by Chris Cander
“Clara, you’re being ridiculous,” he snapped. “What are the chances we would ever find each other? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“It means we have the chance to let go of all of it,” she said, swiping at the horizon with her arm. “We’re literally where your mother ended her life. In Death fucking Valley. So let’s do what you originally planned to and push it off the cliff.” Saying it out loud thrilled her, and she had to restrain herself from rushing up and ramming it off the precipice to finally watch it go, its provenance, its music evaporating in the air as it fell. Its infinite heft was tottering already, so it would only take one stiff shove with her good hand.
“No! My God, what’s gotten into you?”
She thought of Katya flinging herself off the rocky precipice in the distance. What was her last thought as her feet left the ground? Was it grief that led her there, or perhaps hope? Did she find Clara’s father somewhere on the descent? Did they soar away together—lighter than birds, lighter than anything—before her body hit the ground?
“I don’t want to be Sisyphus anymore,” she said, shrugging a smile. Her own conviction was overwhelming. “You don’t have to, either.”
“Please, Clara. Come stand here with me. Let me take this one picture and then we’ll talk about what’s next.” He tried guiding her by the shoulders into position next to the treble end, but she resisted. She did, however, want to touch the piano one final time, so she went to it. Misunderstanding her actions as compliance, he said, “Good. Rest your arm on top so your cast’ll be in the picture, okay? I just need to set the timer, then I’ll come back here and stand on your right side.”
She caressed the case, feeling the repaired dents, noticing the countless scratches. Then she pressed a few keys and listened to the notes. Her meager call, the Blüthner’s forlorn response. Then she dragged her index finger down several octaves, starting at the bass end and moving toward the treble. Then she picked out notes one by one, zigzagging down the keyboard between black keys and white. It wasn’t musical, just a mechanical progression of sound from heavy to light. Scriabin’s prelude, she noted, was gone. Except for that single piece that she could sometimes remember but never could play, there was no music in her head. And there never would be any. It wasn’t how she was made.
Then Greg was there, pinning her against the piano. He took her good hand and squeezed. “This is perfect,” he said. “Now smile.” She saw the red light blinking faster and faster on the camera, which would go off at any second. “Smile!”
“No,” Clara said, “I can’t. I’m sorry.” She wrenched herself out of his clasp and was moving out of the frame just as the shutter opened and closed, failing to capture her as Greg had hoped to. She would be just a blur, a sailing stone on the move. “Get your camera,” she told him.
“What?”
“Take it off the tripod.” She glanced over her shoulder at the movers. They were standing near enough that they could rush forward and pull her away from the piano. But they just stood there, only mildly interested in what was going on. It might have been her imagination, but it looked like Juan was smiling.
“Why? What are you going to do?” Nevertheless, he did as she asked, and she took this act as a sign of complicity.
She was tired of wearing other people’s clothes, guarding other people’s histories, being inhabited by other people’s ghosts. She wasn’t the first person to own the Blüthner, though she did want to be the last. “Ready?” she asked.
“No, wait, Clara. Ready for what?”
She answered him by kissing her unbroken hand and placing it on the side of the piano’s case, toward the back where most of the weight was. “Good-bye,” she whispered. Then, with all the strength she had, she pushed.
* * *
—
The Blüthner went over far more easily than she’d expected. It seemed to glide across the gravel beneath its feet and even, improbably, to gain a bit of altitude when it lost contact with the cliff before it began to fall. She saw it suspended briefly then called home by gravity, as she imagined all of them—Katya, her father and mother, her uncle and aunt, even Greg—releasing her. The Blüthner made no music, but it was calling out to her still: good-bye, good-bye.
Beside her, Greg released the shutter on his camera again and again as the piano dropped, and even after it hit the ground and bounced up, shooting splintered wood and metal guts and ivory keys out in every direction before falling back down, until it had come utterly and completely apart and lay scattered and still hundreds of feet below.
Then everything was quiet again. Greg stared at the crime scene with his mouth open for what seemed like minutes. Then he turned to Clara. Neither of them spoke, but they gazed at each other for a long moment. She stepped forward and lifted herself on her toes and kissed him softly on the cheek. He nodded, then turned to look down once more at the trail of piano parts beneath them.
Clara backed away from him and the edge of the cliff, each step bringing greater relief, lightening her by octaves. Maybe that was how it worked: the start of knowing what she did want was realizing what she didn’t.
“I’m going to go. I can hitch a ride back to the hotel,” she told the movers, still walking backward, feeling hopeful and brave for the first time in longer than she could recall. She could steer her own car to anywhere she wanted to go. She would ask the couple taking self-portraits, or one of the other tourists. People were friendly out there in the desert. She waved to Beto, and then to Juan, who tipped his chin and gave her a wry smile.
“Good luck, Greg,” she said. But if he heard her, he didn’t show any sign of it. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
She turned and started jogging across the lot as effortlessly as if she were bounding across the moon. Then she stopped to pull her cell phone out of her pocket. Still no service, but eventually there would be. She imagined him answering her call, forgiving her, saying her name—Clara?—and the hope that might curl it into a question. She thought of his avgolemono and the garage, of the Christmas photo Anna would take in a couple of weeks with her standing next to Peter. She thought of riding fast on a motorcycle with his arms wrapped around her, not knowing what was ahead of her, not caring about what was behind, and not being afraid of falling.
Acknowledgments
I AM DEEPLY GRATEFUL to the many people who contributed their expertise, insight, support, encouragement, and enthusiasm to this novel along the way.
When I was first searching for the eponymous piano’s make, Larry Fine, publisher of Acoustic & Digital Piano Buyer, introduced me to Helga Kasimoff, a charming and expert Blüthner dealer in Los Angeles. It was she who taught me about Julius Blüthner and his “peerless golden tone” and helped me imagine the troubles Katya would encounter when trying to immigrate to the United States with her beloved piano. I can’t express enough thanks to Kristina Richards of Julius Blüthner Pianofortefabrik GmbH, who gave copious, careful attention and insight to my many questions about the manufacture of Blüthner pianos and who generously checked a late draft for accuracy. Any errors having to do with this aspect of the book are mine alone. To Joe Taylor of Taylor Pianos in Oxfordshire, England, I thank you for “giving” me this specific piano. Thanks to Maciej Brogiel and Mike Ello for instruction on piano maintenance. I’m grateful to Brian Davis and my dear friend Andrew Lienhard for patiently answering my questions about classical music and piano playing in general. Many thanks to Konner Scott, who perfectly grasped the tone I was after in his beautiful composition “Die Reise.”
To my beloved sestrichka, Irina Orlova, I send endless love and thanks for her ideas and the translations that permeate this book. Thanks to Vladimir Tabakman for sharing information about life as a Russian Jew in both the USSR and America. I owe German Gureev of the Eifman Ballet of St. Petersburg a debt of gratitude for helping me imagine how Katya’s piano could be smuggled ou
t of Russia. To Zev Yaroslavsky and Ella Frumkin, public servants and refuseniks themselves, I send endless gratitude for their insight on emigration from the former Soviet Union.
I am grateful to Peter Georgalos and his late mother, Anna Georgalos, of John’s Xpress Lube, who directly inspired their fictional counterparts, and to Keith Grode of Bellaire Tire & Automotive for their patient instruction on car maintenance and terminology.
Thanks go to photographer Clayton Austin, whose “Hammers and Strings” collection inspired the Death Valley National Park setting, and also to photographer and friend Andy Biggs, who helped me imagine Greg’s itinerary throughout DVNP and the images he would capture there. After I wrote the first draft, I joined John Batdorff and Staci Prince on a four-day photography workshop in DVNP. With their expert assistance, I photographed a miniature piano in all the same locations as Greg and Clara, which enabled me to make important adjustments to the story. Barry McKay told me about driving a 1966 Triumph Bonneville, which I incorporated as a joyful memory for Clara. Thank you.
I can remember the exact moment the idea for this book came into existence: after speaking with a book club for my novel 11 Stories, I overheard Meredith Canada telling a friend that she’d finally found a recipient for the piano her father had given her for her seventh birthday. I was captivated when I learned that he’d died a few months afterward, and that she’d spent the next several decades trying to find a meaningful way to dispose of it. Thank you, Meredith, for granting me permission to explore that idea in what would become this novel.
I am immeasurably grateful to friends and early readers: Holly Wimberley, Summer Shaw, Ellory Pater, Cameron Dezen Hammond, Theresa Paradise, Sabrina Brannen, Caroline Leech, Lana Billeaud, Ali Septimus, Shana Halvorsen, and especially: Charlie Baxter, Tobey Forney, Sarah Blutt, Louise Marburg, Lucy Chambers, Mark Haber, Emma Kate Tsai, Heather Montoya, W. Perry Hall, Heidi Creed, Michelle Gradis, Lee Ann Grimes, Mimi Vance, and Jennifer Rosner for their extensive feedback. These pages are alive with your generosity. Many thanks go to Alexander Chee, Alice McDermott, and members of my workshop groups at the 2016 Tin House Summer Workshop and the 2016 Sewanee Writers’ Conference for their comments and encouragement.
I am beyond fortunate to have Jesseca Salky as my agent, for her editorial insight and unflagging support. She and her team at Hannigan Salky Getzler (HSG) Agency—especially Ellen Goff and Soumeya Roberts—are wonderful. My deep and humble gratitude goes to the incredible team at Knopf and to my editor, Gary Fisketjon, for the passion he brought to this project. It has it’s been an honor and a joy to work with him.
I can’t thank my sister, Sara Huffman, enough for her love and friendship and for reminding me each time I get stuck that the only way out is through. To my parents, Cindy and John Slator, and Larry and Brenda Pullen, thank you for your love and support and for being my first fans. Sasha and Joshua are the bright lights of my life. Finally, I send gratitude and endless love to my husband, Harris, for being always at my side.
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chris Cander graduated from the Honors College at the University of Houston, in the city where she was raised and still lives, with her husband, daughter, and son. For seven years she has been a writer-in-residence for Writers in the Schools there. She serves on the Inprint advisory board and stewards several Little Free Libraries in her community. Her first novel, 11 Stories, won the Independent Publisher Gold Medal for Popular Fiction, and her most recent, Whisper Hollow, was long-listed for the Great Santini Fiction Prize by the Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance. She is also the author of The Word Burglar, which won the 2014 Moonbeam Children’s Book Award (silver).
An A. A. Knopf Reading Group Guide
The Weight of a Piano by Chris Cander
The introduction, author biography, discussion questions, and suggested reading that follow are designed to enhance your group’s discussion of The Weight of a Piano, a captivating new novel by Chris Cander.
Discussion Questions
Why do you think the author decided to open the story with a description of the origins of the Blüthner piano? Did anything surprise you about the piano’s history? What major themes of the novel does this first chapter foretell?
How would you describe Clara Lundy? What has she “always prided herself on” (this page), and why does she refuse romantic advances and offers of help from Peter? What leads to the failure of Clara’s relationships with Ryan and Bobby? What does this reveal about her ideas of love and connection? What values ultimately seem to be the most important to Clara?
How does Katya come to own the Blüthner piano? Who owned the piano before her, and what did people imagine about the piano’s former owner? Were they correct in their assumptions about this person? How did Katya feel about the former owner? What did Katya’s father believe about this person’s character, and what made him think this?
Explore the theme of memory. What does Clara remember about her parents, their relationship, and their home life together? What were “the moments Clara recalled most vividly” (this page)? Would you say that her memory is reliable? How are the other characters impacted by their own memories? What might the novel reveal or suggest about the nature of memory?
Analyze the treatment of loss and grief in the novel. How does Clara cope with the loss of her parents and their home? How do her new caretakers try “to soothe her” (this page)? What method seems to be most helpful to her? Where does she learn “how to live with her losses” (this page)? What losses do the other characters suffer, and how do they cope with these losses and the grief that accompanies them? Are any of the characters able to overcome their grief or reach catharsis? If so, how?
Consider the important role that art plays in the lives of the characters. Which of the characters create art, and why do they do this? What was Katya’s first love? Why does Greg enjoy photography? What does Boris believe can be accomplished via dance and performance? How are these characters affected by their proximity to the arts? Likewise, how are the characters in the novel affected by their experience of art created by others?
Why does Mikhail insist that the family leave their home in Leningrad and go to America? How does Katya feel about this? What does the novel reveal about the experience of immigration and the American Dream? What does the process of immigration entail? What hardships does the family endure as they make this transition? What must they leave behind? What risks do they take? Is the family ultimately better off in America? Discuss.
Why does Boris visit Katya after three and a half years? What does he tell Katya is his “wish” (this page)? What does he believe is their duty? How does Katya respond to his proposal? What makes her believe that the visit may be a test?
Why does Clara decide to sell the Blüthner piano, and who buys it? What does the purchaser say that he wants with the piano? What does he tell Clara he is “trying to depict” (this page) with the piano? What does he want the piano to symbolize?
Who does Katya believe is talking to her once she is in America? What does she hear? Why does she ask her husband if they can visit Death Valley? How does she feel when she looks at the photographs her husband took of her there? What does she believe they reveal?
What fable does Katya share with her son Grisha and what is the message at the heart of this fable? What does the story reveal about its storyteller? What does Grisha not realize about the story until he is an adult?
What surprises Greg about Clara’s piano when he finally gets to see it in person, and why does it make him emotional? What didn’t he notice in the photographs of the piano at the time of its purchase? Why does Clara decide to follow Greg from this point on?
Who does Katya receive a letter from, and what message does it contain? What does the sender tell Katya will change the world? Why is Katya overjo
yed after receiving the letter, and how does she offer to repay the messenger who delivers the letter? How does this decision affect her life and the life of her son?
What does the novel suggest about how well we can know other people—and ourselves? How well would you say the characters know themselves? How do they come to know themselves better? What causes them to misunderstand others, and what helps them to correct these misunderstandings and come to a better knowledge of one another?
What is remarkable about the sailing stones that Greg and Clara see in Death Valley? What does Greg think they look like they are doing? To what or to whom does he compare them?
Why was Greg determined to take the piano to Death Valley? What did he plan to do with the piano there? Why does he later change his mind and what does he decide to do with it instead?
How are Clara and Greg connected, and how does each respond to this connection? How did Clara come to own the Blüthner piano? What effect does the revelation of the piano’s provenance have on Clara, and how does it influence or alter her understanding of her own past?
