CHAPTER 19 - OLDENBURG, GERMANY—DECEMBER 12, 1916 #2
In his room, Max sat on his bed with a braille book of poetry titled Phantasus by Arno Holz.
He lifted the cover, releasing a sweet, musky scent of ink and paper, and ran his fingertips over the lines of raised dots.
But Holz’s vivid imagery did little to diminish his apprehension.
By persuading Anna to combine training with bartering for food, he might have ruined her chances of continuing to work with him and Nia.
In his determination to acquire nourishment for Anna and Norbie, who had graciously welcomed him into their home and fed him, he hadn’t stopped to think that Waldemar might see them exchanging timepieces for food and inform Fleck that they were not training.
The other trainers, Max believed, would have understood.
He didn’t regret helping Anna, but he did rue that he didn’t go knocking on doors after working hours.
And Anna’s fate, as well as his, might rest on their ability to convince Fleck to accept their word over Waldemar’s.
Norbie had been delighted that they’d come home with jars of pickled beets and vegetables, and neither he nor Anna, given her silence during dinner, wanted to dampen Norbie’s spirits by telling him about their run-in with Waldemar.
With the added beets to their diet of turnip and leek soup, they would have enough, if they reduced the portions, to last them a few days.
Hopefully by then, the city’s supply of rations would return to normal.
But deep down, Max feared that the availability of food would get worse with winter.
The patter of Nia’s footsteps in the hallway grew, and the ajar bedroom door squeaked open. Toenails clicked over the hardwood floor, and Max received a gentle nudge to his elbow.
Max placed down his book. “Hallo, Nia.”
Nia panted.
Max slid onto the floor and leaned his back against the bed.
He patted his thigh and the dog flopped onto his lap.
He’d much rather have Nia jump onto his bed, but Fleck’s protocol did not permit guide dogs on furniture while they were training.
And considering he’d broken enough rules for one day, he thought it would be best to follow orders.
“If I get to bring you home with me,” Max said, scratching Nia behind the ears, “you’ll be allowed to sleep in a bed or nap on a sofa. ”
Nia’s tail swished over the floor.
“Does that sound good?”
Nia’s tail thumped harder.
He rubbed her side. You’ll have all of the comforts of a home if you live with me. But first I need to convince Fleck that we’re worthy of each other.
His fondness of Nia had grown exponentially since he’d arrived in Oldenburg, and the despondency that swallowed him, like a foundering boat on a sea, had slowly lifted.
Although his heart still ached from Wilhelmina’s rejection of him, he felt—perhaps for the first time since being told by a doctor that he would never see again—that his life was worth living.
And no matter how difficult it would be to find a path to create a life of his own, he felt that he had the strength to go on with Nia at his side.
“You’re a remarkable dog, Nia.” He ruffled her ears. “How did you get to be so kind and smart?”
Nia playfully wriggled on her back.
“Did Anna teach you?” He paused, resting a hand on her belly, and lowered his voice. “I made a mess of things for her.”
Nia’s eyebrows raised.
“I need to find a way to fix things for her with Fleck.” He ran his fingers through her fur. “What should I say to him?”
Nia gently placed a paw to Max’s arm.
You seem to know my thoughts and feelings. I wish I knew what you’re thinking.
Nia squirmed but made no effort to leave his lap.
He rubbed her chin.
The dog licked his hand.
Max smiled. “I’ll figure something out.”
The pluck of piano keys rose from the living room.
Nia rolled onto her belly and stood.
More keys were played, creating a simple chord.
Anna, Max thought, getting to his feet. He paused, debating whether he should go back to reading or join her.
But considering he’d botched things up this afternoon and he didn’t want her to go to bed worrying about her job, he brushed his clothes and turned toward the sound of Nia’s panting. “How about we join her?”
Nia left the room and scampered down the stairs.
Forgoing his cane, he glided his hand along the walls and banister to the living room. The floorboards creaked under his weight, and the piano chords stopped. “I thought you might have already gone to bed.”
“Nein,” Anna said, sitting at the piano. “It’s a little early to sleep.”
“Is Norbie in his workshop?”
“Ja,” she said, patting Nia. “He’s putting together more timepieces to barter.”
Max’s chest tightened.
“Is my tapping on the keyboard disturbing your reading?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he said. “May I join you?”
“Sure.”
He extended his arm and searched for the sofa.
“Could you sit beside me?” she asked. “I have a few questions about chords.”
Max shuffled toward the sound of her voice and sat beside her at the piano bench. He placed his hands on his lap.
“I’ve forgotten some of the chords,” she said, playing a lower octave C major chord.
“Which ones would you like to learn?”
“All of them,” she said.
“So that you can learn to play pieces?”
“Maybe someday.” She struck the chord again. “Until then, I’d like to listen to my mutter’s piano while it remains in tune.”
“Okay,” Max said. “Try a D major—D, F-sharp, A.”
Anna located the keys and—using her thumb, middle, and pinkie fingers—played the chord.
“Nice,” Max said. “How about E-flat major—E-flat, G, B-flat?”
She played the chord.
“You’re a natural.”
Anna chuckled. “I’m only pressing the keys that you tell me.”
“Perhaps, but you know where to find them.” He paused, rubbing his knees. “I’m sorry about what happened today.”
“It’s all right.”
“Are you worried about Fleck?” he asked.
“Not really. Besides, it’s worth it to make sure Vater has food.”
“I’ll make things right with Fleck,” Max said, hoping to hide the wane of confidence in his voice.
“We will.” She played the chord.
Max’s mind raced, searching for something to talk about, other than Fleck. “What type of music does Bruno like?”
Anna’s fingers slipped from the keys.
“Does he like classical music or does he prefer folk songs, like Norbie?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice hesitant.
“Oh,” Max said, feeling like he’d stumbled into a sensitive topic.
“It’s just that—” Anna took a deep breath. “Our courtship was brief, and with the war and having a mere two weeks of leave per year, we haven’t had the opportunity to spend much time listening to music.”
“I understand,” Max said. “You’ll have plenty of time after the war.”
“Ja,” she said, her voice soft.
“How did you meet?”
“I mended his broken arm while working as a nurse at the hospital.”
“And he was smitten with you,” he said.
“I guess so,” Anna said. “He stayed in Oldenburg during his recovery. We got to know each other and grew close.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Bruno is sweet,” she said. “He wrote me poems while he was recovering from his injury. It’s the reason we courted.”
Max smiled. “A poet.”
“Well, not exactly.” She paused, running a finger over a key. “He hasn’t written a poem in quite some time.”
“The front has a way of temporarily stealing one’s zest,” Max said, hoping to lift her spirits. “I’m sure you’ll receive enumerable poems and love letters after the war.”
“Danke, Max.”
“What else drew you to Bruno?”
She took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Am I being intrusive?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I was just thinking. He has many qualities that I wish I had.”
“Like what?”
“Confidence, competence, intelligence—”
“I disagree,” Max said. “You have all of those qualities.” You’re the most brilliant and brave person I know.
“That’s lovely of you to say,” she said, “but you didn’t know me when I was working as a nurse.
I had trouble with measuring medicine, and I had a reputation of administering the most painful injections of any nurse in the hospital ward.
Once, I even missed a man’s arm and injected his mattress with morphia. ”
Max chuckled. “I think you’ve found your calling with training shepherds.”
She smoothed her skirt with her hands. “I guess I was attracted to traits in Bruno that I didn’t see in myself. Also, his upbringing is quite different from mine. His family owns a manufacturing business in Frankfurt, and he plans to someday run the company.”
With Bruno’s family wealth and influence, why hasn’t he arranged to acquire food? A bit of resentment smoldered in Max’s gut. He shook away his thought and said, “I assume you’ll leave Oldenburg.”
“Eventually,” she said.
He wondered how Anna felt about having to give up her dream of becoming a guide dog trainer, but decided it might be meddlesome to ask. “Bruno’s family must be quite proud of the work that you’re doing, and I bet they’re overjoyed for you to move to Frankfurt.”
“I haven’t met them,” she said, a timbre of disappointment in her voice.
Max swallowed, feeling as if he had fallen in a tar pit.
“Bruno wants to introduce me to his parents in person.”
“They’ll love you,” he said.
“You really think so?” she asked.
“I know so.”
She smiled and clasped her hands.
He felt her shift her weight on the bench. I’ve inquired enough about her personal life. “Let’s try a chord that’s a bit more challenging: A-flat minor—A-flat, C-flat (B), E-flat.”
Anna played the chord, striking an incorrect key. A clashing resonance filled the air. “Sorry.”
“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward her hand.
“Ja.”
He glided his hand over the keyboard, and then gently placed her fingers over the correct keys. “Okay.”
She played the chord.
“Perfect,” he said.
“Could you try to play something for me?”
An uneasiness stirred in his gut. “Nein.”
“Why?”
“I can’t hear the upper keys,” he said. “You saw what happened when we tuned the piano.”
“Of course,” she said, “but I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. Do you remember our turnip soup dinner when you and Norbie pretended to drink fine wine and eat delectable foods to cheer me up?”
“Ja.”
“During your game, my brain resurrected memories of what a Riesling wine tastes like. And I discovered that I could recall the savory flavor of sauerbraten, down to the precise taste of meat marinated in cognac and raisins.” She turned toward him. “Did you remember the tastes, too?”
“I did,” he said, crossing his arms. “But my limited range of hearing is different.”
“I disagree,” she said. “If our brains can remember taste, there’s no reason we cannot recall sound. I think you can build a tone memory bridge to play the piano.”
“It’s not that easy,” Max said. “The upper registry is a silent void to me.”
“It’s not to me,” Anna said. “Or an audience.”
Max took a deep breath, attempting to dispel the tightness growing in his chest.
Anna gently placed a hand on his arm.
His tension eased.
“You told me that you gained immense satisfaction by giving others the joy of music,” she said. “It’s why you became a pianist.”
He nodded.
“Please,” she said softly.
Nia padded to Max’s side and brushed against his leg.
“Are you in this, too?” he asked.
The dog wagged her tail.
He turned toward Anna. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”
She slipped her hand from his arm. “Nein.”
“All right,” he breathed.
Max moved closer to Anna to center himself over the keyboard.
He sifted through his memories, visions of recitals flashing in his head.
He considered several adagio tempo pieces that would venture to, but not focus on, the high octave keys.
After a bit of thought, he decided on Concerto No.
3 in D Minor, Movement II by Johann Sebastian Bach.
He positioned his hands over the keyboard, took a deep breath, and played a solitary D key slowly in repetition, like a slow heartbeat.
The solitary notes progressed to a dyad—a two-note chord—and on to a minor chord.
As the pulse of chords continued, he played, using his right hand, a delicate melancholy melody.
Images of his parents in the front row of a Leipzig concert hall surged through his brain.
He imagined himself as he was before the war, a robust man with hope and aspiration.
As the theme ascended to tones that his damaged eardrums could not detect, he fought back the urge to stop.
His pulse quickened as he struggled to conjure the missing sounds.
But gradually, he began to fabricate absent pitches within his head.
The concerto grew to a crescendo, the vibration of the piano reverberating through his hands, blood, and bone.
Minutes later, the piece drew toward the end, growing slower and softer.
He finished, his fingers holding down on the keys, as the tones faded, and then disappeared.
The sound of Norbie’s clapping hands pierced the air. “Bravo!”
Max slipped his hands from the piano.
“Magnificent, my boy,” Norbie said. “I heard your music in my workshop and I came upstairs. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Max said. He turned to Anna. “How was it?”
Anna, her eyes pooled with tears, leaned to him. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”