Opus One

Chapter 19: Mazurka

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Richard was in the middle of practicing sight-singing for his midterm exam when someone knocked on the door. 

“Come in!”

Sandra pushed the door open and came in smiling.  “I got our recital slot!” she said excitedly.  “Oh, sorry, are you studying?” she asked, noticing the open book.

Richard folded it closed.  “I guess.  I’m done though.”

“Are you ready?”

Richard shrugged.  “It’s sight singing.  Who the hell knows?  It depends on what he picks.”

Sandra nodded.  “You usually do all right in class.”

“Yeah.  Hopefully Dobra chooses something comparable to the ones in the book.”

“Let’s go get Emily and eat.”

“And tell her about the recital date.”

Richard followed Sandra down to her room.  Emily was on the bed, listening to music with her eyes closed. 

“Hey, are you – ” Sandra said, but Emily stopped her with a raised finger.

The music went through a climactic few minutes, and then Emily sat up.  “Mm, I just love that part,” she said dreamily.  “What’s up?”

“Recital is set for April ninth,” Sandra said.

“Cool,” Emily said.  “Are we eating dinner, tonight, or what?”

“Let me change,” Sandra said.  “It’s getting cold outside.”

“Good idea,” Emily agreed. 

 The girls rummaged through clothes and pulled on long sleeve shirts and jeans.  Flesh disappeared under fabric.

“I’m going to miss summer,” Richard said absently as he watched them straighten out their apparel and hair.  He still thought it was warm enough for shorts.

“You’re such a pervert,” Emily said.

“Oh, hardly,” Richard retorted.  “But there’s something nice about, um, lighter clothing.”

Emily rolled her eyes.  “You see us nude all the time.”

“That’s different.”

“So you don’t like my jeans?” Sandra said, wiggling her bottom at him.

“Nah, he said these warmer clothes don’t excite him at all,” Emily said.

“It’s not that – ” Richard started protesting.

“Not turned on by the long sleeves,” Emily added.

“It’s going to be a long, unexciting winter, then,” Sandra said conspiratorially to Emily.

“For him,” Emily corrected, and then gave Sandra a delicious kiss.  “I like your jeans.”

“Hey!” Richard exclaimed, moving nearer to them. 

With their lips still touching, the girls broke into smiles, and then giggles.

“You do look nice,” Richard said sincerely.

Emily swatted his chest with the back of his hand.  “Nice try.”

“It’s true!” Richard cried, but they had already changed the subject. 

Their grins and sidelong glances, though, reassured Richard that they were just teasing him.

“Who’s going to come?” Richard suddenly said.

Sandra frowned at him.  “Huh?”

“We have no friends...  except each other, and we’ll all be on stage.  It could be rather empty in that big hall.”

Emily laughed, but then Richard’s statement sunk in for a moment.

“Hmm.  We do know some other people,” Sandra said at last.  “I know a couple of other singers.  And there’s Jer and Jenna.”

“Okay, so we can fill the front row at least,” Richard teased.

“Well, I’m sure other people will come,” Sandra said.  “People just... go to recitals.”

“Have you been to any?” Richard asked. 

Sandra made a face.  “No, I guess you’re right.  But, Emily knows a bunch of people.”

“We’ll be fine,” Emily said.  “Besides, we have some time.”

“We can make posters, instead of just posting the sample program,” Sandra said.  “Something cool that people will be like, ‘Hey, I want to go watch that concert.’  Colorful, so it stands out from the regular programs that people always post.”

“Like a rock show?” Richard said, laughing.

“Ooh, we can call the concert: Threesome!” Emily exclaimed.  “That will get people to show up.”

“A bunch of guys, at least,” Sandra said.

“Why do you say that?” Richard asked.

“That seems to be such a thing for them.”

“And yet two-thirds of this threesome are girls,” he whispered.

The girls tittered. 

“I don’t think we’ll be calling it Threesome,” Richard said pointedly.

“How about Ména – ”

“Don’t even go there,” Richard interrupted.  “My parents might actually come out for this.”

“Really?” Sandra asked.

“Yeah, I told them about it a few days ago.  They were like, ‘Is this something we can come to?’ and I said sure.”

“I haven’t told my folks yet.  I didn’t want to get their hopes up, until the date was approved,” Sandra said.  “But I bet they’d come too.”

“Well, don’t expect my dad to come,” Emily said, slightly acerbically.

“Have you asked him?”

“No.  But he’s always so busy.  There’s just no way.  He was too busy to ever eat dinner with me, and he’s going to come all the way out here?”

“You should at least ask him,” Sandra offered.

Emily shrugged.  “I’ll tell him about it.”

“What are you all doing for Thanksgiving, anyway?” Sandra suddenly asked.

“Staying here, I guess,” Richard said. 

“Same,” Emily said, still glumly.  “We can all go out somewhere nice, or just do something in the room.”

“My parents wanted me to come home,” Sandra said.

“Oh,” Emily said.  “That’s cool.”

“What if you both came with me?” Sandra asked.

“Are they picking you up?”

“Yeah, Wednesday.  It’s sort of a day-long drive, but it would be fun.”

Richard and Emily looked at each other. 

“It’s either stay here and eat at Crapler, or go with Sandra and have home-cooked food,” Richard said, one eyebrow raised.

“The cafeteria’s probably going to be closed,” Sandra said.  “But I’ll let you use my water steamer, and you can have rice and tea.”

Emily laughed.  “Well, if you put it that way...”

“If your parents are cool with intruders, I’ll come along,” Richard said.

“You’d hardly be intruding,” Sandra said, excitement in her voice.  “They’re very welcoming.  We have a big farmhouse, and a big table.  We host the meal for our extended family, so a few more people will be no problem.”

“Cool.  I’m game,” Richard said.

“Me too,” Emily said, her spirits brightening.

“I’ll call my parents tomorrow and tell them all the good news then!”

“Can we go eat there now?” Richard asked, slowing as they approached the cafeteria. 

“Just one more month of cafeteria food,” Sandra said, pulling on his arm.

Richard made a gagging sound, but went into the dining hall anyway.

Richard paced the hallway nervously outside of Dr. Dobra’s classroom.  At least I’m not late, he thought. 

The door opened, and one of Richard’s classmates emerged, clutching a sheet of paper.  She didn’t look too happy.  Dr. Dobra held the door with a long arm, and nodded for Richard to enter.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a desk chair situated so that the piano keyboard was out of sight. “We’ll start with dictation, and then we’ll do the sight singing.”

Richard obliged, and pulled out some blank staff paper and his pencil.

Dr. Dobra sat at the piano.  “Some intervals, then.  I’ll play each twice, as we’ve done in class.”

Richard listened closely to each note pairing, and then notated the intervals.  He could feel Dobra’s eyes on him as he wrote, peering through the triangle of the open piano lid. 

The intervals were not hard for Richard, and he was reasonably sure he had gotten them correct.  He could usually visualize playing them on the keyboard in his mind, and then it was just a matter of counting the distance.

“Very well, let us proceed.  Melodic dictation.  Please be sure to use correct rhythmic notation.  As always, I will play it three times.  The first time I’ll play it normal speed, the second time...”

As Dr. Dobra gave his standard spiel, Richard’s mind drifted momentarily.  He wondered how Sandra had done on her exam.  She had an earlier time slot, but he hadn’t caught her in time to see how it had gone for her.  As Jenna had promised early in the semester, Dr. Dobra seemed to be friendliest to Sandra, of all the people in the class.  Richard was not too worried about her, but he had hoped for a tip on what Dobra was going to do.

Suddenly, Dr. Dobra was playing the melody.  Richard snapped out of his thoughts, his heart racing.  He had completely missed Dr. Dobra telling him what the first note was, and the key that the melody was played in.  And now the first phrase had completely gone by.  Richard panicked as he realized he had no idea what to write down. 

Dr. Dobra finished the melody, and paused.  Richard grew frantic.  The melody was in a major key, but that was not much help.  Without a reference note, he was lost.

Should I ask him for the starting note again?

Richard glanced at Dobra’s beady eyes watching him, and then turned back to his paper, writing a few random notes down.

“Second time,” Dr. Dobra announced, and he started the melody over, slowly this time.

Richard decided he would guess the key.  As long as the melody is right, even if the key is wrong, I’ll get some credit.  Richard glanced at Dobra again.  Hopefully get some credit.

The third pass allowed Richard to get most of the melody written, but not all.  He cursed silently at himself for having drifted off.

As Richard made some last guesses, he knew they were wrong.  That last interval was not that big!  But it ended on the tonic...?  Ah fuck...

“Okay, if you don’t have it by now,” Dr. Dobra said, “you probably don’t have it.  So, let’s move on.”

Richard shot him a glare, but Dobra was looking at his paper.

“Harmonic dictation.  Please write down the chords, using proper rhythm...”

This time he didn’t drift off.  Dr. Dobra played his stupid chords, and Richard wrote them down.  Despite his anger at having messed up the melodic dictation, he managed to concentrate enough to figure out the progression.

Finally it was time for the sight-singing portion of the exam.  This was the part Richard was least looking forward to.  He didn’t have much of a singing voice, and even though Dr. Dobra said that it wasn’t about one’s voice quality, Richard thought it sure helped to have a voice like Sandra’s.

Dr. Dobra had Richard stand, and then he played a note on the piano.

“Please sing an ascending major triad, with the given note as the root.”

Richard hummed the note to himself quietly for a moment, and then sang the three notes.  It was a little shaky, but not too bad.  Dr. Dobra made some notation in his ledger.

After singing a few more chords and intervals, Dr. Dobra moved to the board and wrote out a melody. 

Bastard!  We haven’t done almost anything with accidentals yet! Richard thought, noticing the one flatted note.

After he finished writing the melody out, Dr. Dobra played the first note for Richard.

The first interval was awkward.  What key is this in, anyway?  The first few notes indicated a G minor chord, but the rest seemed to be in F. But then what about that E-flat?

Panic began to return, as Richard tried to sing the melody inside his head.  He had trouble getting the melody to make sense.  He was just stabbing at intervals.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Dr. Dobra said, watching him expectantly.

Richard sighed, and began the melody.  “Re, Si, Sol, Si...” 

He didn’t need to see Dr. Dobra’s slight frown to know he was a bit lost on the melody.  Anger welled up within Richard as he finished with an unconvincing note.  He usually did so much better in class...

“Okay,” Dr. Dobra said, as he again notated in his grade book.  “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll grade this for you now.”  He took up the paper with the intervals and dictations, and went through it.  After a minute, he handed it to Richard.

“Here you go.  Would you send Ethan in?  If he’s waiting, that is...”

“Yeah, sure,” Richard said absently.   His heart sank as he saw his exam score circled at the top.  As he headed for the door, he glanced down the page.  His melodic dictation had gotten no credit.

“Dr. Dobra?” he said, turning back to the piano.

“Yes?”

“Um... On the melodic dictation, there’s no partial credit or anything?”

“Part credit would apply, if part of the melody was correct.”

“Oh.  I thought I had the first half right, at least” Richard said, pointing to the phrase on his paper as he approached the piano bench.

Dr. Dobra frowned, not even looking at the exam Richard held out for him.  “You started on a completely different note than what I said.”

“But relatively, wasn’t it right?” Richard pressed.

“Relatively?”

“Yeah, I mean, in this other key.”

“Other key?  I told you the key and starting note.  You wrote something completely different.”

“But...”

“Richard, I’m sorry, but what you wrote has minimal relation to what I played on the piano.  I recommend you work harder on your ear training.  Perhaps you can have Sandra help you.”

“I usually don’t have any problem,” Richard said defensively, and pointed to the sight-singing example on the board.  “That wasn’t typical for what we did in class.”

“And that,” Dobra said, gesturing dismissively to Richard’s still outstretched paper, “is not the work of someone who usually doesn’t have any problem.  I think you need to take this class more seriously.  You still have three and a half more semesters, and they will not get any easier.”

Richard stood stone still for a moment.  “Okay, thanks,” he said tersely, and then turned to leave.

“Richard,” Dr. Dobra called out.

“Yeah.”

“You may not think the exam to be fair, but I assure you, it is in line with what we did the first half of the semester.”

Richard had been ready to let it go, but Dr. Dobra had reopened the conversation.  He strode back to the piano, shaking his head at him, and letting the anger seep into his voice a little.  “The examples in class almost never had accidentals, and they were more... tonal than this one.”

“This is not tonal?” Dr. Dobra said, playing the melody on the piano.  He added a sparse chordal accompaniment, and Richard winced as the melody suddenly made sense to him. 

Richard shrugged.  “I guess it just threw me off,” he said, less belligerently now.  “You have to admit it wasn’t standard.”

Dr. Dobra shrugged.  “Practice more, and less will throw you off.  I’m running late, so...”

“I wish I had the time to practice more,” Richard said, brushing aside Dr. Dobra’s dismissal, “but I already spend a number of hours a week doing all this sight singing, and chord analysis, and ear training.  I don’t even know why we have to learn some of this stuff.  How exactly does the sight-singing help me, as a pianist?  Theory is not my major, you know,” Richard added. 

Thank god it’s not...

“Music theory is everyone’s major,” Dr. Dobra said simply.  He went to the board and began to erase the melody written there.

“What?”

“Everyone who comes through this school takes at least two years of theory.  If they are smart, they take three or four.”  Dr. Dobra rounded on Richard.  “If it really is pointless, why would we make everyone take it?”

“Well, I didn’t say pointless,” Richard said.

Dr. Dobra chuckled almost good-naturedly, and that surprised Richard a little.  He sat at the piano again.

“You’re not the first to think that, Richard,” he said.  “I’ve heard it before.  But I’ll tell you, there will come a day when you see just how useful theory is.  Depending on how seriously you take this class, and subsequent classes, when that time comes you will either be grateful that you learned ‘this stuff,’ or you’ll be kicking yourself for not having learned it.”

Richard took a deep breath, and held out his paper once more.  “Well, I guess I don’t feel that this score is really where I’m at.”

Dr. Dobra considered something for a moment, looking Richard in the eye.  “Well, you have half a semester to prove that to me.”

When Richard returned to his room, the phone was ringing.  Jer was reading on his bed, making no movement towards the phone. 

“You don’t answer anymore?” Richard asked him as the machine engaged.

“Nah.  It’s probably your dad.”

Jer pointed with arched brow as the Italian voice filled the room through the small speaker.

“Hello, Riccardo, it’s your father.  Listen, I just spoke to Aunt Maria, and she is going to come visit next month.  Your mother and I were talking, and we thought you could come back for Thanksgiving, if you have the time.  Maria really would love to see you and hear you play the piano, since she has never heard you play.  I don’t have any jobs set for that week, so I can come pick you up.  Maybe the school is closed?  I don’t know.  Call me, please!  Ciao.”

Richard sighed heavily. 

“Did he say something about coming home for Thanksgiving?” Jer asked.

“Yeah,” Richard replied.

“Oh, calls it!” Jer exclaimed, stretching a fist to the air.  “I think I’m starting to learn Italian!”

“Calls what?” Richard said, frowning deeply.  “He said the word ‘Thanksgiving’, in English!”

“Well, when your dad talks English, it’s still, uh, foreign sounding.”

“Dude, you’re retarded...!” Richard exclaimed, though he had to chuckle a little.  Oddly, Jer had helped quell some of the anger at his midterm.

Jer yawned loudly and tossed his book randomly towards his desk.  It was a little too strong of a throw, and the book landed on Richard’s desk instead, scattering a bunch of pencils and papers.

“What the fuck, man?”

“Sorry,” Jer said.  He eventually straightened out Richard’s stuff, and tossed his book onto his own desktop, more carefully this time. 

“Hey, can I borrow your sight singing book?” he suddenly asked.

“What happened to yours?”

“I never had one,” Jer said.  “Figured I should practice for my midterm, though.”

Richard gave Jer an incredulous look, and then shrugged and handed Jer the book.  “How are you going to pass?”

“Eh, this stuff is easy for me.  Besides, Anita has the hots for me,” Jer said confidently.

“Anita?”

“Ms. Connelly.”

“I know that,” Richard said, rolling his eyes.  “I was questioning the ‘hots’ part.”

Jer shrugged.  “Hey man, don’t worry about me.  I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not really worried.  You know, you’re lucky you don’t have Dobra for sight singing,” Richard said.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.  Hey, I’m going to go warm up for the test.  Thanks letting me borrow this,” Jer said, indicating the book.

“No problem.”

Richard sat heavily on his bed after Jer left, but before he had a chance to contemplate his exam, and his dad’s message, someone knocked on the door.

“Yeah?”

Emily came in and sat next to him on the bed.  “How did it go?”

“Not that great.” 

Richard recounted his exam session with Dobra. 

“Ouch!  Sounds like he was trying to be difficult.”

“I got the feeling, though, that if I do well on the final, he won’t count this test very heavily.”

“Well, that’s good at least.”

Richard shrugged, but didn’t add anything. 

“Are you all right, otherwise?” Emily asked.

Richard let out a huff.  “My dad just called.  He wants me to come home for Thanksgiving after all.”

“Oh.  Well, you better go downstairs because Sandra is talking to her parents right now.”

Richard turned to Emily.  “I thought she was calling them tonight, after I called my folks to check with them!”

“She got excited.”

Richard laughed.  “That seems to be her thing, doesn’t it?  Come on.”

Richard and Emily ran down the steps and went into the girls’ room. 

Sandra was indeed on the phone.  When she turned to Richard and Emily, she grinned.

“Oh, I also wanted to ask you something about Thanksgiving,” she spoke into the receiver.

Richard and Emily started waving their arms at her and mouthing ‘Wait!’

“Um, actually, hold on a sec...”  Sandra cupped the mouthpiece and frowned at them.  “What’s wrong?”

“Call them back in a bit, we need to talk,” Richard said.

Sandra nodded, and then complied.  After she hung up the phone, she turned back to Richard.

“What’s up?”

“I have some bad news.”

“What?” Sandra asked, concerned.

“My dad just called.  He wants me to come back home for Thanksgiving.”

Richard could see the disappointment flood through Sandra’s eyes.  As he tightened up, he felt his own disappointment coursing through him as well.  I hate seeing her like this! he thought.

“Well, that’s not bad news, Richard,” Sandra said.  “You should go be with your family.”

Richard sighed.  “I’d rather go to your place.”

Sandra softened a little, and came close to him.  “But if your parents invited you to go home, you should do that.”

“I haven’t actually called him back yet.  Maybe I can say that I need to stay here, for school, but then go with you two.”

Sandra smiled gently.  “I’m tempted to say yes, but that’s not right.”

“I know, I know,” Richard said, dejectedly.  “The two of you will have so much fun, though!”

Emily put an arm around Richard.  “We won’t do anything too crazy, without you.”

Richard smiled, but flashing through his head were images of them riding in the backs of guys’ pickup trucks late at night, or skinny-dipping in lakes.

“I thought you said your parents weren’t going to come pick you up?” Sandra asked.  “Are you flying back home?”

“No, my dad’s going to come out and get me.  I guess my Aunt Maria, who lives in Italy, is coming to visit.”

“Oh, well then you should definitely go back,” Sandra said.  “You probably don’t see her that much.”

“Every other summer.  She’s really a downer now, ever since my uncle died a few years ago.  She just sits around in her black clothes and makes bitter comments about everything.  Last summer, when we were at her place, it was really depressing to be around her.”

“Oh.  Sorry to hear that.”

“It’ll only be a few days,” Richard said.  A few long days, thinking about the two of you...

The girls wrapped him up in their arms, but that only made him feel a little better.

“I guess I should go call him back,” Richard said.

Irina was immensely pleased.  The last time she had seen a student make these strides was...  she wasn’t sure, really. 

She had judged Richard well, at his audition.  Unlike some musicians who were placed with a great teacher early upon recognition of true talent, Richard had been limited by staying with his teacher through high school.  It was common; most intermediate level teachers were unwilling to suggest that their prize students should move on to other teachers.  It was both a loss of income and admission of some lack of competence, neither of which most musicians would care to allow.

Still, it was not too late.  Richard was proving that he could fix the deficiencies in his technique, and his musicality was blossoming. 

“Excellent, excellent!” she said, as Richard finished the section.  He seemed surprised at her praise, but didn’t say anything.  He is even more quiet than usual today, for some reason, Irina thought. 

Irina returned to her seat, and watched him for a moment, nodding.  “We should begin to work on the pieces for your recital,” Irina said.

Richard frowned.  “I thought I would play the Liszt.”

“No, you are almost finished with that piece now.  I thought you could play some of the Etudes.”

Irina watched Richard’s face light up slightly.

“Really?”

“Yes.  Have you played some before?”

“Yes, Opus Ten, Number Three, and Opus Twenty-five, Number Ten.  Oh, and also... this one,” he said, playing a few measures.

“Ah yes.  Did you study those with your teacher?”

“Only the E major.  The other two I just learned on my own.”

“Then perhaps we can start with those two.  They should not be too hard.  Then we will learn some others.”

“Which do you think?” Richard asked eagerly.

Irina pursed her lips.  “Perhaps Numbers Seven and Eight from Opus Twenty-five.”

Richard thought for a second, and then roughly played the melody of Number Eight.  The other one seemed to elude him, though.

“I don’t remember Number Seven, is it this one?”  Richard played a different Etude.

“No.  Let me show you.”  Irina stood, and Richard moved off the bench as she approached.

She was not surprised that he couldn’t come up with the other one.  It was among the least showy of the Etudes in terms of velocity or brilliance, which were the things young Richard was naturally more attracted to.  Yet it was, for Irina, the most memorable of the set.  And the challenges that the study presented were just what Richard needed.

She began the Etude, a melancholy statement in the low register which was so elusive.  Twenty four simple notes, and yet so moving.

Irina had lost some of her touch on this Etude in the passing years, and yet the melody still sung plaintively. 

For a while, Irina was no longer in the piano studio at Wexford, but back in Moscow at the conservatory, hidden away in a basement room, and playing this Etude for Harvey. 

Before Harvey had entered her life, she knew only the notes of this piece.  Like Richard, she had learned it away from the eyes of her teacher.  So sure that she could put all the beauty of the world into the music, she only realized her naiveté when she returned to it after the incident. 

Until then, she had just been a child.  Girlish dreams of being swept away by a handsome prince had been both irrevocably shattered and unexpectedly realized, all at once. 

“Now I remember it,” Richard breathed, after she finished. 

“It is not as easy as it sounds, perhaps,” Irina said, as she returned to her chair.

“No, I can see where some of the things you have showed me would be important for maintaining the singing tone.  That was beautiful.  And so sad, too.”

That sadness can come at a heavy price, Richard, Irina thought.

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Irina said, gesturing for him to sit.  “Do you remember the octave Etude?”

Richard shrugged.  “I haven’t tried it in a while, but I think I can play it.”

“Do you want music?”

“Uh, sure...  Just in case.”

Irina went to her shelves and pulled out a heavily worn copy of the pieces, and flipped to a page near the back.

“Don’t worry about making mistakes,” she assured him.  “I just want to hear what you did on your own.”

“It’s probably all wrong,” Richard said, chuckling slightly.

“Maybe,” Irina said, smiling a little.  “But you have a good capacity for improving.”

Richard nodded thoughtfully, and then glanced over the first page before beginning.

As Irina expected, Richard was right, or rather, wrong.  He had learned the piece with a limiting technique.  That is the danger of playing these pieces without a teacher.

After he played a few measures of the slow middle section, Irina stopped him.

“All wrong?” Richard asked with a slight grin, before she could speak.

It was Irina’s turn to chuckle.  “Do you know what it is?”

Richard nodded.  “As I looked at the music, I saw your fingerings.”

Irina smiled.  “And?”

“And I’m playing the octaves with just my pinky and thumb.  I should be using my fourth finger as well?”

“Yes.  And why?”

“So I can get them smooth from one to the other?”

Irina nodded.  “Yes!”

“That seems very awkward,” he said, trying the first phrase slowly, and stumbling over several of the octaves.

“At first, it will be difficult.  You play it as well as can be played with the technique you used.  But, the octaves are not legato that way, unless you are using the pedal.  With the pedal they are all...”

“Washed out.” Richard finished, nodding.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Looks like I’ll have to start over on this one,” Richard said, though not glumly.

Irina laughed.  “You can’t reach the highest mountain peak directly from a nearby peak.  You have to go down first.”

Richard frowned at her.  “Do you know any French Horn teachers in Washington D.C.?”

“No, why?”

Richard laughed.  “My friend told me that her teacher said almost the exact same thing to her once.”

“It is true,” Irina said simply.  “Learning music is not a steady uphill journey. Unless you stop learning.”

Richard nodded, and then tried the new fingerings a few times at a very slow pace.  Occasionally Irina made a suggestion with regard to arm position or finger placement, but with the numbers on the page, Richard didn’t need much assistance at this stage.

“Okay, I’ll work on that,” Richard said at last.

“Good.  That will be a powerful piece when you play it in April.  Now, what about the Serenade?  Do you have the music with you?  I should make a photocopy.”

“No, I didn’t bring it, sorry.”

“Bring it next week and we will see.  It is a piano reduction of an orchestra score?”

“Yes.  Just strings, actually.”

“Perhaps you might work with Nelson on it,” Irina said, half to herself.

“Nelson?”

“Nelson Jackson.  He is the head of the collaborative piano department.”

Richard nodded and wrote the name down on his notebook.

“I will talk to him this week,” Irina said.  “We can work on some of the pianistic difficulties, but he will be better for helping you with the accompaniment issues.”

Richard frowned.  “Like what?”

“Playing accompaniment is different than solo work.  I have not done as much accompaniment as he has.  But it is good to do it,” she added.

“Have you heard the piece?” Richard asked.

Irina hesitated.  “Only once, at a rehearsal,” she said, smiling.  “No, I do not know it very well.”

“Okay.  I think my friends will do a good job.”

“I think they will, too.”  Irina looked at the clock.  “I have kept you over again.”

“That’s okay, I don’t have anything until one.”

Richard collected his books and then shouldered his bag.

“Ah, Richard, one more thing.  If you will be staying here for Thanksgiving, I would invite you to come to my house for dinner.”

Richard’s face betrayed consternation for a moment before he hid it.

“Um, thank you.  I think I am going home, but I will let you know next week for sure.”

Irina nodded.  “Okay.  Good work today.”

Richard smiled half-heartedly.  “Thank you.”

“You should totally go to your teacher’s house!” Emily said.  “That’s what I would do.”

Sandra was painting Emily’s nails, while Richard sat at Emily’s desk, head in his hands.

“Now you got out of going to see your Aunt,” Sandra said.

“It wasn’t that...”

“Come on, Richard.  It was pretty obvious you didn’t really want to see her for the whole weekend,” Emily said.

“Well it’s getting annoying to have to keep changing my plans,” Richard groaned.  “Who’s going to invite me over next?”

“Aw, our baby is sooo popular!” Sandra said to Emily.  They giggled.

“Go call your Dad, and tell him your teacher invited you,” Emily said.

“Yeah.  And if you are here that weekend,” Sandra added, “maybe I’ll get my dad to drive us back Saturday.  Then we can spend all night Saturday and all day Sunday locked up in this room.”

“Doing what?” Richard asked, perking up.

“Anything.  Everything...”

“Everything?  What’s everything?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see...” Sandra said, flashing him a flirtatious smile. 

Richard jumped out of his chair.  “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

Emily and Sandra laughed as he rushed out of the room.

“Papa?”

“Ei, Riccardo!  How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

“Tell me, did you find out if you have class on that Wednesday?”

“No I don’t have class.  But, I needed to tell you something else first.”

“What?”

“Well, my teacher invited me to have Thanksgiving at her house.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Mrs. Tertychnaya?”

“Yes.  With her family.”

“That’s good, no?  What an honor!”

“Well, yeah, I guess it is.  She is very happy with my work, I think.”

“You should stay and have Thanksgiving there, then.”

“But what about Aunt Maria?  I already said I would come home.  Mama will be disappointed, too.”

“Riccardo, listen.  We will miss you, of course.  But right now, I want you to put your music first.”

“But...”

“Before your family, even.”

Richard paused.  He suddenly felt bad.  “That’s not what you’ve always said.”

“No, I’ve wanted this for you for so long,” Vittorio said.  “I’ve spent my life breaking my back on the scaffolding, ruining my hands so that you can use your hands for something far more beautiful.  This is the time in your life where I still support you.  Someday, when I get too old, that may change, but for now, you must use this time to move ahead, as fast as you can.”

Richard was silent for a long time.

“Riccardo?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ll stay there then?”

“Yes, I will.  Thank you, Papa.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, I have a date for my recital.”

“Excellent.  When is it?”

“April ninth.”

“Good, good.  I will write it on our calendar... Let’s see, April...  There, all done.”

Richard smiled.  In his mind he could see his father’s rough print on the calendar of saints, the date circled several times.

“I would like it if you and Mama could come,” Richard said.

“Of course, we will come.  We would not miss it for anything.”

Richard nodded, but felt a little too tight in his throat to speak.

“I have to go,” he managed.

“Don’t forget to practice hard.”

“Yes.”

“Ciao, Riccardo.”

“Ciao.”

Richard held the phone in his hand long after the disconnected tones began to pulse through the earpiece.

Forward to Chapter 20

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