CHAPTER 22 - OLDENBURG, GERMANY—DECEMBER 18, 1916 #2
The solemn, slow tempo piece began with gentle chord progressions. Anna’s breath slowed, and she closed her eyes. An image of tranquil waves lapping on a pebble shore filled her head. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “I’m unfamiliar with this one. Chopin?”
“Benesch.”
She turned to him. “Yours?”
Max nodded. He played a few more bars, then slowed to a stop.
“When did you compose it?”
“I haven’t, yet. It’s a melody that I hear in my head when—” He placed his hands on his knees. “When you, me, and Nia are training.”
Anna smiled. “Play it again.”
Max performed the intro to the piece. “Like it?”
“Love it.” She stood from the bench.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m getting something to write with.”
“Why?”
“Because composers need to record their work.” She darted to her room and returned with a pencil and pad of paper.
“There’s no need,” he said as she sat beside him.
“Yes, there is.” She placed the pad on her lap and drew blank piano staves. “I’ll work to get some proper staff paper. In the meantime, we’ll make our own. You’ll need to go slow. I can read music, but I’ve never recorded it on paper.”
“You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”
“Nein.” She rolled the pencil between her fingers. “How many movements will there be in the piece?”
“There are typically three movements in a piano concerto,” he said, “but I was thinking that this would be a suite with five individually composed movements.”
“What is the title?”
“I don’t have one,” he said, shifting in his seat.
“You must call it something,” she said. “What were you thinking of when the music came to you.”
He rubbed stubble on his chin. “Light. I envisioned darkness giving way to a glorious, warm light.”
“Light Suite?”
“Ja.”
“Light Suite is a beautiful title,” she said.
“The piece I was playing was the first movement, Prelude.”
“Prelude to Light,” she thought. “Key?”
“C-sharp minor.”
Anna scribbled on the top of the paper.
For over an hour, alternating between the base and treble clefs, she recorded the notes per Max’s direction.
Whole notes. Half notes. Quarter notes. Eighth notes.
Bar lines. Ties. Slurs. Crescendos and diminuendos.
At the bottom of the paper, she stopped to rest her fingers, which had begun to ache from squeezing the pencil.
“Thanks for being patient with me,” Anna said, rubbing her hand.
“How about we pick up tomorrow?” he asked.
“But we’ve only written a few bars.”
“We have plenty of time to finish before I leave.”
I wish you didn’t live so far away, she thought.
He stood and extended his arm.
She clasped his hand, allowing him to help her from the bench, and then his fingers slipped away.
“Nia,” Max said. “Let’s go outside before you go to bed.”
Nia stood and yawned, sticking out her tongue.
“You’re tired,” Max said, kneeling and rubbing the dog’s cheeks. He paused, looking toward Anna. “May I ask you something personal?”
It’s about Bruno. “Of course,” she said tentatively.
“What do you look like?”
“Oh,” Anna said, feeling surprised.
“I know what Nia looks like from giving her brushings, and Norbie has provided me a good description of the caramel and charcoal-color patterns on her coat.” He stood, resting his hand on Nia’s head.
“I know the timbre of your voice, the smell of your clothing, and sound of your footsteps. I have a picture of you in my head and was wondering if I was right.”
“Well—” Anna fiddled with a loose thread on her sweater.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was intrusive of me to ask.”
“It’s okay. I was thinking of how to describe myself.” She stepped forward and patted Nia, who swished her tail over the floor. “I have shoulder-length, light blond hair.” When it’s clean. “And my eyes are blue.”
“Nose, cheeks, ears,” he said.
“Ja, I have all of them all.”
Max chuckled. “I was hoping you would be a little more specific.”
“Here.” Without thinking, she clasped his hand and placed it to her cheek.
He gently, and respectfully, glided his fingertips over her face.
Her breath caught in her chest.
“You have a dimple on your chin.”
“Mutter had one, too,” Anna said. “She was beautiful.”
He lowered his hands to his side. “So are you.”
Anna smiled. Her mind raced, searching for a response. “Am I the same as you had imagined?”
He nodded. Extending his hand, he located Nia’s collar.
“Would you like me to join you with taking Nia outside?” Anna asked.
“Nein, danke.” He walked with Nia to the stairs, then paused. “I had an enjoyable evening, Anna.”
“Me too,” she said. “Good night.”
Max and Nia disappeared down the stairs. The door to the garden squeaked open and closed.
Anna went to her room, where she put on another layer of clothing.
The temperature outside had plummeted, given the thick layer of frost that covered her window.
She extinguished her lamp, got in bed, and buried herself under layers of blankets.
Soon, the patter of paws and the shuffle of boots grew in the hallway, then disappeared into Max’s room.
I miss having Nia in my room, but I’m glad that she and Max have bonded.
Alone, her mind turned to Bruno’s letter, sending a surge of dismay through her veins.
She prayed that he’d find peace, and she resolved to do everything she could to help him when he arrived home.
Everything will be fine when we’re together, she tried to convince herself.
Desperate for solace, she turned her thoughts to Max’s composition, the melody playing over and over again in her head.
But soon, all she could think about was how her skin tingled as his fingers explored her face.