THE TRUTH OF WHO WE ARE

A reading by the AUTHOR

CHAPTER 6 (conclusion)

Bijou was dressed in the same red velour suit he was wearing in the morning, his hair still tied back into a ponytail, but he was carrying a walking stick and smelling the carnation pinned to his lapel. He stood as though perched on the sidewalk, with two hands on the walking stick and his legs spread like he was standing at ease, waiting for La Niña to open the door. The club was quiet and looked deserted, the only light coming in through the open door and the smoked filled windows—dust motes floated in the string of light that danced across the floor. He looked at Martin briefly as he stepped into the club and hit the light switch.

“Tell me one more time why we’re doing this?” he asked, standing in the middle of the dance floor.

“It’s for a friend,” Martin said, walking to the piano bench and lifting the seat up. He picked up a bundle of sheet music, untied it, and began sorting through it, tossing what he didn’t want back into the open bench.

“As if you have friends,” La Niña laughed, standing behind the bar and pouring himself a liberal glass of red wine.

“Are you paying for that?” Bijou asked him.

“Since when do I have to pay for a glass of wine?”

“Since you’re not on a tab.”

“I’ve never had to pay before.”

“You’ve always had to pay, you just never paid attention,” Bijou smiled.

“Oh, aren’t you the saucy one?”

“Then put a coin in the tip jar,” he said.

Martin selected the music he wanted to hear the boy play and set it up on the music rack. Then he sat down, adjusted the seat, and started to play Beethoven’s Piano Sonata #5, The Emperor. He didn’t open the sheet music. He started with the Allegro, his fingers tickling the keyboards and the music filling the small club with his light touch. He paused, almost as if hesitating, then nodded to himself before he hit the keyboard again.

“This is where the band comes in,” he said, one hand raised as if he was conducting an invisible string section.

“The band?” La Niña said, sitting at the bar and sipping his wine.

“The orchestra,” he smiled. “It is Beethoven after all. Why would you think there’s no band playing?”

“Beethoven? And is this what you’re playing tonight?” Bijou said.

“This is what the child is going to play when he arrives.”

“You expect a child to play this?” La Niña said.

“I did,” Martin replied, looking at him.

“You played this when you were a child?” Bijou asked. “How old were you?”

“Ten.”

“You played this when you were ten years old?” La Niña said with a note of disbelief.

“I did,” Martin said, and looked at Bijou through heavy lidded eyes as he continued to play from memory. Martin was certain Bijou could feel the piano vibrating through the floor, much the same as Beethoven would have felt it. “I was on stage by the time I was eleven, playing for an elite selection of criminals—”

“Criminals?” La Niña laughed.

“Nazis,” Bijou said.

“Do you mean you really did play for Hitler?” La Niña said. “I thought you were just teasing—”

“Why would I lie about something like that?” Martin opened his eyes and looked at Bijou. “This is where the band steps again, to great acclaim,” he said, and began humming the parts. “The strings. Soft, and unassuming. That’s the beauty of Beethoven. He layers his music with beauty, but he always keeps the theme running underneath it somewhere. You can hear it all the way through the music. Sometimes, it’s just a whisper, and sometimes, he screams it out.”

“How long is it?” Bijou asked.

“Forty minutes, give or take.”

“What does that mean, give or take?” La Niña asked.

“And now the woodwinds come in, playing the same theme. And give or take means that everybody plays it differently. Some have it come in at forty-one minutes, and some at thirty-eight. You wouldn’t notice the difference, but any conductor worth his salt would, and he’d have to adjust accordingly. He’d have to slow things down, or speed them up, according to what the pianist wants the piece to sound like. Because at this point, the brass and woodwind instruments come in.”

“And when does the piano come in again? Seems like an awful long wait,” Bijou said, tapping his walking stick on the floor.

“How about now?” Martin asked, and hit the keyboard.

“And this is Beethoven?” La Niña said, with a slow shake of his head. “All this time, and I never realized this was what he was playing,” he said with a half smile.

“You’ve never paid attention,” Martin said.

“Who is this so-called friend of yours?” La Niña asked.

“A woman.”

“This gets stranger and stranger. A woman? Did you hear that? Martin claims to know someone, and it’s a woman, no less,” La Niña laughed. “I, for one, find it hard to believe—”

“That I had a life before you knew me? I had more than a life, little one,” Martin laughed.

The music drifted through the open door, and La Niña turned to look at the people gathered there. He stood up, walking towards the door, thinking to close it.

“Please,” Martin said. “Leave it open.”

La Niña shrugged his shoulder and went back behind the bar.

“Martin?” a voice called out, and he looked up, seeing Annaliese and Rudi standing just inside the door. He stopped playing, and stood up. Bijou turned to look at her, then looked at La Niña who was staring at her as well.

“Bijou,” Martin said awkwardly, “this is my friend Annaliese, and her son, Rudi. Bijou owns the club,” he explained. “That’s La Niña sitting behind the bar—”

“Enchanteê,” he said, toasting her.

Martin looked at Rudi who was dressed in a dark suit, his shoes highly polished, wearing a straight, narrow tie. His hair was neatly trimmed and combed, and he remembered how he would have to dress before his recitals. He smiled, as he walked up to the boy. He looked over at Annaliese.

“I haven’t seen you since—well, we won’t even think of how long it’s been,” he said, reaching out and adjusting his tie.

“I was four,” the boy said softly.

“Four? Well, I guess it was,” he laughed, and then pulled the tie out of its knot and pulled it out of his collar. “You don’t need to wear this. Come. Your mother tells me that you can play, and she wants me to tell her if you’re good enough,” he added, leading him to the stage and helping him up.

“Good enough for what?”

He pushed the seat in for him and opened the sheet music, giving it to him.

“Just good enough. Do you sight read?” he asked, looking down at him, and the boy nodded. “Do you need me to turn the pages for you?”

“I know this one,” Rudi said softly.   

“Excellent,” Martin replied, jumping down from the stage and setting a chair on the floor. He brought a second one down and offered it to Annaliese, and a third one for Bijou. When Annaliese sat down, he gave her the tie.

“No chair for me?” La Niña asked.

“You’re sitting on a stool.”

He took out his watch, looked at Rudi and nodded.

“Begin.”