“Sasha!”
Alexandra is pulled out of her Halina-shaped mental space by her sister’s voice. She pulls Elisabeth into a tight embrace and buries her nose in her hair. The void left by her sister was even more vast than she’d thought, judging by the relief and warmth that spread through her body as the familiar scents of jasmine and mint fill her nose.
“Where is your luggage?” she asks when they finally dislodge themselves from each other.
Elisabeth smiles and carefully tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Zach wanted to handle it.” They turn toward the door to search for the fourteen-year old.
In the middle of the crowd, Zachary’s slim, teenaged frame is made more noticeable by his mop of auburn hair. He’s with a cute blonde girl and nods while he pushes the luggage cart as she chatters.
“Does he have his aids on?” Alexandra asks with a frown.
Elisabeth nods. “Yes, he just turned them all the way down halfway through the flight.”
“What the heck is he doing?”
“Trying to flirt with a girl who laughs louder than a pack of hyenas, God help him.”
They stay silent, glancing at each other until a perfectly timed giggle cuts them short.
Hey, Lex, Zach says when he finally joins them, crooking his index in a mixture of the signs for “X” and “window,” the way he has always signed her name. He pulls her into a hug, and she wraps one arm around his waist.
Hey, yourself, she signs. God, you’re so tall now, she adds, glad she can make him blush.
“You’re just s-small,” he says out loud as he shakes his head at her, then steps away to bury his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He scuffs the tip of his shoe against the floor.
Alexandra points at her own chin to make sure he faces her. You sound very good, she tells him. I’m so proud of you.
Zach shrugs through his blush, but his pleased expression is reminiscent of Alexandra and Elisabeth’s father, his face as she remembers it from childhood. She exchanges a glance with Elisabeth, and the pride on her face reflects that in Alexandra’s heart. Elisabeth yawns loudly in a very un-Elisabeth-like manner.
“Let’s drive you home,” Alexandra says, signing as she talks to make sure her nephew gets all of it.
Zach turns to her as he pushes the cart toward the elevator. “Is Punshki home?” he asks, and Alexandra smiles at him, enjoying his lively herb-green.
“Of course,” she says, signing along. “Still asleep, the little bastard.”
Once in the elevator, Zach reaches for his aids, pushes his hair out of the way, and turns them back on.
“Didn’t take you for a Sharks fan,” Alexandra signs as she speaks at the sight of the bright turquoise shining in his midst of red curls.
It’s awesome, right, he replies with a wink. I knew you’d appreciate it.
“Don’t encourage him,” Elisabeth says with an eye-roll, her hands signing more harshly. “We told him to pick something a little more…”
“Dull?”
“Sensible. But he had to go and pick this blue one.”
“Blue is pretty,” Alexandra replies just as Zachary signs it, smugness written all over his face.
“Blue is pretty,” Elisabeth mockingly repeats as the pair high-fives. Her voice is clipped, less purple and more blue. “I should have guessed you two would gang up on me.”
“We’re awesome; accept it. And you need to relax, Liz.”
Under her hand, Elisabeth’s shoulders sag. “You’re right, of course; you’re right.”
“That’s often the case.”
“Should have remembered.”
* * *
While Zach lies on the floor and lets Punshki bury him in kisses and tail-wags and lick the crumbs of his brioche, Alexandra and Elisabeth sit on the couch and split an entire buttered baguette.
“So, you’re back to being single?” Alexandra asks.
“Thirty-five, with a fourteen-year-old boy, and single, yeah,” Elisabeth whispers, munching on her piece of bread. “And ’hag samea’h to me.”
“Honestly, granting you your divorce is the best present Matthew ever gave you,” Alexandra says, putting her hand on Elisabeth’s shoulder. “One that beats the miracle we’re going to celebrate for eight nights.”
Elisabeth glances at her son, who seems completely uninterested in their conversation. “At least Zach didn’t take his side,” she says softly. “I would have gone meshuga if I had lost him too.”
“Zach is a smart boy.” Alexandra comforts her. “And you didn’t raise him to accept any kind of bullshit, even from his father or from you.”
“True.”
“Now,” Alexandra says, tapping the floor to get Zach’s attention, “you two need to stay awake at least for the next,”—she checks her watch—“ten hours to fight the jetlag. What do you wanna do today?”
Elisabeth and Zach make the same thoughtful face. The only sounds in the room are Punshki’s panting and the ticking of the clock above the door.
“I want to shower, first,” Elisabeth finally says, untying her hair from its tight bun. The curls, so like Alexandra’s, if longer, show more white hair than Alexandra remembered. “We can walk to the Christmas market afterward?”
Both Zachary and Alexandra stare at her as if she has lost her mind.
“What?”
“Christmas?” Alexandra asks, raising her eyebrows.
You want to go to a Christmas market? Zachary asks, his signs insistent in his disbelief.
“They talked about it in the in-flight magazine,” Elisabeth replies, signing along, “I figured it could be fun to give it a chance. Besides, it’s right on the Champs Elysées, isn’t it?” Alexandra nods in response. “Well, it sounds perfect; something to keep us awake!”
Alexandra is glad to see her sister’s enthusiasm, a sign she’s already picking herself up. “Sure,” she says, “let’s get you two to your hotel.”
“Do we need to take a car?”
“Nah, it’s a ten-minute walk.” Alexandra shrugs. “A proper introduction to my neighborhood.”
“Awe-some,” Elisabeth deadpans with a twist of her mouth.
Snob, Zachary comments. His chuckles turn into a full-on belly laugh when his mother reaches to cuff the back of his head and fails to make contact.
“I’m glad you two are here for the holidays,” Alexandra says when they step out of her building. Punshki is on his leash and in his little bright pink coat, the pompoms bouncing with each step, in time with the wagging of his tail.
“Not as much as we are,” Elisabeth replies with a light peck before walking ahead. “Um, where to?”
Alexandra laughs loudly as she takes the lead. “That’s so you,” she says, clipping Punshki’s leash to her coat to free her hands so she can sign while she speaks. “You always act as if you’re running this show when you don’t have a clue.”
Zachary laughs, but he doesn’t comment. He’s too busy taking pictures of the buildings and restaurants on their way.
* * *
The next evening, when Alexandra and Elisabeth are alone and Zachary takes Punshki out for a walk, Elisabeth suggests they cook together.
“Let’s make a krupnik.” It seems so innocent, the proposition to prepare a soup they ate through their childhood, whenever their father got nostalgic for his own youth. Kitchens and recipes have a magic of their own to create a bubble of comfort so words can be freed, at least in their family’s tradition. Cooking is a prelude to a discussion. Elisabeth waits until the meat is seared and the vegetables and barley are in the pot. The aroma of it all, and the memories attached to it, fills the apartment when Elisabeth says softly, “We need to talk about Mom.”
Alexandra sighs. She sits on the bench by the window and pulls her knees up to her chest. “We do,” she says, her voice smother
ed by her cardigan. “How is she?”
Elisabeth sighs even more deeply. Her whole body moves with it, and she sits next to her sister, crosses one leg over the other, and brushes Alexandra’s ankle with her toe. Her hands twist a towel. “Not good.”
“Last time we talked, she didn’t want to go to the doctor.” Alexandra’s voice lilts into a question.
“No, she doesn’t,” Elisabeth says tiredly. “And Dad keeps saying she is the best placed to decide what is good for her, so he just lets her—”
“—do whatever she wants, as in exactly the opposite of what she needs,” Alexandra finishes for her. Irritation rises at the mention of her father. Her anger turns inward seamlessly, for letting Henry Graff affect her so deeply still.
“Is there anything we can do?” she asks, though the answer is obvious.
“I could take her to the doctor myself,” Elisabeth replies with a shrug and a sad smile. “Use the pretext of a shopping trip or a girls’ lunch. Though I’m not sure Dad will be very happy to have me around.”
“What turned you into a pariah?” Alexandra asks with a frown.
Elisabeth’s mouth tightens, and she wiggles her ring-free hand. Her gesture includes Alexandra and the city outside the window. “This.”
Alexandra’s shoulders tense, and she has to tear her eyes away as a familiar coldness trickles down her back. “He still regards me as contagious?”
“Sasha, it’s not—”
“It is, Liz. How can someone so smart be so stupid?” The question is rhetorical, and Elisabeth lets the distant, soft lavender of the bubbling pot answer it. “I’m his daughter, and, since I’m not what he planned me to be, Mister Henry Graff gets to keep me away from my family, to treat me like my private life tarnishes his reputation?”
Elisabeth’s jaw clenches. “His pride has always been his downfall. Don’t let it be yours too. Take the higher road, Sash.”
“I’m the one who has to forgive everything?” Alexandra tightens her fist in her cardigan. “That’s not fair, Liz.”
“I didn’t—” Elisabeth sighs. “He will never give you an apology, Sasha, and if you want to see Mamuschka again…”
“Forget about him.” Alexandra shakes her head, unwilling to waste any more time, energy, or heartache on their father and his small-mindedness. “What do you say about visiting my latest creation at the Philharmonie?”
Elisabeth squints knowingly, a gaze Alexandra carefully avoids. Her sister may let the subject drop to save Alexandra more pain. She clicks her tongue before smiling at her. “Sure, I’d love to.”
* * *
Three days into their stay, Alexandra decides it’s time to make good on her suggestion, and, if they cross paths with Halina, well, it will only be a pleasant bonus. She invites Elisabeth and Zach to come at the end of the day, once the orchestra has rehearsed.
When they arrive, Alexandra notices Zachary’s frown.
What’s going on in that brain of yours? she asks as they walk around the corridors.
I’m curious about the music. Don’t mind me.
How curious? Elisabeth asks.
I want to find out what I can hear of the music with aids, Zachary replies slowly. Whether the vibration is enough to make me feel something, something as vibrant as what you hear, he adds, his head tilted toward Alexandra.
Oh, munchkin, Alexandra replies. I’m just weird that way. And don’t forget. In this family, we all see sounds.
Still, he insists, “I want to hear it for myself.”
More than anything, his vocalization of his wish instead of signing inspires Alexandra to let him try his experiment. She even has an idea to make it happen. All she needs is for Halina to still be in the concert hall.
The months spent with Halina have taught Alexandra that she must be reminded to leave her piano. Sure enough, when they step into the massive room, Halina is bending over the piano with the tuner-in-residence. The two of them are immersed in an animated discussion; it’s unclear if they are agreeing or not, and since they don’t seem to be speaking either English or French, Alexandra can’t be sure.
“Lina?” she calls, stepping away from her guests and walking toward the stage.
Elisabeth and Zachary are frozen, staring at the ceiling and the many “bubbles” of seats for the future guests floating up there.
“Alexandra!” Halina calls enthusiastically. “Who is with you?”
Alexandra accepts a small kiss before answering; she’s missed her far too much, though she’s appreciated the last two evenings spent with her sister and Zachary. “Halina, this is my sister, Elisabeth, and her son, Zachary. Liz, Zach, this is Halina, the Philharmonie’s pianist and my… girlfriend.”
She signs it all while Elisabeth and Zach walk up to them, and Halina observes their hands curiously.
“Why are you signing?”
“Zach has a hearing loss because he was born prematurely,” Alexandra explains, still signing.
“I won’t mind if you say I’m Deaf, Lex,” Zachary says, and Halina’s eyes widen.
“You talk!”
“I do.”
“Like normal people!”
Elisabeth and Alexandra wince together. Zachary straightens and graces Halina with a look of ironic amusement only teenagers seem to be able to pull off. “I can vocalize instead of signing,” he replies, “because my mother didn’t raise me to be rude with people I just met and who mean something to someone I love.”
The judgment is clearly stated, and Halina has the decency to blush. “I’m sorry,” she says, her hands in front of her chest. “I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just—” she hesitates before straightening and facing Zachary. “I’ve never met a Deaf person before, but it’s not an excuse. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
Whatever, Zachary replies. He moves to the piano and holds his hands above it but doesn’t actually touch it.
“What did he say?” Halina asks, and Alexandra puts a hand on the small of Halina’s back.
“It’s fine,” she replies. “Zach is not one to hold a grudge, but please, don’t say he’s not normal because he’s Deaf ever again.”
“I won’t.”
“Now,” Alexandra says loudly while clapping her hands to get everybody’s attention. “I have an idea, if you don’t mind playing some more.” She looks at Halina.
Halina sits at the keys immediately. “As if you ever have to ask.”
Zach, she tells her nephew, go to the back of the piano and put your hands and ear to it, please.
Zachary raises one eyebrow at her in a perfect imitation of his mother’s doubtful face, but follows her instructions.
Elisabeth takes a seat in the now-empty orchestra, behind Halina. “He used to love Liszt’s nocturnes when he was younger,” she says, her eyes on Halina as if gauging her. “I’d put the speaker against the crib, and the vibrations would soothe him to sleep.”
Halina cracks her neck and rolls her shoulder. “I love Liszt. What about ‘Dream of Love No.3’?” she asks, and Elisabeth nods, reclining in the chair with her arms over her chest.
Sitting next to her sister, Alexandra sees the tension in Halina’s shoulders, her posture more controlled. She lifts her hands above the keys as if gathering energy, building momentum.
Alexandra can’t decide what to focus on: the subdued energy of the music and the colors it creates in her mind; Halina playing; Zachary’s amazed face as the music travels through his skin; Elisabeth’s face, a mask of relief and grief.
She lets her synesthesia take over and closes her eyes to appreciate the photism to the fullest. The main melody is deep, chartreuse green. Little explosions of orange and yellow cross the background; the melody dictates their appearance. As the music takes a darker turn, the chartreuse slowly morphs into a greenish gray, reminiscent of some types of marble or of the stones t
heir father brought them from Eilat every time he went to Israel when they were kids.
Following a pattern of dark greens and grays, rivers or lightning bolts of light turquoise contrast with the darker parts. Some of the melody from the beginning returns, and with it the sparkles of orange and yellow. It expresses itself in a lovely and delicate manner, as fleeting as ephemeral rays of sunlight through foliage during a walk in the woods. It doesn’t speak to Alexandra of dreams or of love at all. She can understand why Zachary used to love this piece: It’s very peaceful and soothing.
Alexandra cocks her head to get a proper look at him. His face is somewhat obscured in shadow, but she can see that his eyes are wide open and tears gather at their corners. His hands—and against the dark wood, they seem so big, she can’t believe her nephew’s hands are so big—are flat against the body of the piano, with his fingers spread wide as if to absorb as much of the vibration as possible.
She turns to watch her sister, and Elisabeth’s eyes are closed. She takes deep breaths, arms crossed, with one hand covering her heart while the other clutches her side. Tears roll down her cheeks, but there is a tentative smile on her lips.
The catharsis the experiment must provide for Elisabeth suddenly comes to light in Alexandra’s mind. If the piece was one of Zachary’s favorites in childhood, she must remember listening to it with Matthew in the periphery, if not directly involved.
Alexandra never particularly liked her ex-brother-in-law, but he did make Elisabeth happy for a while. Alexandra cannot deny his contribution to Zachary either, and that counts for something. As bitter as the memories may be now, Alexandra doesn’t believe Elisabeth will ever regret having them.
Concerto in Chroma Major Page 12
