talked to God ...

  And now came clapping for Kapellmeister Umlauf was walking across the stage, and the man with him.

  The conductor stepped onto the podium, turned to the audience and bowed. The man stood at the far side and faced the players. He did look splendid, though smaller and somehow unimportant, like the toy in the nursery that's discarded. The child breathed deeper, harder.

  A hush louder than any silence descended as Kapellmeister Umlauf turned to the orchestra and raised his baton. The child sat forward, her heart ready to fly, to soar with the music ...

  It started slowly, the strings and the horns sang of loss, of empty nothingness ... Sounds the child hadn't heard before but as she listened, the sounds became stronger and stronger and louder and louder, they were building into a wild and terrible storm, as the drums rolled like thunder and the strings flashed like lightning across the sky ...

  And all the while the man stood facing the players and waved his baton back and forth ... And heard nothing ...

  The music changed. Now the child saw dancing. People in a circle passed lengths of flowers to each other as they went twisting and turning in and around ...

  Again the sound changed. This time the strings were singing of a great beauty like the russet glow of autumn that speaks of death. A sob rose in her throat. She turned to her mother who was weeping too ...

  And then it came.

  The sound burst open and every instrument with it, and a choir of angels extolled it and the 'Ode to Joy' exploded into a million voices and every heart sang at the promise of peace and love and happiness and hope and all that ever and ever was rich and wonderful ... And the child looked, and saw the roof beams quiver. And she knew without thought that she would never be lonely again ...

  And the strings were rising, and rising, they rose to the most jubilant eruption of sound that ever was heard ...

  It was over.

  There was silence. No movement. Nothing.

  Then suddenly there came a volley of sound, for the whole audience had jumped to its feet and were clapping and cheering and shouting and throwing their hats in the air and waving their handkerchiefs ... and going mad ...

  'Turn around, turn around,' whispered the child.

  On the podium Kapellmeister Umlauf was bowing. He bowed again. Again and again he bowed. But the man didn't move.

  'Turn around, turn around,' whispered the child.

  The clapping and cheering, the shouting and waving was getting louder, wilder ...

  Still the man didn't turn ...

  The child slipped from her seat: quick like a mouse she was at the stage and tugging a trouser leg.

  He looked down.

  He turned.

  It was only then that he realised that he had written something of unparalleled mastery.

  Twenty-six

  Nothing lasts. Not even the most perfect moment ... It can only be relived in memory.

  This the child is doing over and over, as in the darkness of early morning she steps from the carriage. As she enters the house she murmurs a silent thanks ...

  In the kitchen she takes down a glass and reaches for water ...

  The next day the heat's inside her skin.

  • • •

  'It's a fever.'

  'I'm just hot.'

  'It's a fever,' repeated the woman. 'Into bed.'

  The child lay on her bed. Her head throbbed. The light hurt. Her mother sponged her face and arms. 'Too much excitement,' she said. She dispensed liquids and read stories ...

  The child slept through the night and through the next day and the next and when she awoke she was grumpy.

  'You're getting better,' her mother remarked. They sat at the table and drank broth. 'Can I go for a walk?' asked the child.

  'Tomorrow – maybe.'

  Now she was feeling well, the child noticed things. The rag her mother used for the cough was now permanently inside the bodice of her dress. And there was something else.

  'Is Papa sick?'

  'No, Liebling.'

  'Then – ?'

  The woman coughed hard, held the rag to her face. 'In two days, if you're quite well we'll both go back ... All will be right, Liebling ...'

  But something wasn't. The child could tell ...

  Twenty-seven

  'I can go for a walk. You said.'

  The woman made a fist, pressed cheeks, a brow, and nodded. 'The fresh air will do you good. Wear your coat and go slowly.'

  The day was pink, the air warm against skin. In the sky rode puffs of coppery cloud. The child wanted to run but went slowly as her mother said ...

  Music was coming from the house in the Reinerstrasse.

  She stood at the door.

  The man played a series of rollicking chords and came towards her. 'At last, here she is, looking like a woolly bear. Are you sick? Were you sick? I say to myself, meine kleine Blume is hiding away, she thinks there is no joy in my music. That I am the most ridiculous of musicians. Am I right?'

  The child shook her head.

  'So, did she like it?'

  A frantic nodding of head.

  'Am I not a genius? Am I not brilliant like the stars?'

  'Yes!'

  'In that case you must know the answer. What was it you saw in the music, little flower. Write it.'

  The child went to the small table, wrote 'STORM.'

  'Yes.'

  'DANCE.'

  'Yes.'

  'TEARS.'

  'Yes – and the last?'

  She dropped the pencil and jumped up; she stood on tip-toe, threw back her head, her arms wide.

  The man was silent. 'How strange ... ' he murmured. 'She knows what others older and wiser have no comprehension of – it is a mystery, this feeling for music that is instinctive in a child.' He moved closer. His teeth were yellow, his skin gnarled and peeling like an old tree. 'I felt your presence there in the fourth row, it gave me comfort.' He looked hard and long into the child.
'There is trust in those blue eyes and pain too ... You speak without words ... Words are such an impediment to feeling ... Music is the only truth ... ' He broke into a laugh. 'Did you see the roof beams tremble?'

  'Yes.'

  'Was it not magnificent!'

  'Yes.'

  'Da dada dada dada dadada da dada ... ' And the man sang and the child sang ... And a fist started banging on the door ...

  'Herr Umlauf, to tell me again how brilliant I am.'

  The child slipped on her coat.

  'We shall go to the woods and look for dragons and eat snowdrops, and dance among the lilies, yes?'

  'Yes!'

  • • •

  At the gate her mother was waiting. She ran to her daughter and clutched her hard. 'Liebling, I have wonderful news. Wonderful, wonderful news –' She started to cough and felt for the rag. Her cheeks were pink, unnaturally so ...

  'What?'

  'Papa is coming home!'

  'Papa, home?'

  'Is this not happy news?'

  'Yes!'

  The woman sat at the table, her head in her hands, 'I've been so worried. I thought ... But he has left the army for something better – something much better.' She pulled herself up, took the child's hand. 'You see, he has a friend –'

  'Fritz.'

  'Manfred. And Manfred's papa is a farrier, a blacksmith, like our papa, but Manfred's papa is old and is wanting someone to work in his forge, and to be in charge of it too ... This work is exactly what papa loves ... And there's more. With the forge comes a house! Yes! Manfred's papa is to live with his daughter ... '

  'Oh, Mutti!'

  'I knew my Liebling would be happy ... '

  'When?'

  'I am packing already.'

  In her trundle bed the child traced patterns of moonlight and dreamed. Life was beautiful. She was the happiest, the luckiest, the bluest of the most beautiful little blue flowers that ever grew – and her papa was coming home.

  This would change everything ...

  Twenty-eight

  The child thought, it's the music that has brought him back. I sent the sounds of joy from my head to his and he heard and he's coming home ... The teacher tapped with her ruler and frowned. The child worked on, the letters and numbers far from her thoughts ...