A Certain Music (5 page)

They got to the factory as a wave of women began to surge towards the gate.

'Pardon me, ladies –'

The women paused, turned to the speaker, a few edged closer.

'A word if you please. I don't speak for myself but for this dear child –'

They were listening.

The voice set the scene. Went on. 'I know of the box and that in it is silk with small flaws, but enough for –'

There was stirring. Women glanced at each other. Some moved off.

'That's for cushions, lady.'

'And linings.'

More moved away.

'Ladies, you haven't heard this simple request –'

'If it's that simple, you do it!'

'I'm sorry,' someone in a green kerchief mumbled. And hurried off.

'Well!' exclaimed Frau Schwarz. She squared her shoulders, straightened her spectacles and turned to face the second wave of workers. 'Let's hope this lot are more amenable,' she muttered.

The second wave simply pushed past.

'I expect they're tired.' Frau Schwarz smiled. But behind the spectacles, eyes glinted.

'These must be the last,' she announced as about forty women in twos and threes started to straggle out.

'Pardon me, ladies –' Again she began, but this time all were 'sisters-in-arms'. 'Such an opportunity – one each of us would remember forever ... ' Frau Schwarz was struggling. 'All I ask – not for myself – is two lengths, flawed though they be and of little value ... ' A pause to dab at cheeks, lips. 'Who will be kind enough, generous enough to perform this simple task?'

'Not me, lady.'

'Nor me.'

'Me neither.'

'I will!'

There was a hush. Eyes turned and followed the speaker as she pushed to the front. A small fair-haired woman stood before Frau Schwarz. 'I will,' she repeated. 'Advise me of the lengths and an address and I will see that they are delivered.'

Bodies inched forward. There was shuffling, muttering ...

'She's mad –'

'She'll lose her place –'

The woman spoke. 'My man was killed. I was despairing ... I was alone and without hope. Then a child showed me a kindness. It was a simple gesture but it gave me strength ... This is the child ... '

• • •

'Well!'

They waited on a street corner.

'Well, well!' uttered Frau Schwarz yet again and waved down a carriage. With a flick of a whip the horse clopped on.

Frau Schwarz studied flaxen braids that fell across a bib. 'What is it, Child? Look at me.'

The child raised her head.

'It's that woman, isn't it? You're worried that she will lose her place in embroidery because of this. Such a load of nonsense! I assure you, she will not regret what she has done. She will always have her place. Always. I give you my word. You understand me?'

The child nodded. She suddenly remembered a tale that had been told to them in class. It was of the good witch of Korneuburg, whose wondrous powers changed lives. 'The good witch,' her teacher had said, 'was a giant among mortals ...' The child studied Frau Schwarz in her largeness. And wondered.

The following week brought Frau Schwarz with her sewing box and a letter.

Now, when lessons were over the child would reach for her satchel and run. But not in the direction of the Reinerstrasse
.
Others noticed, made questioning gestures, appointed this one and that to follow and report. But where once they had ridiculed the stumbling on cobblestones, now they saw sprinting and skipping. Even the mother whom she met was brighter in her step. And livelier too.

The watchers kicked at stones. And said nothing.

What they didn't know was that in the house by the granary, silk and lace and lengths of ribbon were being transformed into gowns of cream and blue that Cinderella herself might have worn to the ball ...

At the kitchen table the child sat ready to pass pins, thread needles, trace patterns, and make coffee, while her mother and Frau Schwarz measured and cut and stitched and tucked. From time to time the woman would cough, spit into a rag and work on ...

And the day passed and became the next day and with it came a letter.

'From Papa.' The woman announced. She read, folded the pages and said nothing.

'Is it Fritz?'

'Who?'

'The squirrel.'

'No.'

'What then?'

'The rash. He had to report it.'

'You said not to.'

'He's been given a liniment to rub on.'

The child loves her papa but she cannot focus on liniment and legs. She cannot think of anything but a man, and a sound, and a dress of blue silk ...

Again it was Sunday. And in four more days (ninety-six hours minus three, to be precise) then ...

She had waited on the step of the house in the Reinerstrasse for three days now but the door had remained locked.

And again it was Sunday. And again the man was not there. And in the house by the granary a dress of blue silk floated like gossamer from its peg.

The child wandered in silence and within herself. Oblivious to the colours and shapes that formed and reformed, kaleidoscope-like, as through the early morning she moved.

At the edge of the town where the river runs she halted. She entered the Vienna Woods. How long it had been since she'd climbed into the tree, she couldn't measure, though the maples, the beeches, the oaks and the elms had turned a million shades of green. And, like paint when it's splashed upon a canvas, so wild flowers, snowdrops, cyclamens and lilies of the valley splashed the earth with their colour.

And people in the colours of the flowers came. They strolled along paths, talking and laughing – and silently too.

Huddled tight between new leaves the child dreamed. She dreamed of a castle as Rauhenstein was long ago, and of a princess with golden hair who had been held captive there and who wore a blue dress ...

Then she saw him. The man was striding along a path, his head down, his hands behind his back. As he got to where the path swung towards the tree, she jumped. The man stopped. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but instead just shook his head and moved on. The child followed.

Something had happened. Something terrible. It was in the eyes, the jutting lip ...

The man strode, stopped, sat, strode again. He made no sound. The child clutched at her pinafore. The bib had been ripped as she'd jumped, though she'd heard nothing.

Again he sat. This time he didn't move on. At his feet, snowdrops and wild violets grew. Long he stared as though he would paint them, then he raised his eyes. The child had seen the same look in the eyes of her father. It was the look of fear ... She stood silent. Even with the conversation book and a scribe by her side, she wouldn't have been able to frame the words.

She couldn't speak.

He couldn't hear.

She stood, silent among the snowdrops, and clutched her torn bib.

The child stared into the night. A highwayman's moon cast its dappled light on rose bush and rooftop, on the outstretched arms of an apple tree in bloom. Dappled light on whitewashed walls formed and faded in markings that made music. If she could read them they would sing ...

She curled onto her bed and pulled the coverlet up. Now she would pray. She'd seen it done. She closed her eyes, squeezed tight her hands and began ...

'Please God, help him. He's frightened they'll laugh like they did before and no-one will come. And if you could hear it, you'd think it was so beautiful ... Please God, please make them come and not laugh ...

'
Auf Wiedersehen
– and thank you for listening ... '

'
Mutti!
'

Two letters in one week! The woman frowned and slipped it into her bodice as the child entered.

'Can we try our dress on?'

'Our dress?'

'Yours too. Pleeeeease?'

The woman took the gowns from their pegs. She held hers to her body. Frau Schwarz was right, cream silk against primrose lace did make her cheeks glow.

'You're beautiful,' said the child.

'So are you,
Liebling
.'

They giggled. They glided like swans. They waltzed across the floor. Princesses on stone ...

'
Mutti
, you've dropped a letter.'

'It's from Papa.'

The child continued to waltz. 'Did you tell him?'

'What?

'About the dress?'

'Papa is proud,' the woman answered. In her hand the paper was cold. Cold, and as bleak as the message it contained would most certainly be. She would read it but not speak of it.

The child danced on. Everything would be all right. God was all seeing and all powerful. Her teacher said ...

'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 ...

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 ...

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 ...

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 driver 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.