Dissonance (15 page)

‘Unlike him.'

‘Exactly, so we're all very happy you said what we've been thinking. Is that an Australian trait?'

‘I don't think so. It might have been brave, but do you want to tell my mum?'

‘Don't worry. Just go and say sorry to the old bastard. Tell him that's how you do things in Australia.'

‘Do you think he'll …?'

‘What did you say …
I could take this class
.' He laughed. Erwin bowed his head and asked, ‘What's the point of studying with an amateur?'

Alfred stroked a light peach fuzz of whiskers across his chin and up the side of his face and replied, ‘You've just got to convince your mother.'

‘What else do you study?' Erwin asked.

‘Bachelor of Music, Composition. I want to write operas, like Snot-Knorr.'

‘Operas?'

‘Yes. I've written a libretto based on
Crime and Punishment
.'

Erwin took a moment to work out whether he was joking, but the tall boy's eyes suggested otherwise. ‘Can I see it?' Erwin said.

Alfred opened a canvas bag, searched through a pile of papers and produced a small booklet. Erwin opened the first page and read a few lines. Then he asked, ‘Can I borrow it?'

Alfred narrowed his eyes. ‘You're not going to steal it, are you? I am a genius, Erwin. A genius!'

‘With chords like that?'

‘You think you can do better?'

‘I know I can.'

And Alfred knew he could.

Erwin walked home through Sülldorf's main park, its grass carpeted with yellow and brown leaves, its drains blocked with clumps of dead vegetation. He walked through foot-high grass and soon his canvas shoes and pants were soaked. The sun was out, and although it was cold, Erwin was hot in his woollen jacket.

He crossed a footbridge and noticed a few young men, with their armbands and brown shirts and silly, flat-topped caps, staring down into the creek that ran high up along the banks. A few boys were playing there, building a dam from sticks and smashed wooden boxes, and the soldiers laughed at them.

He walked along Bramweg, and in the front door of his apartment building. He climbed the stairs, three at a time, and took out his keys. But Madge was already there, taking him by the arm and dragging him inside their flat.

‘What have I done for you?' she asked, furious.

Erwin didn't know what to say.

‘Everything! Everything! And how do you repay me?'

‘What do you mean?' he dared.

‘Telling a professor
you
could do a better job.'

Erwin put his satchel on the table. ‘I didn't say that.'

‘Or something similar.'

‘He doesn't know what he's talking about.'

‘So?'

‘He criticised my work.'

‘So?'

‘He only allows 1, 3, 5 harmonies. It's what you'd teach an eight-year-old.'

‘So what? He's your teacher. What were you thinking? You can't afford to make enemies.'

Erwin looked out of the front door he'd left open. In the hallway he saw the outline of where a crucifix had once hung. He looked back at his mother. ‘How did you find out?'

‘He called to tell me. He was very upset.'

‘I only said what I …' He trailed off. ‘What did he tell you?'

Madge recounted the phone call, almost word-by-word. How your son, Mrs Hergert, tried to lecture me, about harmony. How he took over my class, wrote on the board, played my piano without permission and worst of all, criticised me in front of my students. And I was doing him a favour, Mrs Hergert. Is this something you Australians always do? Is this how you get along, letting your young people run wild?

Madge recalled how she'd said, No, please, this is all very unusual. Erwin has just started and he has no friends. He's anxious and worried, and lonely. He's homesick, Herr Professor Knorr.

‘It wasn't like that,' Erwin repeated.

‘I don't care! It wasn't your place – '

‘He made me write up my work, and then he rubbed it all off, and told everyone I didn't know what I was talking about. Because I used a few jazz chords.'

‘You're not there to teach him,' Madge said.

‘But he's a fossil.'

‘He's all we've got, Erwin. Him and Schaedel. He was almost crying on the phone.'

Erwin couldn't believe it. ‘Crying?'

‘Yes.'

He shook his head and said, ‘And then Alfred got up – He wrote a pretty acceptable chord and Knorr said – '

Madge took him by the arm. ‘What does that matter?'

‘He said my notes were like ticks, and my stems were … and he was trying to build himself up. He's insecure, because he's a failed composer.'

‘Well, what are you?' Madge asked. ‘You're a boy.'

‘And I know more than him.'

‘So what?'

Madge stormed off and Erwin followed her. She went into the kitchen and started filling the kettle with water. Then she lit the stove and put the kettle on the flame. ‘You have to think of your future,' she said. ‘Even if he is a hack, he has influence.'

Erwin took a deep breath. ‘I know.'

She turned and looked at him. ‘I got you here, didn't I? I got you a flat and a good teacher. It hasn't been easy.'

‘I know.'

‘And this is how you repay me? Couldn't you bite your lip occasionally?'

‘I made a mistake.'

Madge leaned over the stove. She could feel the steam on her cheeks. ‘It's hard for me too, Erwin.'

He came up behind her and put his arm around her shoulder. ‘It won't happen again,' he whispered. He stopped to think and then said, ‘If it isn't too late. What did he say to you?'

‘That he'd asked you to leave.'

‘Well …'

‘And then I said, Give him another go, he'll come good.'

‘And?'

‘Eventually he agreed. On one condition.'

The next morning Knorr came into the student common room and asked, ‘Could I have all of my students in the lecture theatre at ten o'clock?' Then he went to the office and broadcast the same message to the whole conservatorium on the public address system, adding, ‘Mr Hergert has something to say to us.'

Just before ten the dozen or so composition students settled into their torn leather seats. Erwin stood at the front holding a piece of paper in his hands. Alfred stared down at him and said, ‘You're really going to do it?'

‘I have to,' Erwin replied. ‘And I'd like you all to know, I don't mean a word of this.' He showed them his written apology. ‘I think Snot-Knorr is a – '

The door opened and Knorr came in. He glanced at Erwin and then looked across the room and asked, ‘Is everybody here?'

‘Yes,' one of them replied, disguising a smile.

‘This won't take long,' Knorr explained, sitting in a seat in the front row, folding his arms, looking at Erwin and smiling. ‘Go ahead,' he said.

Erwin started to read. ‘“An apology, to Professor Knorr. I acknowledge that I was rude, and disrespectful, in yesterday's lesson. I cannot excuse my behaviour, but I can explain it by saying how tired, and anxious, and homesick I've been for the last few weeks.”'

And on it went, couched in language so formal it could only sound sincere to the Herr Professor. When he was finished he looked up. He saw Alfred smiling and pretending to vomit, picking his nose, stopping suddenly when Knorr turned to look at them. ‘Let this be a lesson,' he said. ‘You can't learn without listening. Hearing. Understanding. Arrogance gets you nowhere. The next thing you know you're putting on a brown shirt.'

What's that got to do with an inverted thirteenth, Erwin wondered.

Music could be fun, Erwin claimed. To prove it he played Stephen Foster's
O Susannah
, taking his hands from the keyboard and clapping as he sung the chorus, waving and jumping about like one of Christy's minstrels as Luise doubled over with laughter.

Madge stepped into the sitting room. She rested on the doorway, her arms crossed. ‘This is why we came to Germany,' she said to Luise, as Erwin came over to her, hooked his arm in hers and turned her round and round in a made-up folk dance. Then he passed onto Luise, and spun her until she was dizzy.

‘Erwin, stop it,' Madge said.

‘“Oh I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee.”'

And then he sat down at the piano. He sat up straight, extended his arms and prepared to play. ‘Now for the Schubert,' he said, mock-serious, mock-German, clearing hair from his eyes and doing his best to look tortured. ‘I have the sex-pox,' he said, ‘and it burns when I pee.'

Madge's face came over grey and dour. Erwin looked at her and sensed something was wrong. ‘What is it?' he asked.

She refolded her arms. ‘Nothing,' she replied. ‘It's getting late, we'll have to get ready soon.'

And with that she passed into her bedroom-classroom, closing the door behind her.

‘What's wrong?' Luise asked.

‘Who knows,' Erwin shrugged. ‘Let's take it from the refrain.'

They continued their rehearsal – her voice and his fingers – and both were soft and sweet and understated:

The land, the land, in hope so green

In which my rose's bloom is seen …

‘Here,' Erwin corrected, ‘that's a C-sharp grace note.' He played it for her. ‘And if you like, I could hold this note, here, to make it more dramatic?' He threw his head back again and she smiled. She looked at his hair, almost gold, starting straight and then curling, matting in a confusion of ringlets that she longed to run her fingers through. His face, all cheek and bone and soft skin; a chin that was strong, but not severe, and a nose that was pygmy-Roman; his forehead, flat and square like a pound of butter, and ears that were barely ears, hiding beneath more curls.

Erwin was suddenly taken by a thought. He stopped and looked up at her. ‘What was that you said about Schaedel?' he asked.

‘What?'

‘You said he had a reputation.'

‘It's gossip, forget it.'

‘No, tell me.'

‘They say he likes boys,' she explained.

‘Boys?'

‘Like you, young and handsome. Some people call him Oscar … you know, Wilde. He had a wife and children too.'

‘Schaedel's married?'

‘Yes. There was something about a student … Schaedel kept him in an apartment.'

Erwin couldn't believe it. ‘Like a … pet?'

‘Now you know why he was so anxious to take you on.'

‘Rubbish. Should we begin?'

They started, going over and over the transition, fine-tuning the pitch, duration and quality of every note. As she reached for a high D, he felt her hand rest lightly on his shoulder.

As she removed his linen jacket. As he led her to his room, taking Madge's whip from a locked drawer and showing her.

‘Everything okay?' a woman asked, in English as precise as her daughter's, twisting her head to see inside the apartment, straightening her apron and smiling.

‘Fine,' Luise replied. ‘He's quite safe, aren't you, Erwin?'

Erwin stood and approached the woman at the door. ‘Hello.'

‘Hello,' Sara Hennig replied, offering her hand.

Erwin shook it and said, ‘The Schubert's sounding ­wonderful.'

‘Good.'

‘Don't worry, his mum's here,' Luise added.

The woman pretended she didn't care. ‘Luise!'

Luise just smiled.

‘Your daughter's voice is very precise,' Erwin told her. ‘Clear … it jumps without slurring.'

Madge appeared from her room. She noticed Luise's mother and came over to them with a curious look. Erwin introduced them and Madge said, ‘I've been listening to your daughter, through the door.'

There was a long pause as they waited for her to finish her review, but she just said, ‘This is a convenient arrangement, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' Sara Hennig replied.

‘Erwin tries to practise six hours a day.' She smiled. ‘Still, he's very good with lieder, and voice. I'm sure he'll be able to help your daughter improve.'

Erwin was looking at his mother.

‘Australia?' Sara asked, eventually.

‘Yes,' Madge replied.

Another pause, longer, emptier.

‘Well, I must get back to my roast,' Sara said. ‘Nice to meet you, Madge, Erwin.'

‘You too, Mrs Hennig,' he replied.

The woman – a thin, unspirited creature, as Madge would later comment – smiled at them, turned and walked off down the hallway. Madge could see her shadow moving along the wall and even that turned her stomach.

Erwin looked at his mother again, and this time Luise did too, sensing what he was thinking, watching the old girl close the door and return to her room.

Erwin and Luise practised for another thirty minutes, until Madge came in and put a stop to it. ‘Now,' she said, putting her arm around Luise, ‘you're all ready for your recital.'

‘No, she's not,' Erwin replied.

‘Well, very nearly.'

‘She's got another week,' Erwin explained. ‘We should use the time. That's what you say to me.
Use the time!
'

Madge looked at him. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘Yes, you should use the time,' she agreed.

‘She's fantastic,' Erwin said, and Madge looked at him again.

‘Fantastic,' she managed. ‘But for now, we've got to get ready for tonight's concert, Erwin.'

‘What is it?' Luise asked.

‘The
Emperor
, at St Michael's,' Erwin explained.

‘That's my favourite sonata,' she said.

‘Do you want to come?'

Erwin looked at his mother, who grimaced. ‘Of course.'

‘No, you've planned,' Luise replied.