by Gerald Elias
“Well, yes, I suppose so. Thank you for your help, Rachel,” said Jacobus.
“Another lie,” she said.
“No. It isn’t.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Jacobus and Yumi arrived at Carnegie Hall in the midst of a Miss J master class. Victoria Jablonski was seated onstage, violin on knee, while a youth sawed his way through the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto. A dozen or so listless students sat in the audience, impatient at having to endure yet another meaningless rendition of what to them was just another hurdle in their march to fame and fortune. Though Jacobus and Yumi tried to enter discreetly, the students, seeking something of interest to while away the time, all turned their eyes to them, as did Jablonski. She interrupted the student in midphrase, excused him with a perfunctory “That will be all, Michael,” and invited Jacobus up to the stage to join her. Jacobus gave his violin case to Yumi to put on a table in the wings along with hers.
Jacobus felt Victoria’s strong grip on his arms tug him unwillingly toward her until their bodies were pressed together. He felt her strategically place her cheek against his, kissing the air, repeating the procedure on the other side of his face, as if she were European.
“I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to see you again, Daniel,” said Victoria, releasing him.
“No, I suppose you can’t,” answered Jacobus, wishing he were anywhere but center stage of Carnegie Hall.
“You always change my meaning, don’t you, Daniel?”
“Do I?”
“You’re incorrigible, do you know that?”
Before Jacobus could manage a reply, Jablonski spoke again.
“Students, I would like to introduce to you Mr. Daniel Jacobus. The great Daniel Jacobus.”
He heard tentative applause from various points in the front rows.
“Mr. Jacobus has come all the way from his little house in the country and has generously consented to listen to some of you play.”
She couldn’t care less what I think of her students, he thought. I couldn’t care less either. Quite the manipulator, Victoria. Almost as good as me. Almost.
The next student, Noriko Watanabe, announced she would play the first movement of the Paganini Concerto in D Major.
“How nice,” said Victoria. “Daniel, let me lead you to this chair over here where we can sit and listen. Students, isn’t it laudible how Mr. Jacobus manages on his own?”
Jacobus heard Noriko Watanabe’s high heels click their way onto the Carnegie Hall stage. The pianist plunked an A. Noriko tuned her violin and then managed to writhe through a passable rendition of the concerto, though it was not artistically interesting enough for Jacobus to pay much attention.
Midway through the recapitulation, Victoria said, “That will do for now, Noriko.” However, in order to cut through the student’s strident playing and oblivion-inducing concentration, she had to repeat herself, louder and louder, until she was actually shouting.
That’s one thing she’s good at, Jacobus thought. The girl finally stopped.
“Well, what do you think? Didn’t you think that was wonderful?” Victoria asked Jacobus.
Victoria saved him from having to answer by not even waiting for one. She said to Noriko, “Next time a little faster. And try moving around some more.”
Noriko said, “Thank you, Miss J,” and quickly shuffled off the stage.
That’s it? If that’s a “Miss J lesson,” Jacobus said to himself, I feel sorry for her current bed partner.
“May I comment?” asked Jacobus, immediately kicking himself because now he would have to say something constructive but not contradictory to the way Victoria taught.
“Certainly, Daniel,” said Victoria. “You always have something clever to contribute. Nori, come back here, please.”
“Just for starters,” said Jacobus, “have you ever considered using warmer-sounding strings?”
Victoria intervened. “Are you still using those old fuddy-duddy strings of yours, Daniel? All my students use Megatones.”
“Harmonium strings might give her a richer, more vocal sound.”
“But Megatones have the power.”
“Just as in life,” said Jacobus, turning to Noriko, “there is more to music than power. Young lady, can you name me some of Paganini’s contemporaries?”
“Ummm. Not really.”
“Would it help you to know that Paganini was a contemporary of Rossini, Beethoven, even Haydn, and not Brahms or Tchaikovsky?”
“I guess.”
“Well, without saying a word about technique, could you try the beginning again and imagine playing it in a more classical style, since that’s what it really is?”
Noriko began again, and even though her playing was still strong, the phrases had a semblance of elegant profile that had been entirely lacking the first time around.
When she finished there was even a smattering of applause from the other students.
Victoria said, “Thank you, Nori. Students, isn’t it wonderful to hear the old-fashioned way of playing once in a while. Who’s next?”
They listened to a few more gifted but musically undeveloped students. Jacobus was getting antsy. Victoria interrupted his thoughts. “Did you know I’m the only teacher who’s ever been given a private studio at Carnegie? Oh, of course you couldn’t have known that. You’re out there in the countryside. I find that so quaint.”
“I do know that,” said Jacobus. “You told me the last time we spoke.”
“You always have had such a wonderful memory, haven’t you?” She whispered to Jacobus, “Now, before we get down to business, let’s play our little game.”
“Let’s not, Victoria,” he whispered back. “Not here on the stage of Carnegie Hall.” He started to get sick to his stomach. “Your students—”
“Oh, but it’s our tradition. You used to enjoy it.”
“ ‘Used to’ is the operative phrase.”
“But I still do. Do it for me, Daniel, and then we can talk about the Piccolino.”
“Is this absolutely necessary, Victoria?”
“Absolutely. That is, if you expect me to answer any of your questions.”
Jacobus threw his head back in disgust and frustration.
“Students,” said Victoria, clapping her hands to recapture their waning attention, “the remarkable Mr. Jacobus has amazing powers of observation. You all saw how we briefly greeted each other a short while ago, onstage, in front of you all. Well, Mr. Jacobus will now tell us what he observed. Go ahead, Daniel.”
Jacobus, head down, rattled off the list: “You’ve cut your hair. It’s above your ears. You’re wearing a double pearl necklace and long dangling earrings that undoubtedly match the necklace; French perfume—”
“Called Talon,” Victoria prompted.
“Appropriately enough. A long, loose-fitting, fairly light green summer dress with no bra”—he heard some giggles—“and high-heeled shoes.”
“Students, isn’t Daniel something? A little naughty, perhaps, but he could tell all of that just from me greeting him! Please explain to us, how do you do it?”
Jesus! How did I get myself into this? This is so inappropriate, it’s unbelievable. What is she up to?
“As I’ve told you every time you force me to do this—just like the sense of taste is ninety percent smell, sight is ninety percent other senses. The pace of your walk, the length of your stride, and sound of your footsteps—those tell me what kind of shoes you’re wearing and the length of your dress. I felt and heard the clatter of your jewelry, smelled your perfume—”
“And felt that I have no bra?” There were now guffaws from the students, who sensed the intensifying atmosphere.
“Yes, Victoria’s little secret,” said Jacobus, eager for a chance to retaliate. “That was at your instigation. You hugged me, remember?”
“But how did you know my dress is light green? You must have had someone sending you secret messages.”
“More of a guess. The Times f
ashion section. What the designers are calling ‘forest hues’—what most humans call green—are in this summer. Knowing of your need to keep your wardrobe up-to-date but with better taste than to wear something bright green, I concluded it would be lighter.”
“How very sweet. And is there anything else you can tell me about me, Daniel?” she asked.
So you want to get coy? he thought.
“You’ve gotten divorced since the last time we met.”
“Who told you that?”
He congratulated himself on hearing the smirk wiped off her face.
“No one. When you held my hands, I noticed you were no longer wearing your wedding ring.”
“How do you know I didn’t just take it off a few minutes ago in order to play the violin?”
“Because you always used to wear the ring on your right hand, anyway, so it wouldn’t interfere with your playing.”
“Well, Daniel,” said Victoria, “I don’t want to waste any more of my students’ valuable time with your banal games. Maybe you can tell us who this little girl in the audience is? She’s not one of my students, so I deduce she must be one of yours. Would you be kind enough to introduce her to everyone?”
“Yumi Shinagawa,” said Jacobus curtly. He sensed he was about to be lured into something even more unpleasant and rose from his chair in order to leave the stage.
Jacobus heard Yumi’s steady voice from the audience.
“It is an honor to meet you, Miss Jablonski,” said Yumi.
Victoria pulled him back down to his seat.
“Yes, dear, and what high school do you go to?”
“I’m actually from Kyushu, Japan, where I was a student at the university.”
“Oh, I see. How interesting.”
Apparently the interview was over. At least Jacobus hoped so.
But Victoria continued. “Daniel, you must be very busy, showing Yumi all around the big city. Yumi, did Daniel take you to Carnegie Deli for a pastrami sandwich yet?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“Daniel’s not the only one who understands things, dear. I also saw that you have your violin case with you. Using Daniel’s logic, since you’re new here I’m guessing that you just might like to play on the stage of Carnegie Hall. Am I right?”
Yumi paused. “I would like that very much,” she said.
“See, Daniel, you’re not the only genius. And I didn’t even have to smell anything.”
“Yumi,” said Jacobus, “you don’t have to play just to be polite. You must be tired. It’s really up to you. I’m serious.”
“Certainly, dear, I understand,” said Jablonski to Yumi. “You must be very, very tired.”
“No! I would like to play! Thank you. It would be very exciting.”
“Isn’t she sweet, Daniel? What will you play, dear?”
“I would like to play the Sarabanda from the Bach D-Minor Partita,” said Yumi.
“That would be lovely, dear, unless you care to play something difficult.”
Jacobus shook his head in dismay but didn’t bother to respond. He might disagree with Strella on everything else, but he couldn’t argue with the choice of the word “serpent” to describe Victoria Jablonski. He heard Yumi’s footsteps echo in the resonance of Carnegie Hall, but it might as well have been a snake pit. She walked to the wings of the stage, where their violin cases lay side by side.
As she walked onto the stage with her violin, Victoria said, “Let’s give Daniel’s student a warm welcome,” and started applauding loudly, followed by a sheeplike response from her disciples.
Jacobus took a deep breath. Even if Yumi’s not intimidated by Victoria, he thought, she’ll feel very alone standing on the stage of this cavernous hall. He recalled the sea of velvet seats rising as high as one could see, enveloped by imposing maroon and gold. No one, not even seasoned artists, could dispel the sensation that the spirit of every great violinist who had ever played in Carnegie Hall was listening with critical attention. The near emptiness of the hall made those spirits of violinists past seem even more present than when it was crowded with a live audience.
As soon as Yumi began to play the Sarabanda, Jacobus recognized a subtle but sublime change in Yumi’s playing since he had so recently chastised her for lack of understanding of that same piece. Her tempo was not so slow as to be static, nor so fast as to be impersonal, nor so strict as to sound academic. The phrases were suggestively contoured without becoming obvious; the quality of sound, while appropriately dark, wove through an endless metamorphosis of color. The vibrato was alive without bringing attention to itself and was used as an expressive device as well, and the occasional chords and trills were elegantly executed within the context of the music. And of course it was immaculately in tune.
Jacobus, accustomed to having students progress quickly, was dumb-founded by such a compelling, polished personal performance. He was riveted, unaware of anything else but the music—his own definition of a great performance.
If this had been a real concert, the audience would not have applauded when Yumi finished. As the final note vanished seamlessly into silence, the audience would have been too spellbound. Indeed, it was several moments before anyone stirred.
“Very lovely, dear,” said Victoria finally, clapping three times in mock applause, ringing hollow in the empty hall. “But don’t you think it should be a little slower and louder? Students, what do you think?”
Jacobus heard a few mumbles of assent. He couldn’t care less what they thought. He was still chagrined, euphorically so, at the performance.
Yumi responded in a clear voice, “I did consider that possibility, Miss Jablonski, and certainly the eighteenth-century sarabanda should feel dignified, especially one composed by Bach. But I think it is also important to remember that the sarabanda started out in Spain in the sixteenth century as a sensual love dance.”
So she did some reading at Nathaniel’s! thought Jacobus. A young lady of constant surprise and great resource. He would get her safely back to Japan even if it killed him.
Yumi continued. “The great author of Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes, attacked the sarabanda as immoral, and King Philip II even prohibited it. In the Treatise Against Public Amusements, Juan de Mariana called the sarabanda ‘a dance and song, so lascivious in its words, so ugly in its movements, that it is enough to inflame even very honest people.’ ”
Don’t push your luck, Yumi, thought Jacobus. Victoria’s not terribly responsive to being shown up.
“So while I think this particular sarabanda is definitely not intended to be a fast dance, I do believe Bach wanted it to be flowing and . . . sensual. However, Miss Jablonski, I greatly appreciate your comments, and if I have the opportunity to perform it again in the future, I will of course seriously consider them in deciding what my interpretation will be, but I have learned that if a musician listens carefully enough, the fingers will find a way.”
Now I’m in for it, Jacobus thought during the ensuing silence.
“Just who do you think you are, Daniel?” Victoria hissed.
I guess the game is over, he thought. Wonder who won.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You put her up to that.”
“Up to what?”
“Trying to humiliate me, Mr. Professor.”
“Hey, I had no idea you’d ask her to play. Anyway, why would I want to do that?”
“Because you’re jealous.”
“Jealous of what?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You’re jealous I studied with Malinkovsky when I was a kid and you only studied with that nut Krovney.”
“Don’t be—”
“You’re jealous that even though I was once your student, your pride and joy, now I get the best students. Yes, I get them. You’re jealous that they become famous, that I give them a better chance to get in front of the public, to get them a step ahead of the competition.”
Jacobus had had enough. Why had he even attempted to
be civil with her?
“Yes,” he said, “you and your MAP friends dress them up and parade them around like Lipizzaner stallions doing their tricks. Only difference is the horses get to keep their balls.”
“Ha! You hear that, students? Daniel, you’re just jealous that I have a studio here and you don’t. You’re jealous that I make a lot more money than you do. Do you have any idea how much I’m paid per hour?”
“Yes.”
“So you do know that I make a lot more than you do. Don’t you?”
“No, you don’t.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because I make enough.”
“Very witty, Mr. Professor. You’re jealous because once you had a thing for me, and you can’t stand it that other men like me.”
So now we’re mudslinging. The students must be having a ball out there. So be it.
“Like Dedubian, for instance?” asked Jacobus. He wasn’t about to back down now.
“For instance.”
“Like Strella, maybe?”
“What do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“Don’t you! Because you’re having a roll in the hay with sweet little Yumi?”
“That’s enough,” said Yumi.
Jacobus had almost forgotten she was there onstage with them. Now her voice was right next to them. Jacobus had let things spin out of control, and he knew it. Victoria’s plan, no doubt.
“Well, how sweet,” said Victoria. “The little concubine defending the honorable sensei.”
Yumi continued. “You’re an evil person, and if your students were intelligent they would look for a teacher more interested in them and in music than—”
Jacobus heard a sharp slap, then a gasp from the students. He felt powerless. He couldn’t see Yumi’s face flush red, or the trickle of blood on the corner of her swelling lip.
Jablonski said, “That’s enough out of you, you young hussy. You need to learn your place. Class is over. Daniel, I’ll be in my office.”
“Yumi,” said Jacobus, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t allow her to feel she was alone, even if it meant changing his script, at least for the moment. “Are you okay? Why don’t you wait by the box office until Nathaniel arrives? He should be here in a while. Don’t worry about Victoria. I’ll take care of her. I’ll meet you there.”
