Pianist in the Dark by Michèle Halberstadt Read Free Book Online Page A

Theresia was nothing of the sort. First of all, she never played the role of victim. Being blind was part of her inherent makeup and she never seemed to question it. Some people are born with a clubfoot, protruding ears, or a hook nose. She was lacking in visual perception. But she was unaware of the ways in which she made up for it. Her perfectly oval face, her translucent complexion, her pale eyes, her silken hair, her graceful bearing in every circumstance. Then there was her elegant figure and her statuesque height. That was the first thing that had struck him the evening she came to hear him play the glass-harmonica.
    Since then he had grown to appreciate her other qualities—her exceptional personality, her rare intelligence, and especially her natural poise, her frankness, a vivaciousness that distinguished her from all other girls of her background.
    Maria Theresia was not trained in the game of coquetry. She knew nothing of the rules of seduction practiced in her social milieu. She never playacted, never simpered. Her mastery of her childhood misfortune made of her an old soul, lucid and intransigent, steadfast in her desire never to give in to pity or false sentiments. She was in a state of permanent alert, analyzing the intentions behind every intonation, refusing to be trapped in the role of the disabled, or even that of the patient. She put herself on the same level as whoever was speaking to her and expected that he or she do the same. Out of the question was it to inundate her with words, to make conversation—and heaven help the person who tried to cajole her with flattery. She was a responsible adult and expected to be treated as such.
    For Mesmer, this kind of relationship was new. Although his other patients were older, none of them had this courage, this willpower, this hunger, this absolute need to be treated as a person. She had a very strong idea of what human relations should be. The other patients were interested only in their own mental states. Maria Theresia never indulged in any moments of elation that were in fact disguised forms of agitation. This was the other patients’ forte. Mesmer admired her mental grit. He found her extraordinary in every way.
    For him, physical desire was never more than the instantaneous satisfaction of a short-lived need. He now found himself for the first time truly enamored of a woman in a way that went beyond sexual attraction. He considered her his equal—impassioned, cultivated, lively, joyful. Her company was rewarding and entertaining. He treasured the time he spent with her.
    The sorrow into which she had plunged was unbearable to him. He was the cause of it—he who had wanted to cure her, help her, protect her. He was responsible for her despair.
    The violence of her distress triumphed over everything else: propriety, the relations he tried to maintain with his patients, the Viennese high society she came from, his marital and professional status. As if reciting his beads, he ran through his reasons for keeping her at a distance, but they inevitably caved in to the passion pulsing through him.
    The punches became caresses, and the screams sighs and shouts. She let him undress her with confident abandon and welcomed him inside her as if she had been waiting her whole life for this moment, this man. Suddenly everything made sense, as if the purpose of every second of their existence was to bring them together. He knew nothing of the pleasure she discovered with him until he took her in his arms. With her he learned that the pleasure of the other was an extension of his own. For each of them it was a dazzling first time, creating between them an unalterable bond.

Chapter 15
    T HE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED WERE THE HAPPIEST that Maria Theresia had ever known. She felt elated and serene, taking pleasure in the present and disregarding anything that did not include him. Walking with him, seeing with him, sleeping with him, and, at night, admiring with him that