Dissonance (20 page)

‘So?' Madge barked.

‘The agreement was six pm.'

‘My son has been out all day, he hasn't practised.'

The woman shook her head. ‘I've just had two tenants at my door complaining.'

Madge stuck her head out of the door. ‘Who?' she called. ‘It's just a few minutes. A few minutes!' She closed the door, walked over to the piano and closed the lid. ‘See what happens?' she said.

‘It was one time,' Erwin repeated.

‘It's never one time,' she whispered, turning her back on him and walking into the kitchen, searching through a drawer of pots for no particular reason.

Chapter Four

The two matriarchs sat in the front row of the recital room at the conservatorium. Sara Hennig was dressed in a frock that Madge thought highly inappropriate – almost up to her knees, revealing white, capillary-covered legs that hadn't been shaved for weeks, clog-looking shoes (apparently something traditional) and a sort of embroidered apron that made her look like she should be making the coffee.

Still, you couldn't say anything.

‘My father has just bought a windmill,' Sara explained, as the last of the students, parents, friends and teachers settled in around them.

‘For what purpose?' Madge asked.

‘For grinding wheat.'

Madge looked surprised. ‘I thought windmills were Dutch.'

‘Oh no, we have windmills too. In fact, we may have more.'

‘Well,' Madge admitted, watching the piano being set up on the small, raised stage, ‘that's something most Australians wouldn't be aware of.'

Or care about, she thought.

It was the monthly
Vortragsabende
, the student practice recital. The stage was set up with chairs and music stands, vases of stocks and lilies and a bust of Brahms with his ear broken off. The audience was peppered with students dressed in their best recital clothes, their violins, cellos and trumpets sitting in velvet-lined cases at the front of the room. Madge recognised the woman from the office, scampering around with a list telling the students their order. There was a dust-covered chandelier with half of its globes blown hanging low above the piano and a wreath of dead holly around a picture of Bach.

‘Luise has a very pure voice,' Madge said to Sara.

And Sara agreed.

‘How long has she been learning?'

Sara gently bit her lip. ‘She was eight, maybe nine, which in retrospect was too early. The voice doesn't … fatten until later. And what about Erwin?'

‘Earlier. He was picking out tunes when he was four. He used to listen to the radio, and then run to the piano. That's when we knew we had something.'

‘We?'

‘My husband and I … Johann.'

‘Ah.'

But Sara had already heard the stories. ‘Johann was musical?' she asked.

‘No, not at all. I taught Erwin, and there was a priest, and then the conservatorium.'

‘So he just, paid the bills?'

‘Yes,' Madge replied. ‘That's right.'

‘They are good for something, aren't they?'

Erwin and Luise came into the room dressed in clothes still warm from the iron. She was joking with him, and held his hand and laughed. Madge looked at her hand, and her arm, and her face was as cold and hard as the plaster Brahms. Sara looked at her. ‘It's good to see them getting along so well,' she said.

‘Yes,' Madge replied. ‘They've hit it off, haven't they?'

‘Erwin's been such an encouragement, and help. She used to have to pay for an accompanist.'

Madge looked at her. ‘No?'

‘She's flourishing.'

‘Erwin is very focussed on his music.'

‘So is Luise. But I'm not sure she'll end up at La Scala.'

‘If not?'

‘We'll see.'

‘Erwin has a more … determined view.'

‘Luise explained. You must be very determined, to come all this way.'

‘We have a lot at stake.'

‘Of course. But nothing's certain, is it? I mean, this … career, is hit or miss. There are fantastic opportunities, but for most there's teaching, or worse.'

‘Such as?'

‘Most waiters are actors or musicians.'

It was all getting a bit much for Madge. ‘Erwin will never be a waiter.'

‘As long as he's happy.'

Madge sat fuming.

‘And if they're happy together, so be it.' She stared at Erwin, his wild, woolly blonde hair, his strong, hopeful face, his broad shoulders, long arms and wide, powerful hands. ‘He's a handsome boy,' she said. ‘He seems to have it all.'

‘Yes,' Madge agreed, sighing.

The children approached the mothers and Luise handed Sara a jumper. ‘I'm on first,' she said.

‘Are you cold?' Sara asked.

‘I haven't had a chance to warm up.'

‘You'll be fine,' Erwin said, smiling at her, looking at his mother and remembering to feel guilty.

A bell chimed from the back of the room and a high voice said, ‘Item number one.'

There was a rustling of paper as the audience consulted their programs.

‘You'll be fine,' Madge said to Luise, turning to her son. ‘Erwin will get you through, won't you?'

He looked at his mother. ‘If Schubert could do it, with his stumpy fingers.'

They worked through four Schubert songs, starting with
The Wanderer
. Madge watched Erwin and Sara watched Luise. Occasionally Madge would look at the girl – at her hands, monkey-gripped together like the Virgin, at her shoulders, too far back, at her artificial Paulette Goddard expression, her jumping eyebrows and pursed lips.

Act naturally, she wanted to say. Opera is drama, it should be believable. This is all artifice. Italian silliness. A one-dimensional Mimi who doesn't convince anyone. Or worse. A Wagnerian soprano with plaits and horns.

Still, she consoled herself, soon it will all be over, and then there won't be any more afternoon visits.

But then a funny thing happened. As Luise started to relax into the music – as she dropped her hands to her side and forgot what she'd been taught about deportment, as she abandoned interpretation in favour of singing, Madge started to feel drawn in. She started to hear the words – as tone, echo, laughter, as wind through branches or Grace's voice serenading her to sleep, as vibrations through trellis wire, as birdsong, as Jo's whistling on the back verandah (yes, even this) – as music.

Oh! I feel lonely

Dreading farewell!

Dreading farewell!

When they were finished, and when the audience was applauding, she realised she'd forgotten to watch her son. He must have played well, of course, because he was smiling and shrugging, standing hand in hand with Luise whispering thank you to the audience.

Madge looked at Luise and felt that she'd been wrong. If Erwin was good, then she was good too. There was something in her voice, or the music, or both, that couldn't be defined or explained. She turned to Sara. ‘She's astonishing.'

‘You hadn't noticed?'

‘I had … but …'

And what she couldn't say: I just wanted her out of our sitting room … and my son's life … I hadn't
really
heard what she was singing.

The singing teacher – a woman shaped like a plum pudding, smiling sincerely as she wobbled on her high heels – mounted the stage and put her arm around Luise. Erwin was forgotten. He shrugged and grinned and a few people laughed and he sat down next to his mother. ‘Fine,' Madge said to him, patting his hand.

‘How do you feel you performed tonight?' the singing teacher asked Luise, splitting her smile between her student and the audience.

‘It started off … stiff,' Luise explained, blushing, ‘but then I just forgot what I was doing.'

‘It flowed, I could tell that,' the teacher added. ‘And it was good how you put the slower, lyric piece at the end.'

Luise stared down at the front row. ‘Erwin played them beautifully.'

‘Well, at that point, I'll ask for any comments,' the teacher said, staring out across the audience.

A tall boy with black hair and sideburns raised his hand and in a deep, baritone voice said, ‘Your voice is excellent, if perhaps a bit breathy in
Gretchen
.'

‘Breathy?' Luise asked.

‘Maybe you've had a cold?'

‘No.'

‘Well …'

Erwin was stretched out in the front row. His legs nearly touched the front of the stage and his arms were crossed. ‘I was quite close,' he said, loudly, ‘and I couldn't hear any breathing.'

‘But you had the piano,' the boy said.

Erwin didn't turn around. ‘And I was close. Surely I could tell.'

‘Go on,' Luise said to the boy, glaring at Erwin.

‘There's no point criticising for the sake of it,' Erwin ­continued.

There was a short pause as everyone looked at him, thinking the same thing. Eventually the boy said, ‘I also thought there were too many grace notes in
The Wanderer
.'

Erwin shook his head but Luise just looked at him. ‘You did?' she replied. Then she turned to her teacher.

‘I don't think so,' she defended.

‘I know the piece,' the boy argued.

‘Not true,' Erwin called out.

‘I'll check,' Luise said.

‘No need,' Erwin replied. ‘There was no problem with grace notes.' And then he sang, ‘
And here the sun appears so cold
,' – demonstrating where the extra note sat. ‘That's all she sang.'

‘No, no, there were several other bars.'

‘Rubbish!' At last Erwin sat up, turned around and looked at the boy. ‘We rehearsed this piece a hundred times.' He took the score from his satchel and flicked through until he found the piece. Then he held it up, and pointed to the bar in question. ‘See, here, bar twenty-four …'

‘I don't doubt the score.'

‘No?'

‘I heard – '

Erwin looked around. ‘Why do we have to waste time on this?'

Schaedel was watching from the back of the room. He wanted Erwin to keep going. He knew his pupil was right – Luise had only sung the single G-sharp grace note. But he wanted it to end in shouting, and threats. Madge was quite content too, sitting, smiling with her purse in her lap. The little, weak-chinned Slav was wrong and someone had to tell him so. When it came down to blue eyes versus brown, it was never a competition.

Luise wasn't so pleased. She bowed her head and sighed. Then she looked at Erwin and said, ‘It doesn't matter, it was just a grace note.'

Erwin threw his hands in the air. ‘This is simple.' He looked at the Slav. ‘Just say, I might have misheard.'

‘I didn't,' the boy replied.

‘Then you're a fool.'

‘And you're an egoist.'

‘What on earth is an
egoist
? Does anyone know, or care?' He looked at the crowd as he shook his head. ‘Well, you have your audience, are you happy?'

‘This is a forum for discussion.'

‘Fool!' And he sat down.

The boy looked at the music teacher. ‘As I understand, we're entitled to criticise?'

‘We might move on,' the teacher said.

Erwin was still shaking his head, mumbling. He turned and saw Schaedel put his hands together in mute applause. Erwin smiled and almost laughed. Luise came and sat next to him. She looked at him, angry, but then grinned.

‘
As I understand
 …
' Erwin whispered, and she had to stop herself from laughing.

‘That was your best ever,' Sara called down to her daughter, as a string quartet set up.

‘Too many grace notes,' Luise said, and her mother laughed and shooed her away like a fly.

After the string quartet there was a trumpet solo, and then a Bach fugue; then there was Chopin, and Scarlatti, and an intermission of cold coffee and stale biscuits. Schaedel found Erwin and pulled him aside. ‘Very impressive,' he whispered, juggling a mug of herbal tea, a piece of apple and a score.

‘I completely lost my place,' Erwin replied.

‘Not that,' Ivan Schaedel replied. ‘
Your
performance.'

‘I was just getting started.'

‘I was hoping it might develop into something.'

Erwin shook his head. ‘I was just thinking of Luise.'

Schaedel took his time, but eventually asked, ‘Your … girlfriend?'

‘A friend, who's a girl. She lives up the hall, and asked if I'd help her.'

‘See, you're a nice fellow, Chips. You should keep working on your … partnership.'

Erwin shrugged. ‘Perhaps.' He stared at his teacher and thought of the silk kimono, remembered the small tuft of chest hairs and broad, flat white feet. ‘The practice is good for me,' he explained.

‘She's a nice girl … very sweet. Don't you think so?'

‘Yes, sweet.'

Then Schaedel asked, ‘Whatever happened to those twenty apes?'

Erwin looked up at the ceiling, and pinched his chin softly. ‘I found a Mendelssohn biography, and it said that Moses stored them in a woodshed.'

‘A woodshed?'

‘Yes, covered with a sheet.'

‘And?'

‘There was an earthquake, and they all got broken, except one, so Moses painted it brown, kept it in his study and called it The Lucky Ape.'

‘The Lucky Ape?'

‘Yes … but you know all of this?'

‘Go on.'

‘And every time Felix played a concert, Moses made him kiss the ape for good luck.' Erwin stopped, and stared at his teacher. ‘It's quite a story, isn't it?'

Schaedel grinned, wondering if he was having him on. As a counter-bluff he said, ‘I thought the roof collapsed,' and Erwin shrugged, ‘No, it was an earthquake.'

Before they could finish, Madge was shaking Schaedel's hand and asking, ‘Do you think he's ready, Herr Professor?'

‘Ivan, please.' He held Erwin's shoulder and squeezed it. ‘He's ready,' he replied.

Sara Hennig introduced herself, and her daughter, and Schaedel kissed their hands. ‘Luise is our neighbour,' Madge explained.

‘Erwin explained,' he replied. He looked at the girl and said, ‘There was nothing wrong with those songs. That ­fellow's here every month, and he's always the first to stand up.'

‘Didn't he have an argument with a cellist last month?'

‘The Bach. I was just saying to Erwin, you two make a wonderful, duo. You must keep going.' He turned to Erwin and touched the tip of his shoulder. ‘I think it would be very good for Erwin … musically … and your singing. You could rehearse a program and tour it, locally, in your holidays. How would you feel about that?'