Giles had her eyes closed at the end and she said, “Lovely, girls. Just lovely.” I was going to ask Rose what she wanted to play next but she was already playing. Her pieces start like that — before you know they’ve started, they’re just there and gathering. I can’t talk about it. I don’t know how long the piece went on because, remember when I said about how the time signature slipped and slid around imperceptibly? Well, all of time did that while she played. I lost time. I wanted to live in that music, no, to wear it loose around me instead of skin, and after a while I had this flooding thought that this was Rose just thinking. I’m sounding far too Irish for my own good. It couldn’t be the Lebanese side could it? What’s blarney in Arabic? B’el Arnay?
I thought it might be the wine. But it’s the music. Giles was asleep when Rose stopped playing. I had tears all over my face, but it didn’t feel like crying. Rose sat for a few bars of silence, then turned and said she had to go. I wanted her to stay and talk but I knew it would be wrong to ruin the music, so I walked her to the streetcar stop and we didn’t say anything at all. At first it felt so right to be silent. Then it felt awkward, but I of all people couldn’t think of anything to say. So I just said thank you. Finally the streetcar came and she slipped away.
Sat — You’d think we were total strangers. She called me “Miss Piper”! I wanted to catch her after the lesson but Kaiser kept me back to give me a present! It’s a beautiful book, Emma Albani’s memoirs, Forty Years of Song. He said it would inspire me, “she being your countrywoman,” and at any other time it would have been the highlight of my whole life, but today it meant Rose had already caught the streetcar by the time I finished thanking the Kaiser.
He wrote in it, “For Miss Piper. One poised to clasp the torch. May you carry it another forty years.” Wow.
Emma Lajeunesse changed her name to Emma Albani. Maybe I should change mine to something Italian-sounding too. Kathleen New Waterfordi. From Capo Bretoni.
mon — 5 — She barely looked at me the whole lesson. So afterwards I wouldn’t let her get on the streetcar, I grabbed her schoolbag with all her music in it and ran into Central Park. I was laughing my head off but she was furious. And she is very strong. Nearly took my arm off grabbing the thing back. Thought she was going to kill me but she stomped away with her silly hair-ribbons bobbing so I made a scene. First I yelled at the top of my lungs, “I like you, I want to be your friend, why are you such a silly goose?” But she just kept walking. Then I caught up to her and started singing. I was laughing so hard by then I could hardly get the song out, “My Luve’s Like a Red Red Rose”. I don’t know why I was laughing, I felt like a demon and I couldn’t stop. She ignored me until we reached the park gate again, then she turned and clapped her hand hard over my mouth so water sprang to my eyes. It made me wild. I bit her hand, that got her moving, and I grabbed the school-bag again and this time I didn’t fool around, I ran all the way to the pond with her right on my heels, I knew she’d beat the can off me if I let her catch me. Thank God I got to the pond just barely ahead of her, I leapt on a rock and dangled the school-bag over the water.
We were out of breath and I felt badly right away when she said, “Please.” But I pressed on, “Please what?”
“… Please, Miss Piper, don’t drop it.”
And I screamed back at her like a banshee, I don’t know what got into me, “Please WHO?”
“Please….”
“What’s my name?!”
“Kathleen.”
I felt suddenly ashamed and she wasn’t mad any more, she was something else, I don’t know what. But I didn’t want to let her off that easy, I said, “Maybe I’ll just have a wee look, find out what’s your big mystery.”
“No!”
She lunged and I dropped it. But just into my other hand, which made her yelp. I started to unbuckle it. And the strangest thing — she turned and started walking slowly away. I didn’t have the heart to open it then. I followed her saying, “Here, you can have it back.” But she wouldn’t answer me. I caught up to her easily and that’s when I saw she was crying. For the first time she actually suited the clothes she wears. I felt terrible. I wished she’d get mad again. I put the school-bag back into her hand and I said, “I didn’t open it.” But she just wiped her free hand across her eyes and didn’t look at me. I gave her my hanky and she blew her nose. I walked her all the way back to the streetcar stop and stood beside her, waiting, even though she never looked at me or said another word.
I tried not to watch her because she didn’t stop crying. I couldn’t stand the sounds she was trying not to make, or that she held her head up, why didn’t she at least look down? I would. I felt so ashamed. I did it on purpose, I wanted her to cry. Why? There must be something wrong with me. She should never have to cry in front of anyone, beautiful Rose. I’m sorry. I love you.
Rose would hate me if she read this.
No wonder I don’t have any friends.
tues — She didn’t come today. Kaiser said she resigned. Said, “It’s to be expected.” I asked why, and he said, “She has a great deal of natural ability but she is essentially feckless.” I said I didn’t agree and she’s the most feckful person I know. He said, “She’s gone as far as she could go and it’s best she redirect her gifts for her own sake.” I said, “Music has no colour.” He smiled. I could have killed him.
But you know, he’s right, music does have colour but it shouldn’t matter who plays it. Does Brahms turn black when Rose plays him? If he does, then it looks good on him and he should be so lucky. Why should she play that mouldy old tripe anyhow, who cares? I care. I love Brahms. I love Verdi and Mozart, but I love the Rhythm Hounds and I love Sweet Jessie Hogan, she is the reigning diva of this city but the horse’s arses who run this bloated burg would never know it and don’t deserve to. This whole city stinks of music that the Kaiser has no idea about. I love it all. But I love Rose’s music best.
She doesn’t need any of them. I couldn’t find my voice today and the Kaiser let me go, saying of course it put me off my stride to be so rudely dealt with by an accompanist who’d been lucky to have the job. I wanted to go see Rose but I know she hates me and it’s my fault she quit. It’s my fault the Kaiser thinks those awful things about her, so who do I think I am to say she doesn’t need anything? She needed this job.
4 am — Just got home. Rode Giles’s bicycle all the way uptown. Sat in a doorway across from Rose’s building. What did I think she would do? Look out the window and invite me up for cinnamon toast?
There was phonograph music coming from the front room, scratchy ragtime, hot red and yellow lamps. The curtains were open. The windowpane was cloudy but I could see shadows of a man and woman dancing. They embraced. I heard laughter. Then they disappeared. Does Rose have a boyfriend? A husband?