Chapter 7: Theme and Variations

Sandra poured the last of the second wine bottle into Emily's glass. She thought it would help slow Emily down, but she seemed to get better at playing games the more she drank.

The game of choice for the evening was admittedly puerile. Emily had voted for Trivial Pursuit. Sandra had voted for Spit. She was in the mood for something less cerebral, and mention of it the night before had stuck with her. Richard broken the tie in Sandra's favor.

After the vote, Emily rolled her eyes.

"Fine, we'll play Spit," she had said. "I'll warn you, though, I'm a champion Spit player."

Richard and Sandra had laughed, but Emily turned out to be right. She had lightning hands and eyes, and she always got the smallest pile. Plying her with wine had not helped either.

It was now the final round of the game, as Emily had only a few cards left. Unless Richard or Sandra could slap the empty 'pile' before Emily did, she would remain undefeated in all their games to date.

"Spit!" Emily cried, and the three of them began to throw cards onto the two piles.

Richard was funny, Sandra thought. He always seemed to put a card down a split second after Sandra or Emily did. After letting out an expletive, he'd be forced to remove it, losing precious time in the process.

And one time, he had actually finished his cards first and had slapped the largest pile. Not the best strategy for a game where you win by getting rid of all your cards. He quietly admitted he had felt some confusion in all the excitement of having finished first.

Emily quickly disposed of most of her cards. Sandra just waited, and watched Emily closely. Richard seemed oblivious of the impending finish as he slowly went about putting down cards.

Emily caught Sandra's eye as she held her last card in hand. For a few long moments, the two girls stared each other down, eyes glinting and smiles broadening. As soon as Emily put her card down, Sandra would have to grab the empty pile.

Otherwise, Emily would win.

Emily dropped the card and both Emily and Sandra slapped the empty place on the rug.

Richard was brought out of his concentration by the shrieks. Then he realized Emily was finished. There was a hand wrestling match to prove which girl had gotten to the rug first, or most.

"Emily! I'm there! Look: your hand is on top of my finger!" Sandra said.

"Because you moved it!"

"Richard, you judge. Who is on the spot?"

Before Richard had a chance to even wonder where the invisible pile they had grabbed for actually was, a wrestling match broke out. Apparently they are trying to claim the pile with their bodies, now, he thought.

The game was over. Cards scattered across the rug and under the beds as Emily and Sandra squirmed and pushed against each other, trying to gain ground to claim the magic spot. Shrieks punctuated the increasing laughter. Richard watched for a bit, laughing, and then he remembered that last time the girls had started play fighting he got in trouble for not joining in. And, after all, he had as much right to fight for the winning pile as they did! Nothing is decided yet.

With a yell, he jumped into the fray...

"Have those always been there?" Richard asked, pointing to a line of Christmas lights hanging over the window.

The three of them were sprawled on the rug after the wrestling match, looking at the ceiling. Richard had eventually placed his body flat on the floor over the entire game area, and was unmovable despite fierce tickling. The girls eventually conceded that he had claimed the pile. However the cards were irreparably scattered around the room, and thus Emily declared herself the winner. No one had the energy left to protest, so instead the girls rolled off of Richard and everyone tried to regain their breath.

"No, just put them up this morning," Emily said. "Still, unpacking, you know."

"Cool."

"When did you start playing piano?" Emily asked.

"I was six," Richard said. "Why?"

"Just wondering. For someone who's played piano for twelve years, you sure have slow hands."

Sandra sniggered.

"Thanks, Em," Richard said sarcastically.

"Did you start in school?" Sandra asked.

"No, at home. My dad was painting a house and the people were selling their piano. So he traded some painting work for it. He always wanted to learn, but his family in Italy never got him an instrument. They lived out in the sticks, and didn't have much money."

"That was nice that he got it for you, then," Sandra said.

"Yeah. I came home from school one day and there it was. I took to it pretty quickly, and they found a good beginning teacher for me."

"And the rest is history," Emily said.

"Not really," Richard countered. "I went through a number of years where I didn't really want to play."

"Didn't we all?" Emily said.

"No, I never really did," Sandra said. "I loved singing my whole life."

"Well, you're just weird," Emily teased.

"And you're drunk!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Ladies, please," Richard said. "Mind your manners."

"I want to hear you play," Sandra said suddenly.

"Sure." Richard turned and watched her for a moment.

Sandra smiled expectantly.

"You mean right now?" Richard asked, surprised.

"Yeah."

"Do you have a piano in your closet?"

"The building is still open for another half-hour," Emily countered, eyeing the clock.

"I don't even know if I can play right now. I'm feeling this wine."

"So what? It will be fun. You can play for us for real some other time," Sandra said.

"Bring your French horn, then, Emily," Richard suggested.

"No way," she said, waving the thought away. "If I play it now, the horn will surely get drunk. Come on, Richard, play for us."

Emily jumped up and pulled Richard and Sandra to their feet, and a few minutes later the three of them were walking arm in arm to the conservatory building. Emily was singing loudly, pretending to be Sandra warming up.

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this," Richard said during a break in her wild aria. "You will think I suck after hearing me play."

"Do you suck?"

"No, but..."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Nothing. Never played when I was this buzzed, though."

The building was surprisingly quiet. Only an oboe and a violin greeted them as they approached the practice rooms. Most of them were empty.

"Guess everyone is at the party," Sandra said.

"Hey, maybe one of the larger piano rooms is open. They're always taken by the same five or six girls. I swear they tag team for the room. I've never seen them empty."

Richard led Emily and Sandra to the piano rooms, and they were indeed unoccupied. Maybe this is the time to be practicing, Richard thought.

He turned the light on to one of the rooms and shut the door. Richard stretched and sat at the piano. Emily moved a wooden bench over to one side of Richard, while Sandra pulled a chair up to his other side. They sat close enough that he would have to lean against them when he played low or high notes, but he didn't mind.

"I don't know what to play," Richard said vaguely, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Play something fast!" Emily said. "How about the piece you played in your lesson the other day?"

"Probably not," Richard said. "I'm having trouble walking normally right now, and that's a lot easier than playing the Liszt."

"Something pretty, then," Sandra said.

Richard considered the pieces he had under his fingers at the moment, and finally settled on something. He ran a few phrases on the piano to test his fingers, and was pleased at the response of the instrument. No wonder those girls practice in here. This piano is much better than the ones in the smaller rooms.

"All right, here's part of a Beethoven Sonata I'm working on. I warn you though, it could be ugly. Any mistakes I make are strictly your fault for dragging me out here."

"Whatever. Let's hear it," Emily urged.

Richard took a deep breath, and started. The piano rang beautifully as he played the quiet theme that opened the movement. At first he was trying hard to concentrate on playing correctly, but then he realized it wasn't as difficult as he thought. The music was in his muscles more than the wine was.

The peaceful melody was a sudden change from the rowdy evening. Each note sang purely, and he reveled in the sound. He played the theme slower than he had ever played it, dwelling on each note.

By the end of the statement of the theme, he found himself sliding into that place where the rest of the world faded away.

The first variation of the theme was only slightly more active, and he concentrated on making the melody sing. He imagined Sandra vocalizing it, and he tried to make his fingers push the phrases around like she might.

He had planned on stopping after the first variation, but instead continued through the second. This one was a bit more challenging, with its syncopated figures. His fingers nimbly navigated the keys, and he was surprised that he only made a few errors.

When he stopped, he realized Sandra and Emily were looking at him intently.

"Jeez, Richard," Emily said.

"I know, I fucked up a few times," he said apologetically.

Emily shook her head. "You never said you were awesome."

Sandra held out her arm in confirmation. Her fine hairs were sticking up.

"Well, thanks," he said, not knowing what else to say. He was a little surprised. He had played it a little differently than he usually did, but the girls' response was more than he expected.

"That's a really beautiful melody," Sandra said. "Is that where it ends? It seems short for a theme and variations."

"No, there are four more."

"Play, then," Emily said.

"Mm, I don't know. The next parts are pretty hard."

"Just try it," Sandra pressed.

Richard shrugged. "All right."

Variation three was the most aggressive of the lot, and he had some trouble keeping the finger work clean. But he got through it.

He was surprised to feel Sandra's hand rest on his back as he played.

The fourth variation was usually the hardest for him. He still hadn't settled into playing it comfortably in the few months he had been working on the piece. It wasn't overly technical, but the music was a series of playful phrases repeated over each other, and he always felt like he wasn't connecting them properly.

At first, he almost stopped after the first few notes, since he lost confidence in being able to play it. But then as he started the phrases, the music suddenly presented itself differently.

Earlier during the massage, he had been stimulated by the girls in several ways. The kissing, the touching, the movements and the sight of their soft skin was overwhelming. He had lamented how he couldn't absorb all the sensations he was feeling at once.

Richard suddenly realized that that was his problem in this section as well. He was focusing too much on the specific phrase of the moment.

It was a trio, three voices singing in harmony. He just needed to put his attention on all of them at once.

At first it was juggling, like listening to three phone conversations at once and trying to understand them all at the same time.

But as he let the music slip through him, he started to feel the three melodies. He could imagine Emily and Sandra each playing one part, and him playing the third. Each part had to sing beautifully, and yet they had to sing together, between and around each other.

Somehow his fingers began to follow his thoughts. They moved smoothly to cover the notes for each melody. Suddenly many of the things Ms. Tertychnaya had said about chords and melody in the Liszt made real sense, now.

He stopped after the variation ended, amazed at the revelation.

"Richard, that was ... amazing!" Sandra said softly.

Emily nodded.

Richard just stared across the top of the piano, hearing the variation repeating in his head.

"Are you all right?" Emily asked.

"Yeah. Just found a new way to play that part."

"Well, it was good, whatever you did."

"I'll play the last two now," he said, eager to finish the piece.

Almost in a trance, Richard started the march-like fifth variation. He tried again to think in terms of voices, again imagining Sandra and Emily playing with him. It was harder with this movement, since it was a bit faster, but he could see the possibilities. He almost got distracted with excitement.

The sixth and final variation was his favorite, and he put everything he had into it. He thought of Emily and Sandra, and how he wanted to be with them.

The variation started with a quiet repeat of the theme, and bar by bar, increased in intensity.

The piano became an extension of his mind. As he heard the music in his head, he willed it through his fingers, through the ebony and ivory of the keys, and onto the strings and wood of the instrument. From there each tone rang out into the room and into his and Emily's and Sandra's ears, completing the circle. It sounded just as he wanted it to sound.

The climactic moment was almost overwhelming, and he let his fingers cascade across the difficult arpeggios with ease, listening in awe to the music that flowed through him.

Finally the variation subsided and he played the solemn restatement of the original theme. Again he played it slower than usual, relishing each note resolving into the next.

The final E major chord rang for many long seconds before it became inaudible.

He took a deep breath as he let his hands fall from the keyboard. Emily and Sandra were smiling at him.

"You know, I just remembered something," Richard said quietly. "A couple of years ago, I asked my piano teacher if I could play one of the late Beethoven sonatas. He said no. I played him the first few minutes of one sonata, saying that I did have the technique. And he said, 'Yes, you do. But you are too young. You can't understand the music yet.' I told him that I did understand it, and that it was tremendously moving to me. And he still denied teaching any of them to me.

"And so this summer I started learning this one on my own. I never really knew what he meant about understanding the music. I thought I was ready. But I just realized that maybe I'm not."

"Why?" Sandra asked. "That was simply incredible. You had me tingling the whole time. And when you played the theme again at the end, I felt like crying."

"I know, me too," Richard agreed. "I just had a glimpse into the music I've never had before. I could feel it coming through me, and it made so much sense to let it play through me like that. The technique and the notes and the fingerings were gone. Instead I just heard the music, and made it happen."