A Certain Music (6 page)

Nothing lasts. Not even the most perfect moment ... It can only be relived in memory.

This the child is doing over and over, as in the darkness of early morning she steps from the carriage. As she enters the house she murmurs a silent thanks ...

In the kitchen she takes down a glass and reaches for water ...

The next day the heat's inside her skin.

• • •

'It's a fever.'

'I'm just hot.'

'It's a fever,' repeated the woman. 'Into bed.'

The child lay on her bed. Her head throbbed. The light hurt. Her mother sponged her face and arms. 'Too much excitement,' she said. She dispensed liquids and read stories ...

The child slept through the night and through the next day and the next and when she awoke she was grumpy.

'You're getting better,' her mother remarked. They sat at the table and drank broth. 'Can I go for a walk?' asked the child.

'Tomorrow – maybe.'

Now she was feeling well, the child noticed things. The rag her mother used for the cough was now permanently inside the bodice of her dress. And there was something else.

'Is Papa sick?'

'No,
Liebling
.'

'Then – ?'

The woman coughed hard, held the rag to her face. 'In two days, if you're quite well we'll both go back ... All will be right,
Liebling
...'

But something wasn't. The child could tell ...

'I can go for a walk. You said.'

The woman made a fist, pressed cheeks, a brow, and nodded. 'The fresh air will do you good. Wear your coat and go slowly.'

The day was pink, the air warm against skin. In the sky rode puffs of coppery cloud. The child wanted to run but went slowly as her mother said ...

Music was coming from the house in the Reinerstrasse
.

She stood at the door.

The man played a series of rollicking chords and came towards her. 'At last, here she is, looking like a woolly bear. Are you sick? Were you sick? I say to myself,
meine kleine Blume
is hiding away, she thinks there is no joy in my music. That I am the most ridiculous of musicians. Am I right?'

The child shook her head.

'So, did she like it?'

A frantic nodding of head.

'Am I not a genius? Am I not brilliant like the stars?'

'Yes!'

'In that case you must know the answer. What was it you saw in the music, little flower. Write it.'

The child went to the small table, wrote 'STORM.'

'Yes.'

'DANCE.'

'Yes.'

'TEARS.'

'Yes – and the last?'

She dropped the pencil and jumped up; she stood on tip-toe, threw back her head, her arms wide.

The man was silent. 'How strange ... ' he murmured. 'She knows what others older and wiser have no comprehension of – it is a mystery, this feeling for music that is instinctive in a child.' He moved closer. His teeth were yellow, his skin gnarled and peeling like an old tree. 'I felt your presence there in the fourth row, it gave me comfort.' He looked hard and long into the child. 'There is trust in those blue eyes and pain too ... You speak without words ... Words are such an impediment to feeling ... Music is the only truth ... ' He broke into a laugh. 'Did you see the roof beams tremble?'

'Yes.'

'Was it not magnificent!'

'Yes.'

'Da dada dada dada dadada da dada ... ' And the man sang and the child sang ... And a fist started banging on the door ...

'Herr Umlauf, to tell me again how brilliant I am.'

The child slipped on her coat.

'We shall go to the woods and look for dragons and eat snowdrops, and dance among the lilies, yes?'

'Yes!'

• • •

At the gate her mother was waiting. She ran to her daughter and clutched her hard. '
Liebling
, I have wonderful news. Wonderful, wonderful news –' She started to cough and felt for the rag. Her cheeks were pink, unnaturally so ...

'What?'

'Papa is coming home!'

'Papa, home?'

'Is this not happy news?'

'Yes!'

The woman sat at the table, her head in her hands, 'I've been so worried. I thought ... But he has left the army for something better – something much better.' She pulled herself up, took the child's hand. 'You see, he has a friend –'

'Fritz.'

'Manfred. And Manfred's papa is a farrier, a blacksmith, like our papa, but Manfred's papa is old and is wanting someone to work in his forge, and to be in charge of it too ... This work is exactly what papa loves ... And there's more. With the forge comes a house! Yes! Manfred's papa is to live with his daughter ... '

'Oh,
Mutti
!'

'I knew my
Liebling
would be happy ... '

'When?'

'I am packing already.'

In her trundle bed the child traced patterns of moonlight and dreamed. Life was beautiful. She was the happiest, the luckiest, the bluest of the most beautiful little blue flowers that ever grew – and her papa was coming home.

This would change everything ...

The child thought, it's the music that has brought him back. I sent the sounds of joy from my head to his and he heard and he's coming home ... The teacher tapped with her ruler and frowned. The child worked on, the letters and numbers far from her thoughts ...

The man was not at the house in the Reinerstrasse that afternoon. Nor was he there the next, or the next ...

Where was he? Thinking aloud, the child made her way to the factory gate.

'She's gone,' a woman remarked.

By the giant conifer beyond her window, her mother was waiting. 'I've got a surprise,' she said.

'Papa!' The child leapt, was gathered into strong arms.

A hand stroked her head. 'Your papa has come home to his sweet girl – is she not happy?'

'Yes.'

'We shall be a family again, the three of us. What fun we'll have ... We'll go fishing and picnicking – and sing loudly in the street ... '

'Papa!'

'We can,
Liebling
. The forge is far from the town square. It's where the factories are and a certain cafe that makes very excellent coffee, I hear –'

'But –'

'Is it not wonderful,
Liebling
?'

'Is
Mutti's
factory near?'

'Goodness me, no.
Mutti
's factory is here. Did she not tell you? We are going to Wiener Neustadt –'

'What?'

'It's a whole day's journey from here.'

'We're going away?'

'Yes!'

'Leaving Baden?'

'Didn't
Mutti
talk about the house?
Liebling
, it is big. You will have your own room. Think of that!'

Silence.

'And better than anything –
Mutti
will not be working ... Not in any factory.'

'No –'

'Yes. There is only one forge in the town and there is much work –'

'No – NO ... '

The man paused. 'Forgive me,
Liebling
, I know this is a shock for you. But a change will be good for all of us.' He lifted a box from the floor. 'We must help
Mutti
pack,' he said.

The child grabbed his arm. 'When?'

'Soon.'

'What's soon?'

'The cart will be here at five. We will travel at night.'

'What day – ?'

'Today.
'

Statue-like the child stood, and stared into nothing.

'You are worried that you are leaving your friends. I understand, but everything has happened so fast and one cannot leave a forge idle ... '

The child made a rush for the door.

'Of course, you wish to say farewell. But hurry – we leave at five.'

Into the setting sun she ran. Into the wind that whipped trees and flowers, that tossed leaves and papers into the air ... A ribbon on a braid fell free and skeins of hair slashed her face and into her eyes. She ran, she pushed past workers holding their hats, past woman with shopping bags ... Panting and gasping, she entered the Reinerstrasse
.
What if he's not there? He wasn't yesterday or the day before ... Please God let him be there ... Please ... Please...

The man was there.

The child held her head in her hands, her chest was heaving, she didn't – couldn't speak ...

'What has happened?' he asked.

'Leaving,' she mouthed ...

'Leaving what?'

She dropped her head.

'The town?'

She nodded.

'Your
Vater –
he is no longer with the army?'

She nodded.

'He has a position, where?'

The child staggered to the small table. Wrote 'Wiener Neustadt'.

'I see. And you have come to tell me this. And when are you leaving? In a month? A week? Tomorrow? ... Now?'

'Yes.'

'Ah –'

'I don't want to ... I don't want to go ... be away from you ... from the music ... 'The pencil dropped to the floor.

The man smiled, a smile that was both tender and sad. 'No-one has ever wept for me –' he murmured. He took the child by the hand. 'Bless you for that. Now, dry your eyes, you don't want your papa to see tears –'

The child took the handkerchief, ran a hand over her eyes, stumbled towards the door ...

'Wait!'

She stopped.

'Write your name.'

She picked up the pencil and wrote. Again she moved to the door. '
Auf Wiedersehen
,' she whispered.

Along the street she rushed, then stopped. Once more she had heard his voice. 'God keep you, Little One,' he called.

From the house in the Reinerstrasse for the last time, she ran. Still sobbing, she entered the marketplace. She leaned against the trunk of a tree until her breathing steadied.

She was only a child, yet she was learning the greatest of all life's wisdoms. That it is not pain, or even cruelty that makes a heart break. It is love.

Outside the house in the street by the granary, the cart was waiting ...

In Wiener Neustadt the day was coming to an end.

At a factory in the industrial part of the town the gates had opened and the workers were tumbling out. Trailing behind them were two girls of about fourteen. They ambled across the yard and into the street.

One was dark and one was fair and each wore her hair with side curls, as was the fashion ...

They came to a corner, waved their goodbyes and went their own ways.

The fair girl crossed the street and proceeded to cut through a field. Here and there clusters of purple and pink told of violets and cyclamens. She bent to pick some, choosing only those perfect in size and shape; wound them into a bunch and tied them together with a length of wool.

It was spring. The time of rebirth, the most beautiful of the seasons. She breathed its soft air and in an old oak's trembling leaves, heard music that told of the joy of it ...

The field led to a graveyard. The girl pushed at the listing gate. She moved through waves of grass, past ancient and forgotten tombs, by angels with broken wings and empty urns, to where the new headstones stood.

At one she stopped. She brushed the stone free of dust and leaves and set down the blooms.

She stood quietly. She heard the sounds of silence; saw the spring colours glow in the evening sun. She lifted her fingers to her lips and placed a kiss on the warm stone.

This she did every day ...

She moved away. Soon night would fall and her father would be hungry when he arrived home.

There was a time when he would have gone to the tavern. But that was in another place ...

He didn't drink now. He rarely went out. Though sometimes in the evening he would join his new friends for a game of billiards ...

Through straggling grass the girl walked, remembering ...

Over three years had passed since she had sat at the back of a cart and watched her world disappear.

Though that world had not disappeared. The man in the Reinerstrasse had never left her, he and his music were still as much a part of her as her hand was, or her arm ... Sometimes in the evening, as she sat with the darning, she'd hear his voice. She knew it was her imagination; but there were times when her needle would drop and she'd look up ...

She never spoke of the man or his music, and when asked if she missed her home, she'd just smile and shake her head.

And then one day a most unexpected thing happened ...

The day began with rain.

The girl fell in with others hurrying across the yard. In the doorway stood Herr Giersch. '
Guten Tag
, my friends,' he beamed.

'
Guten Tag
, Herr Giersch.'

'A lovely day, is it not?'

All shook rain from their coats.

The girl made her way to level one. Here the master weavers worked. The men who handled the looms were indeed masters. It wasn't easy to control such fine threads; one needed strength to balance the loom or there'd be vibrations. Silk was a thing of beauty, it deserved to be treated with care ...

One loom stood idle. The girl saw herself seated at it, a master weaver, watching the silk grow with the touch of a hand. She went on gathering threads.

On level two Rita was sweeping up. On level two the women who embroidered worked, while on level three, the silk was being turned into undergarments for the rich.

The girl joined her friend. Together they collected scraps, emptied bins and kept the floor free of things discarded or spilt.

Rita had come from Baden also. The two ate cake and ice-cream at the cafe on the corner, they played shuttlecock and went folk dancing in the square. Rita wanted to be a designer and have her gowns in shop windows.

It was when the day was drawing to a close that Herr Giersch made the announcement. With Herr Graf at his side he made his way to level one and called for silence.

Everybody turned. Herr Giersch was excited. He described an exhibition that was to be held in the designing and manufacture of silk; and went on to say that certain factories had been notified, and that this was one. 'Our good name has obviously travelled far and wide,' he crowed. 'However, sadly –' Herr Giersch wiped his lips, 'we cannot invite everyone –'

'Good,' a voice murmured.

'The invitation is for floor workers only. The objective being to inspire the young to become designers and sewers of silk. The names of the three who will accompany me will be drawn from a hat ... '

'I could see my cousins, Heidi and Bernd,' declared Rita as they started to pack up. And added, 'I wonder if the designs will be as good as mine.'

But the girl wasn't thinking of designs, or of Rita's cousins, or indeed of anyone ... All she could think of was that three of them would be going to Baden.

And Baden was home ...