A Certain Music by Walters & Spudvilas Read Free Book Online Page A

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    He flung open the window and looked out upon the morning with its soft murmurings of spring ...

Twenty-four
    The days yawn, the nights stretch sleepless, one after the other ... And a child counts the hours and the minutes and dreams of a tomorrow.
    And now the day before tomorrow had come.
    In the kitchen in her silk dress with blue lace and blue ribbons, the child practised walking. She had perfected a way to move so as to conceal all but the very tips of her newly covered boots. Around the table she glided, her shadow shape recurring on woodwork and glass ...
    As the sun slipped behind the granary Frau Schwarz arrived with a hessian bag, curling irons and a guessing game.
    The child sat very still, she watched transfixed as her hair turned from heavy braids to the waving locks of the princess in her story book. She thought, now I know why people who are beautiful are smiling inside, like my mother is now ... And the woman caught her daughter's look and knew her thinking ... She smiled back. A smile that said this is not us, we're simply Cinderella having her moment at the ball. But in having it, the memory will be there always and forever ... She stretched wide her arms and held her daughter close ...
    Frau Schwarz took off her spectacles and dabbed her eyes. Her nose also.
    'Frau Schwarz is our fairy godmother,' declared the child.
    'Such a load of nonsense.' The guest fumbled for her handkerchief and blew loudly. 'Well, Child –' She pointed to the bag. 'As you gather, I have been to market. Tell me, what do you see on top of these parcels?'
    'A pumpkin.'
    'Is it?'
    'Yes.'
    Frau Schwarz mused, went hum and hah. 'What if I said it was not a pumpkin but something else?'
    The child was silent.
    'Can you guess?'
    'No, Frau Schwarz.'
    'Well, think about it. I will come tomorrow for your answer.'
    The child turned to her mother who was most certainly hiding a smile ...

Twenty-Five
    Tomorrow comes.
    The child cannot concentrate. The teacher speaks words she does not hear. The dots and dashes on the blackboard she does not see. She raises her hand because everybody else is ... She watches the hands on the round-faced clock measuring time in slow time ...
    The day will never end ...
    • • •
    On the table were bowls of broth and newly baked bread.
    'I can't –'
    'You must eat,' her mother replied.
    In silence, mother and daughter drank broth ...
    As the dishes were being packed away Frau Schwarz strode in, first to compliment the weather, then, 'Have you thought of an answer, Child?'
    'No, Frau Schwarz.'
    'Go to the window.'
    The child crossed the room ...
    'What do you see?'
    In the street stood an old four-wheeled, wide-hooded landau.
    'A carriage,' the child replied.
    'Are you certain?'
    'Yes.'
    'That's a relief. It was a pumpkin a moment ago.'
    The child gaped. The woman laughed. The guest feigned surprise. 'To drive through Vienna in a pumpkin would be strange, don't you agree? And now, the hair and then to dress ... '
    In a blue dress with her braids falling free, the child watched for her mother. She appeared, a vision in cream, side curls framing her face ...
    'Time,' announced Frau Schwarz.
    As in all the best fairytales, the carriage rolled away, if not into the sunset, then along streets splashed with late afternoon light. Down unknown and familiar paths the horse clopped. On and on, past the council buildings and into the Kaiserstrasse where the child had sat with her father and heard the street musicians play. The woman peered into the fast closing day. This was exciting. She pointed out new buildings, monuments and parklands. The child was silent. This was to be her moment of joy, this was what she had waited for, counted the hours and the minutes for. And now all she felt was fear ...
    Darkness fell. And still into the moving night they drove ...
    The driver flicked the whip. The horse turned a corner. And before them shone the lights of Vienna.
    The horse turned again, this time into a street of elms.