49. If Mozart was alive

I am ordered to put my best church clothes on. We are not going to church, however. Imagine that! It is a special day because we are going to a piano concert. Just Silvia and I. Because the two of us share the love of music and the two of us know how to play the piano. The two of us can appreciate it. It is a date. A date with Silvia. We go out to dinner first and it’s not fast food for once. Silvia is very excited but I am not even sure if she is excited for herself or for me. She says she is doing this for me. She wants me to see this professor from a little Georgia college and she wants to share this experience with me. I love her for this. I truly do. Even though she has no idea about my childhood and my piano past. But that’s ok. I can still go watch someone else play the piano. As long as it’s not me. 

There are not many people in the audience. The auditorium is not even half full. At least there is no one sitting next to me besides Silvia. I look through the performance bulletin and see that Dr. Jones, the pianist, will be playing a Mozart Sonata, a Chopin piece, and Debussy. Very impressive. Dr. Jones walks out and stands by the beautiful grand piano in the middle of the stage. He is a tall man with blond hair and a kind smile on his face. He actually says a few words about himself and that he is from North Georgia College & State University in Dahlonega, Georgia. 

Dahlo….what? I have never heard of that place. 

“If you haven’t heard of Dahlonega,” Dr. Jones says with a laugh, “it is about one hour north of Atlanta,” he keeps laughing and everyone in the audience joins him. “It is a small town known for the Gold rush. It’s very charming, and beautiful. North Georgia College State University has about three thousand students but we are growing! We have been adding students to our music program every year, which is very exciting. I believe the school is working on expanding our student base by adding international students from various countries and the international program is about to start in a couple of months, school year 1999/2000.”

Silvia looks at me and smiles while Dr. Jones sits down at the piano and starts his concert with a few notes by Mozart. I recognize the sonata he is playing, I have heard it many times during my studies in the Music Conservatory. I never performed it myself but I am familiar with it. The first few bars are easy and simple and then Mr. Mozart hits us with lots of fast runs in the right and then left hand. Mozart’s music is known for its clarity, sparkly fast notes that need to be played evenly, barely any pedal, and lightness of fingers. The fingers need to be flying over the keys in their effortless scales that is achievable only by many hours of practice. 

Dr. Jones starts on the fast passages but one of his fingers slips, causing a very slight unevenness in his scales. It’s not as sparkly anymore, it has a blemish. I freeze because this would mean a several point deduction off my grade during a piano exam in the Music conservatory. I look around but no one seems to notice. Or perhaps they don’t care. They are all nodding their heads, murmuring “Amen,” or “Ahhhmazing.” It’s almost like we are at our church. And then it happens again. Slight hesitation, a little unclarity here and there, small inconsistencies, tiny mistakes. All of a sudden I feel like I have ants in my pants. I want to jump up and tell Dr. Jones about the need for sparkliness in the interpretation of Mozart’s perfectly aligned notes. Oh my gosh, can anybody hear this? Yes, sure, ok, Dr. Jones is a good pianist, but he would not make it in the Music Conservatory. This is basic stuff! Evenly. Played. Notes. In. Mozart. Sonata. I know how to practice to achieve this. Can I tell him? I want to tell him! 

At the moment, I don’t understand why it matters to me so much. Why does it matter to me how well or not well he plays his sonata? The music must be ingrained in me. My father must have drilled it into my DNA. He must have installed a little piano inside my brain and I will never get it out of there.  I can’t explain why my hand twitches and my fingers tap on the arm rest when Dr. Jones makes mistakes. I can’t explain why I have tears in my eyes, listening to him play. Even with mistakes. What is my problem? The piano must have a grip on me and I am strangled in its powerful clutch.

Silvia doesn’t notice my turmoil as she turns to me. Her sweet whispering voice gets to me, “Isn’t he just wonderful? Such an ahhhmaaaazing pianist.”

“Uhm-hm,” is all I can manage. I may explode out of my seat. 

I am very distracted throughout the entire concert. Dr. Jones keeps on playing his Chopin and Debussy pieces and I feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. I don’t understand myself. I shouldn’t care about the piano and how he plays it. I shouldn’t care!!!!! But I do. His music is hurting my ears, hurting my soul. But at the same time I love it. He delivers some beautiful passages and the music flows through my heart and pierces it like a cupid’s arrow. I hate you, piano! I love you, piano!

I finish the concert deep in my thoughts. I tune out for some of the music but I am awake for the standing ovation. 

“He is the best,” “Such a wonderful pianist,” “Bless his heart,” “Amen!” is all I hear from the audience around me. Silvia is clapping enthusiastically but then she abruptly stops and starts dragging me by my arm out of the auditorium. 

“Come, Jarka, come on.” She sounds urgent. “We need to hurry so we can talk to Dr. Jones. I want to introduce you to him and tell him all about you.” 

“Uhhhh…..Silvia…I don’t know!” I protest. I am still shy with my English but more so I don’t like her bragging about my piano skills to other people.

Dr. Jones is greeting people backstage and there is a line of them to congratulate him and give him praise. Silvia and I stand on the side, quietly observing. 

“We will wait for everyone to leave so we can have him to ourselves,” she whispers to me.

“Oh, boy,” I roll my eyes. I am getting anxious, my stomach all of a sudden feeling uneasy. 

When the last person finally leaves, Silvia charges toward Dr. Jones with an exaggerated smile that would make me laugh if I didn't already know her. 

“Dr. Jones, oh hello, you are so wonderful! I have never heard such beautiful piano music in my life!” She is shaking his hand vigorously. Her voice becomes high and giggly, just like every time she is excited or trying to make a good impression.

Dr. Jones and her chit chat for a little while about his performance but then he turns to me. 

“And who is this young lady?” He asks with interest.

“Oh my, Dr. Jones, this is Ms. Jarka! She is a very accomplished pianist. She graduated from the Music Conservatory in Slovakia and now she is staying with us. I always say she belongs to Juilliard.” Silvia exclaims.

Dr. Jones is nodding, his face serious. I can see a spark of curiosity on his face.

“Is that right, Jarka?” he asks me.

“Yes,” I answer politely, not knowing what else to say. 

But Silvia is so antsy that she jumps in anyway, speaking for me.

“I bet Jarka would love it if she could play something for you! Wouldn’t you want to hear her play, Dr. Jones?” her chirpy voice is almost echoing in the hallways now, echoing in my brain too. 

Oh no, no, no. Please, don’t make me play the piano right now. I am horrified. I love Silvia, but I can’t take it. She can’t put me on the spot like this. I don’t know what to play. Why? Why, Silvia?

Dr. Jones smiles at me, obviously hearing what Silvia is saying, but ignoring it at the same time.

“I tell you what, Jarka. We have a family in Chattanooga. We often travel through here in the summer and we actually will be heading this direction in a couple of weeks. It would not be a problem for us to stop by and hear you play then. I am assuming, that would be ok, with your friend here,” he turns to Silvia again whose smile never leaves her face. She is nodding her head with excitement and enthusiasm. 

‘Yes, yes, Dr. Jones! We also do have a piano at home and Jarka would be happy to play for you, if you would be so kind and come for a visit?”

“That’s a deal then,” Dr. Jones is happy with this arrangement.

They both exchange their phone numbers and Silvia gives him her address too. We say our goodbyes, with me nearly pulling Silvia away from him this time.

In the car, I finally exhale. What has just happened? Oh my Lord. Jesus Christ must be coming back indeed because in what kind of alternate world lalaland am I going to audition for an American piano professor?