Chapter 11: Andante

Irina had just set the piano bench to the right height when Richard came into the studio. Three minutes early, she was pleased to note.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning. How is your first week?" Irina asked him as she settled into her chair near the piano, while Richard unpacked his books.

"Busy, but so far so good."

"Good, good."

"What do you want me to start with?"

"Play the Liszt."

Richard sat and reached for the bench knobs out of habit, but found he didn't need to adjust them.

After a brief stretch, he played. Irina let him play the piece for a while. His playing was not as improved as she would have liked, but it wasn't uncommon for there to be an adjustment period during the first few weeks, particularly for first years.

After she stopped him, she asked what else he was working on.

"Beethoven, Opus 109," he offered, somewhat eagerly. "I started learning it on my own this summer. I'm still working on it, though."

Irina smiled. We are always working on everything, Richard.

"Play me what you have learned," she said.

Richard started with the third movement. Irina started making a mental list of the things he needed to work on in the piece. While the teacher inside her kept a critical ear on the playing, her mind drifted off slightly. As he played through the first variation, she got increasingly excited about working with Richard this year. He was inherently musical. As with most young pianists she encountered, he didn't posses the subtle technique to let that musicality shine most of the time. Instead, prodigies like him were usually encouraged along the more physical track, improving finger work by use of exercises and scales, and developing their prowess in a somewhat superficial way.

It wasn't that virtuosic technique was useless; on the contrary, it was vital to being able to transmit one's feelings through the instrument. And to be fair, Richard was perhaps eighteen; how many people his age had the emotional backdrop to play some of these pieces with deep feeling? It remained to be seen if Richard really did, but Irina was a good judge of talent, now.

She herself was one of the few who really did have the fire at that age, and even younger. The reasons made her shudder, though. A difficult childhood was not a fair price to pay for greatness. Still, the past is passed.

As Richard entered the third variation, the notes brought Irina back to the present. She sat forward in her chair. Seemingly in answer to her question, Richard opened a little window into his emotions in that variation. Irina smiled ever so slightly, hearing him intermingle the melodies so passionately. He did understand this section, even if he still hadn't mastered it yet.

Irina sat back, letting out a long, but silent breath. For having learned the piece on his own, he had done well. She vaguely wondered where Richard's passions came from, but it didn't matter. The best music transcended specifics, and captured the core emotion. Richard had done just that, for a few minutes.

When the final notes of the movement rang out, Irina stood and motioned for Richard to stand. For now, she would start where he was comfortable, with discussions of technique. But technique to bring out the passion even more delicately, more refined, and not technique to dazzle and show off.

As Richard stood aside, Irina sat, and began to show him some of the things he needed to learn.

"The phrasing on the melody could be better brought out by this fingering," she demonstrated.

Richard notated in his score the fingerings she suggested.

"Try it," Irina said, standing again.

Richard played the passage, changing his fingering to Irina's suggestion. After some attempts, he played it smoothly.

Now play it with passion, Irina thought. "Again," she said.

Richard played it again, more musically.

It was hard to rewind passion and repeatedly play it in little snippets, she knew. But she could hear the right feeling in Richard's playing. Rather than have him continue, she moved to the next section she wanted to comment on.

It was tempting to try and teach Richard everything at once, to rip away the mental clothing he wore, and show him how to let go.

But he wasn't ready for that. Not in his second lesson.

One step at a time.

"How was your lesson?" Sandra asked. She and Richard were sitting in the corner of Dobra's class, waiting for him to arrive.

"I think it was good," Richard said. "She's hard to read. She doesn't really comment on what I've done, but instead shows me where to go next."

"Better to move forward than look back," Sandra said.

"I guess. How about your lesson?"

"Heh. It's going to be a long year."

"Why?"

"I have a lot to learn. Bridget wants to rework my breathing technique from the ground up. Like starting over in some ways."

"Wow. Is that frustrating?"

"Frustrating? No, it's great. That's why I came here: to learn these things from her."

"Cool. Although if Ms. T. wanted to change my technique significantly, I'd probably have a hard time with it."

Sandra shrugged. "This will make me a better singer," she said simply.

Dr. Dobra strode into the class, and everyone became quiet.

"Today we begin the study of intervals," he announced. "Richard, how do we define an interval?"

Richard snapped out of his stare and looked back into Dobra's eyes. "Um, how far apart two notes are?"

"Yes. In essence, yes." As fast as Dobra's penetrating stare had landed on Richard, it left and wandered the class again. His eyes feel like a searchlight when they land on you, Richard thought, relieved he had scored an easy question. There had been some uncomfortable moments for some students in the first class a couple of days before. Dobra didn't mind waiting a long time for a student to try and sing a passage, or answer a question.

By Dobra's own admission, the first class had been a preview of things to come, and he hadn't really expected anyone to do those things perfectly. If they could do them, they should be in the next level class.

But that didn't lessen the discomfort of the pregnant silence a student felt as he or she bored holes into the sight singing example in their book.

Dobra was as methodical a teacher as Richard had ever seen. Despite the vague sense of apprehension he felt sitting in the corner, knowing that at any moment he could be called on, he actually liked Dobra's method. In the first ten minutes of the discussion of intervals (a subject Richard thought was simple enough to understand), Dobra had already made some connections Richard had never even considered.

Not that they mattered; Richard couldn't see how that would help his playing. But it was interesting nonetheless.

A guy walked into the classroom about ten minutes into the period. Richard recognized him as the one who was late the first class period as well.

"Mr. Deerfield. You are late," Dr. Dobra said evenly.

"Sorry."

"This is the last time I will tolerate lateness. That goes for everyone in the class. Mr. Deerfield just used your last free pass."

"He should switch to Emily's class," Richard whispered to Sandra.

"Ten bucks says he's not in this class by the end of the semester," she whispered back.

"I think you're right."

Dr. Dobra had returned to talking about the perfect fifth, and Richard paid attention again. Everyone paid attention. Doing otherwise was asking for trouble.

"Walking to this English class is going to get old pretty quick," Richard said.

"Especially if Dobra keeps running over time," Sandra agreed.

"Even if he doesn't, it's a fast walk just to get to English right on time. Today I was five minutes late."

"Good thing your English teacher isn't like Dobra about lateness."

"No, but it's almost as bad having to walk into a classroom of fifty people and having everyone turn to look at you."

The phone rang. Emily picked it up before Richard could reach for it.

"Wexford Conservatory, can I help you?"

There was a pause, and then Emily picked up the concert guide lying on the desk. She passed along a start time for Thursday's faculty recital, and then hung the phone up. In the meantime, Sandra buzzed in a trombone player.

"You know, I think I'm going to go practice," Richard said. "I'm not really needed here."

"We're just trying to help," Sandra pouted.

"Ooh, look, it's Joel!" Emily said, pointing to the monitor.

"Joel?"

"Yeah, he plays French horn too."

Bzzzt. Emily pressed the button, but just as Joel reached for the handle, Emily let go. Richard and Sandra watched the monitor as Joel pulled on the door in vain, and then reached for the buzzer again.

"You need to hold it until they open the door," Richard explained.

Emily gave just him an arch look.

Again Emily teased Joel with the door. Each time he put his hand on the door, Emily let go. Finally Joel looked at the camera and desperately waved a hand. Richard could almost hear him saying "What the hell?"

"Emily, you're going to get me in trouble!" Richard said, trying to reach for the button. A struggle ensued, with Emily trying to keep Richard from letting Joel in.

"How old are you two?" Sandra asked, although she was clearly amused.

Richard finally managed to press the button, and Joel pulled the door in time.

"Thanks a lot!" Joel called from down the hallway. The sarcasm in his voice was not lost in the distance.

"You're welcome!" Emily called back.

In the monitor, Joel paused on his way to the stairs, and then turned to come down the hallway.

"Great, now you pissed him off," Richard said.

"Nah, Joel's cool. He'll think it was funny."

Joel came into view shortly after. When he saw Emily sitting behind the front desk, he rolled his eyes.

"I should have known..." he said. "Three people working the front desk, and you can't figure out how to let someone in?"

"Hey, this one was all Emily," Richard protested.

"Figures," Joel said.

Introductions went around, and then Joel set his horn down and leaned against the desk.

"I should report you to Mort," Joel said jokingly to Emily.

"Go ahead," Emily said dismissively. "I don't really even work here."

"We're just giving Richard a hand," Sandra added.

Joel laughed. "Watch out with Emily," he said to Richard and Sandra, "she'll get you in trouble every time."

"Hey! When have I ever gotten you in trouble?"

"Are you serious?" Joel said. "Well, how about when you made me sneak into that room at EMF, for one."

"Made you? Whatever!"

"I still never found out who that guy was," Joel said cryptically.

Emily laughed. "Me neither."

"And how about the time we went up into the ceiling space over the hall, and then the janitor found us?"

"Oh, forgot about that one," Emily said.

"Need I go on?" Joel asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Sandra got the distinct impression that Joel and Emily had had some sort of relationship in the past. She could also tell from the look in Emily's eyes that she didn't hate her ex-boyfriends as much as she pretended to.

"Um, no, that's probably enough," Emily said, eyeing Richard and Sandra as if suddenly remembering they were there.

"Nice meeting you all," Joel said, hefting his horn case.

"Bye," they answered.

Joel slipped away down the stairs.

Sandra was eyeing Emily with a grin.

"What?" Emily said.

"Old boyfriend?" Sandra asked.

"Um, maybe."

"Pfft, 'maybe' my ass."

"I went out with him a few years ago at Eastern Music Festival."

"Seems nice enough," Richard said.

Emily shrugged.

"Speaking of practicing, I need to get to it," Sandra sighed.

"Yeah me too. Sorry Richard, but all these classes get in the way of practicing during the day."