Christopher stroked her hand gently and then he addressed the salesman.
“I've just married a very accomplished pianist, and I thought there could be no
better wedding gift than a pianoforte of her own.”
“Ah, well we have some lovely models over here,” the man replied, slipping
seamlessly into his pitch. He led them to a corner of the showroom where ornate
instruments stood gaudily about, drawing the eye. Katerina walked slowly
towards one. Its curved legs struck her as quite pretty, and its open lid invited passers-by to examine its intricate strings.
“May I?” She indicated the bench.
The salesman looked askance. “What do you mean, my dear?”
“I want to play this piano and see how it sounds.” Does he really expect me
to buy it without playing it, based on its looks alone? How odd. Again, anxiety made her belly swoop. Perhaps I'm not supposed to play it? Is it wrong to ask?
Why don't I know these things?
“Very well.” He pulled out the bench, cutting off her nervous internal
monologue, and she sat. Well if it was wrong to ask, it's too late to worry about it now. Katerina warmed up her fingers by playing a few rapid scales and then she shook her head.
“What's wrong with it, love?” Christopher asked her.
“It's out of tune,” she said softly, “and the tone isn't very good.”
The salesman gawked at her but touching the white ivory keys had shattered
her nervousness and made it possible for her to take command of herself. She rose and moved to another instrument. This one was ridiculously ornate but had
such a poor tone even Christopher winced to hear it. She tried another and another to no avail.
“I'm sorry, sir,” she told the employee. “These pianos just don't sound very good. Do you have anything less… fancy, but more playable?”
He shook himself, blinking his staring eyes and closing his gaping mouth
with a snap. “Yes, of course. I apologize. Usually, when young ladies come in here, they are more interested in the looks of the thing.”
“I am not most young ladies then,” she said dryly, offended by the sound of
the poorly made pianos.
“I suppose not. Here, come with me. I'll show you our professional model instruments, ones used by orchestras and theaters. They aren't showy, but the sound should suit you much better.”
He led them to a different part of the building, where plain, unadorned black
instruments gleamed in the faint January sunshine. Katerina walked among
them, running her fingers over the polished surfaces. She eventually stopped at
one, seemingly at random, and seating herself dreamily on the bench. Fingers tingling, she touched the ivory keys. And then, without warning, the crashing opening chords of the Sonata Pathetique rattled the windowpanes. The last time
she had played this piece, wounded and half-fainting, she had demonstrated exceptional power and skill. Today the music in her soul poured out through the
keys. Submerged in a symbiotic connection with the flawless instrument, she lost
herself completely and became living music.
When the piece ended, she felt like weeping. She took several slow deep
breaths. Get ahold of yourself, girl, she told herself fiercely. It's only a piano.
Crying over it is too much.
“This is the one, isn't it, love?” Christopher asked, laying a hand on her shoulder.
“Yes,” she replied, the word catching in her throat.
“All right. It will be at our house by tomorrow.”
She nodded. “Thank you, darling.”
He gifted her with a tender smile. “You are very welcome.”
