A Certain Music (7 page)

The farrier looked thoughtful, he puffed on his pipe. Earlier his daughter had burst into the house claiming she had news; very excited about it, she was. But he had replied, 'I am black with grime, and I smell of horses. First, a bath and some food, then we talk ... '

Now he looked thoughtful and puffed on his pipe. 'I think you have not been happy here,' he said.

'That's not true –'

'I think it is perhaps better to be in a smaller town.'

'I am not unhappy, Papa. But it would be nice to see –' The girl hesitated.

'Of course. I am pleased for you,
Liebling
. Save your Kreutzers and present the expense for the journey to your papa ... '

'There is no charge, and the coach will collect us and bring us home!'

The farrier knocked out his pipe. 'That your friend will accompany you is good,' he said.

By the fireplace father and daughter sat, and stared into an empty grate. They heard the shutters rattle in the wind, and a night-bird call ...

'Your mother would have been proud.'

'Yes'

The farrier nodded. 'You miss her too,' he said.

• • •

In the still of the night the girl awoke. She would escape the designs and the garments and race to the house in the Reinerstrasse. Maybe she'd hear some new music, more happy even than the 'Ode to Joy', or more beautiful than the sounds of moonlight – if that were possible ...

In dreams she was already there ...

Through the dark of early morning hooves pounded.

The third member, a girl called Liesel, was the first to fall asleep. She leaned further and further to the right until her head rested on the shoulder of Herr Giersch. The four sat facing each other in pairs; alternately sleeping and waking with the movement of the coach ...

Past sculptures of trees, by shadowy buildings and farm houses the horses galloped. The coach rocking and rattling on the rough roads ...

The hours passed.

At last the girl leaned out. She looked towards the east and glimpsed the white light of morning. She nudged Rita. Together they watched the day awake, saw its colours grow stronger, heard its orchestra tune up in the lowing of cattle, the barking of work dogs and the bleating of sheep.

A squadron of brightly coloured birds flew overhead, squawking. And in the distance rose the ruins of Rauhenstein.

The girl turned to her friend with a smile that said, 'We're almost there.'

They were.

The horses pulled onto a grassy knoll near the square and stopped, snorting and panting.

The girl jumped down. She'd been fearful that things might have changed, but everything appeared to be as she remembered it. The town hall clock struck the hour in the same way and with the same sound as before. The column still stood with its shimmering star and cross of gold ...

And it was market day. There was the same man in yellow, with his performing dogs; the same man played a waltz on the same squeaky fiddle. And the sounds joined with other sounds, as she had remembered them, with the calling of hawkers with their trays of trinkets and of vendors selling sausage and cheeses and fruit. And everywhere children ran with hoops and jumped like frogs on cobblestones ...

'Over here,' called Rita.

They followed Herr Giersch into the town hall, where people were gathered around stands admiring the delicate chiffons and crepes, the array of designs and garments.

Together they moved between stands, keeping their eye not only on the wonders of silk but on Herr Giersch. They watched as a man in council regalia took him by the arm and led him away. They looked for Liesel ...

'I'm going –'

'Me too,' said Rita.

The girl made her way through the square. As she went a young man caught her eye and winked. Something about him was familiar. Then suddenly she knew. He was one of the raggedy boys from the Volkschule who had made her life so unhappy. She couldn't help smiling ...

She came to the Reinerstrasse and stopped. Her heart was thumping inside her chest.

The door to the house was locked and the curtains were closed. She examined each window and tried to peer inside. In one was a chink. She stood on tiptoe and looked in. Everything was as she pictured it, though perhaps the mess was more so. If she pressed her cheek to the glass she could see the edge of the piano ...

She sat on the same step on which she had sat when she was nine, and waited. She smiled at the thought of seeing his expression when he discovered her there ...

However, it seemed he wasn't coming.

She would return, there was time. Time, too, to visit the house by the granary.

She stood by the wooden gate, heard the rustle of needles in the conifer beyond which was once her window. Watched a cart carrying grain creak up the hill ...

Down streets with elms in leaf she strolled. At the factory she halted; saw the door open and her mother run to her across the yard, her arms waving, her hair flying loose in the wind ...

She wandered back through the now-empty square to the fountain. Listened again to its whispering in the bubbling water. The water was cool and she drank deeply. It was a long walk to the home of Frau Schwarz.

As she set out she was surprised to see children in the streets. And as she turned a corner, a man with a black flag was walking in the centre of the road. He waved the flag above his head as he went.

She reached the house with the turret and knocked. She lingered in the garden, ran her hand over marble. Counted statues. Frau Schwarz was probably out helping someone ...

The day edged on.

She returned to the Reinerstrasse. The door to the house was still locked.

The woods!

In the Vienna Woods the maples and the elms, the beeches and the oaks were once again heavy with leaf. Through snowdrops and violets she forced a path to her tree and climbed up.

Again she was nine. Now settled in the fork of its branches, she could hear the whispering of the day; in her mind's eye she saw carts trundling in and out of the marketplace, boys with hoops scooting behind wheels, wagons bearing families of picnickers, carriages winding along a forest drive...

Today the woods were deserted.

Down the empty path she watched for the strange figure with his shabby clothes and muddy boots that had walked towards her that first time, his long blue frockcoat billowing behind him, his hand attacking the air as he went.

She was just about to jump to the ground and return to his house when, like once before, she noticed something moving in the distance.

Again it was a funeral. This one was big. The carriage, draped in black, was drawn by four black horses. The coffin was covered with black cloth. Black plumes on the horses' heads bobbed and nodded as the procession started up the hill to the churchyard. Behind came people, hundreds of people, the line went on and on. It reached from the top of the hill to the bottom. And still they came ...

She jumped down. She ran. In less than an hour she would be leaving.

Still the house in the Reinerstrasse remained locked. Again, on tiptoe, she peered through the chink in the curtain. Everything was as before.

She paced up and down the empty street. Where was he? Things happened to people. Her mother had done no wrong, yet ... But he wrote music and music lives forever ... He's giving another concert. He's written something new and again they're going on and on and he's going on and on ...

Up and down and up and down ...

The minutes remaining ticked by ...

At the grassy knoll near the square the horses were snorting and tossing their heads, impatient to leave. All three were there.

This was terrible, to be here and not to ...

Standing by the coach were Herr Giersch and the man from the council.

'My notebook,' she stammered. 'I left it.'

'Hurry. We leave in ten minutes.'

The door was still shut. She ripped a page from the notebook in her bag. 'I came –' she scribbled. 'I –' But there was neither time nor the words for it ... She crushed the paper in her fist ...

She drew her hand across her eyes in the same way she would when she was nine, and glanced for the last time along the street ...

On a night blurred by rain, a coach drawn by four palominos drew up at an official building. The coachman sat on his box seat and waited.

A door opened and two men in livery and leather cockades stepped into the coach. With a tap on the roof from one, the coachman cracked his whip and they moved off.

Their mission was to reach the town of Wiener Neustadt by morning.

Into a night without stars the horses galloped.

Morning had broken over Wiener Neustadt.

In the house by the forge the girl stirred. From her bed by the window she looked into faint patches of sun, the gentle light on grass and trees. She smelt the sweet scent of orange blossom and heard a bird warble its message from a rooftop ...

She got up, peered along the end of the bed, then pulled the coverlet straight.

In the kitchen her father was drinking coffee. '
Guten Morgen, Liebling
,' he smiled.

'
Guten Morgen
, Papa.'

'I am sitting here wondering,' he went on, 'There is something I must see to, but what it is I do not know. My head is like a spinning top, so great is the order for hoes, irons, plough shares, and tools! The list to repair and make things goes on and on ... '

'That is wonderful, Papa.'

'Like the little birds I must start early.'

'There is ham for your lunch. And cheese.'

'You spoil me,
Liebling
.' The farrier rose. He kissed his daughter and walked into the day.

The girl washed, dressed, tidied the kitchen and pulled the door closed.

The morning was pink and still. The sky was stippled with silvery cloud and the orange trees were white with blossom. As she moved through the grove a light wind rippled and a drift of petals, like snow, fell on her path, her hand, her hair ... And in the wind she heard the hymn of thanksgiving sung by the shepherd to his God after the storm had passed.

His
sound.
His
voice saying, 'Music is the only truth.' She hadn't understood. And though she didn't still, her heart told her it was true.

If only she could turn back time, like you can a clock, or the pages of a book. To be nine again and to hear that voice and the magic of that music and feel again her heart about to burst with the joy of it; and to have her mother wave her hand as she crossed the yard, and turn the moment to gold ...

• • •

She flicked tears from her cheeks.

Mutti
had said it was bad luck to cry on such a day ...

Rita was walking towards her, sniffing the air. 'It's wicked to be locked away on a day this beautiful ... '

'It's my birthday,' said the girl.

'Why didn't you tell me? I would have got you something. Still –' Rita glanced left and right, she leaned over a garden wall and plucked a rose. 'Happy birthday.'

'
Danke
.'

'And what did you get?'

'Papa knew there was something he had to remember –'

'If you'd told me I would have reminded him.'

'He loves me,' replied the girl. 'It's not important.' She stopped, then went on. 'Though I still checked the end of the bed. There'd always be something there on my birthday.
Mutti
would wrap it in paper and tie it with a ribbon ... '

'She knows,' Rita whispered. 'She's sent you this day ... '

Now the street had turned to reddish dust. Here factories rose, eyeless and higher than the trees ...

Rita said, 'I'm reading
die Bruder Grimm
. Everyone is. I'm the Goose Girl. I am a king's daughter.'

'I know it. Papa was given the book.'

'Cinderella is us – you and me ... '

In silence they walked. Then the girl said, 'I was Cinderella once. I wore a dress made of silk. It had lace at the wrists and the bodice, and ribbons weaved through the lace. It was blue.'

'Is it real still?'

'Yes.'

They stood at the factory gate and stared at the cold grey building.

'You could forget how to dream,' Rita murmured.

'Not you!'

'Nor you.'

They walked in.

The girl made her way to level one. She dropped to her hands and knees and began gathering the threads that had collected underneath the looms. From time to time she'd draw her hand over her eyes, and crawl on.

At the entrance Herr Graf was beckoning. There'd been a spill of needles on level three.

On level three Liesel was picking them up. Needles of all sizes were everywhere.

Again the girl fell to her knees and began to crawl beneath the work benches where most of the needles had fallen. For a moment she paused, heard the sound of embroiderers at work. A silence broken only by coughing or the moving of feet.

She edged her way forward and as she did a woman whose bench stood by the window called out, 'Look!'

A coach had drawn up outside the gate, and two men with leather ribbons in their hats were walking across the yard. They disappeared into the building.

On level one Herr Giersch was hurrying to meet them. The men removed their headwear and after much talking and nodding followed Herr Giersch past the weavers and across the floor to Herr Graf, who also pointed and nodded, and led the way through level two.

On level three they paused.

Heads turned as Herr Graf hurried to where the girl, on her hands and knees, was sifting through scraps. He motioned to her to follow him. She went with acceptance as she always had, not knowing what wrong it was that she might have done out of ignorance, or thoughtlessness. Or fear ...

At the entrance to level three Herr Graf stopped. 'This is the one,' he said.

The girl raised her head, she stared into gold buckles, gold braid, the colour crimson. At two men ...

'She has the hair,' remarked the first. 'And the eyes are blue ... '

The second carried a scroll tied with a ribbon. He held it out. 'Come here,' he said.

The girl stepped closer.

'Is that your name?'

'Yes.'

'This is for you.'

Both men bowed briefly to the girl, to Herr Giersch and Herr Graf, and walked away.

The girl clutched the thing in her hand. She looked for Rita.

Workers gathered.

'Open it,' came a voice, that of Herr Graf.

Her hands were cold, her fingers stiff. She tugged at the bow. It fell loose and unwound the ribbon. The ribbon was blue. She gazed at the twisted thread ...

'Go on.'

She rolled out the scroll. On it were notes of music ...

At the top were the words
Für Elise
.

It was signed Ludwig van Beethoven.