Notes: First person's perspective of a high school girl named Uchiha Sayori, who was Sasuke's adopted child. Sasuke was a famous cellist living in London while Naruto was a businessman in Spain as well as a music lover who'd donated a lot of money in charity performance. The whole story happened before World War I, approximately before and after 1900, so there wouldn't be telegram or other ways of correspondence that came later on.
xXx
Dad never told me, not even once, but I knew there's someone special out there that he cared very much except for his beloved cello. I never asked him, not even once. It's not because I thought I couldn't ask or I thought he wouldn't answer me - with his endless patience for me, he'd never ever turned me down, but because I somehow realized dad might not want to openly share this part of his heart. Yes, I used 'heart' to describe for the reason that I exactly felt it this way. I saw many times, countless times, when he was seated in that soft cushioned armchair in his study, with his favorite Bach in the background and woods cracking in the fire, he went through those letters - letters from a man named Naruto Uzumaki (I didn't tell him I'd secretly taken a glimpse once.). They were far more than merely correspondences from a closed friend, not to say I'd never seen this man show appearance in our house in London. I even doubted that my dad met him in other occasions - maybe some concerts or his performance tours, but I wasn't sure. How could someone you've never met to become your closed, or even intimate friend? That's another question I wouldn't ask him either. I couldn't help but became very very curious. The curiosity grew more obvious after Dad left for his new tour in Austria. I knew where those letters were saved, which made it easier to rediscover and explore.
So, that day, the second day dad was away, after I finished my daily routine including 8 hours practice in Cello and Piano (half for Cello and half for Piano), I sneaked into dad's study and shut the door silently. I didn't want Joseph, our housekeeper, know I was in Dad's place and stayed unexpectedly longer than usual though I figured if after 8 pm I was not in my room (which is on the second floor instead of the first) reading, he would finally be aware of it. I promised myself I would be there even if I didn't finish those letters. Uchihas always keep their self-restraint no matter what.
My hands shook a bit when I approached the bookshelf where those letters were kept, though I didn't quite realize it until my hands reached them and pulled them out of a faked book cover. Last time when I saw it, I couldn't help but sniggered at dad's choice of Dickens' Great Expectations while he claimed that he never liked Dickens' books. How conflicted and complicated his expression always was. People outside our family could never understand Uchihas' true feelings under our icy and (appeared to be) untouchable look. I was proud I had this surname though I knew I was merely an adopted child. I was more like a student rather than a daughter of dad. But that didn't keep me away from understanding how my dad's expression and feelings functioned. He had his poker face all the time but when he was shaken or moved by someone somehow, I just could tell it by large amount of intangible and unusual details in his steady habits and schedules. There's once, probably the very first time he received a letter from this Mr. Uzumaki, his practice of No.1 G Major was a bit longer than usual. Maybe just twice longer but that meant a lot. If you know what I know and see what I see, you can understand it too. Dad was a perfectionist and likely had Obsessive-compulsive Disorder, which meant he'd never done things out of control. His Bach was perfect, so were his Beethoven and Hadyn. Even the meanest and harshest critics couldn't deny it. But at that moment, he lost his feeling of time. I could tell at that time, when he was dived in his music, he'd been apparently obsessed by something else that couldn't be verbalized.
I placed myself slowly in the armchair where dad usually sat. I wasn't aware consciously where it was because I was distracted by the number of letters (maybe shocked at the same time). There were a plenty, way more than the last time I got a chance to check it (which was three months ago). The stamps on the envelopes indicated that the very first one was dated back nine months ago. I remembered there was an occasion that dad went for an invited chamber play in Santiago and figured that was probably the time when he met this Mr. Uzumaki. That made sense. Letters from the first four months all came from Spain. Dad must keep these letters very carefully because even after nine months this very first one was still very neat, there wasn't any difference of the seal between the first one and the last one, which displayed a clear mark of whirlpool on it. I guessed it could be a symbol of family name because we Uchiha had one, too, appearing like a round fan.
In case dad found out what I did here (which he would ultimately with his sharp eyes, or maybe just his gut - I didn't know how exactly it worked every time he discovered my faults), I carefully unsealed it without even putting a fingerprint on the wax. I'd read this one before, from which I realized my dad and this Mr. Uzumaki weren't just friends, but except some key sentences, I barely remembered any other details. This time, I decided to take it as a personal research - odd but interesting to think it in this way. Come on, curiosity came first. You couldn't blame me for doing this. It was not that I was going to tell everyone or something else like that. In case you don't know, Uchihas don't do gossips.
OK. Here comes the first one.
Dear Mr. Uchiha,
Great honor to have you last Friday evening, playing Bach mostly and some Schubert as well. I didn't mean any slight sense of flattering or exaggerating but I had to say, I couldn't help but absolutely be attracted by your way of performance. I've never thought it could happen on me before, not because I'm a high-maintenance person (it could be though since we both grew up surrounded by classic), but because it never occurred to me that I could feel music flowing in that way-like the way you played. It was just like a crack of winter ice above the lively spring, mildly and gently, but reversing my whole experience before. Again, I'm not exaggerating. As the whole night we talked a lot and got to know each other better, I assumed you'd be aware that I'm an honest and quite straightforward person.
Probably you'd noticed, the Schubert part was a purposed incident. Everyone knows you'd perfected in Bach, which made me more curious how you'd do if you encounter with some others like Schubert (we could save Schumann for the next time). I 'accidentally' inserted one piece of it in your files (and yes it's me who helped you place them on the shelf) and expected what you would react on it. And, well, I couldn't say I was disappointed by your calm appearance or not even showing any hesitation playing it (Besides, why would I feel it that way?) but I definitely was surprised that some romantic sense was underlying there in your heart but no one ever discovered it. I've read some critiques on your music saying lack of emotions or sentiments, and so on so forth, but right now, I could just tell them that it's far away from the truth. I was so touched by your way of interpreting Ave Maria that when we talked afterwards I even didn't want to admit that there were tears in my eyes when you played it. I felt ashamed I was so easily shaken but the truth is I kept thinking of it, even after you left for home. I've even dreamt it once. There's you playing the cello for me. I was awake with tears dropping from the corner of my eyes.
You have no idea how grateful I am having taken my friend's advice and finally invited you to play. It's not merely about me as a music lover respecting your reputation, though I did admire it after you played the very first line of No.1 G Major. It's not merely about the familiarity I felt after we got in touch, either, though I did realize the way we interacted with each other was quite comfortable and natural. I like your sharp wits and great insights in music as well as in many other things we talked that night-you made me feel like a school boy again by drinking, talking, joking, laughing and staying up late together. How could we even possibly talk that much things in one night? Not to mention we've just met that night earlier. I hardly remember anyone who could always get my reference as you did. I somehow think it as a doomed fate (I know it was probably way too romantic for you to think it in the same way so I won't push you to do that). It's stupid to think of it like that but I just can't come up with any other explanations of my feelings, not only for your music, but for you. It's about you that finally met me that night. It's about us.
I felt very sorry that I didn't keep my words to contact you as soon as you arrived home. And as you should know, my hesitation had nothing to do with you personally. Or maybe it does personally, but not in a bad way. I wasn't sure when this letter was ended in your hands how you would feel about it. Maybe I'm too stupid to mention something happened between us-I wasn't even sure if there was 'something' or not. What made me eventually get the courage to do so was my gut. I just felt it so wrong if I'd just let it go.
Your Sincerely,
Naruto Uzumaki
I had to admit that last time when I read this, I was totally shocked by this Mr. Uzumaki's way of writing a letter like this to my dad. Not that I would show it on my face, but just as himself confessed, it's way too honest and straightforward for an Uchiha to take it. I kept wondering how dad reacted in the first place to read this but I didn't expect to get a real answer except his uncontrollable practice that day.
Better thing for me is that, this time I noticed the story behind there when dad encountered with this Mr. Uzumaki, and it could be very reasonable and irrational at the same time that dad would either very dislike this guy or very like him. Dad was well-mannered and had his pride and decency all the time, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be mad at anyone or tolerant of everything. He had his temper, good for a musician but bad for someone living together. Of course he'd been mad at me. In fact, it happened plenty of times when I was distracted by something from my practice. Dad's way of rage was horrible but different from those exhausted parents. He merely didn't look at me, or didn't acknowledge me, as if I wasn't there or not even existed. It's totally unbearable so I gave up every time and went back to practice to meet his demand. So, it made me a bit surprise that this Mr. Uzumaki could do dad such a mischief on his professional performance without being punished or blamed at all. Well, it could be that he was blamed but somehow survived under dad's moods, I couldn't know either but only guessed (and hoped) it should be like that.
Something I could also recognize was that this guy should be very easygoing as well as interesting, at least it appeared to be for dad. Dad wasn't someone very talkative in case you didn't know. He did necessary social intercourse sometimes to maintain his reputation in art circle, but you wouldn't ever use 'sociable' or 'outgoing' to describe his personality. He had his isolation and indifference in many cases, for his ambition in chasing the mystery of music independently. But the depiction of this Mr. Uzumaki made me realize that dad had his other side of characteristics which probably remained unknown for a lot of his fellow musicians, hence it became more interesting that somehow this Mr. Uzumaki discovered it under Uchiha's cool looking. Or maybe, it's just dad that thought it ok to reveal this side of himself to this Mr. Uzumaki. I couldn't tell but there's definitely something this Mr. Uzumaki did, or the way he interacted with my dad, that made it become reality.
It's a big pity that I couldn't get any of dad's letters to read. Now I was so fucking curious how dad felt about this guy from that night, how he would respond to him, to his calling of their 'doomed fate' or to his feeling for dad and his music. I couldn't help but imagine when dad was playing his cello with all his emotions, there was someone who could feel it in the same way. I knew he'd struggled with it for a long time. I've read those comments from different critics, probably the same of those mentioned by Mr. Uzumaki. They'd admitted that my dad's techniques were all perfect though his lacking of emotions in performance always remained an issue in his play. It's not so true, not even closed to the truth compared to some other musicians I've listened, but it's just not me who was only a primary pianist that could say something to help. I'm glad to see this Mr. Uzumaki did. I know it meant a lot for dad.
I put the first handwriting letter back to the envelope and sealed it exactly the same way dad did. I kept every move of my hands in a slow pace to make sure nothing changed at all. I made sure that this kraft envelop was set at the end table properly before I started with another one. Night was falling outside so I had to light the oil lamp beside me. Everything was so peaceful and queit that I was easily immersed in reading the second one. It appeared to be a week and half later than the first one.
Dear Mr. Uchiha,
You wouldn't know how regretful I felt when I just stepped out of the post office after I sent the letter. I thought it would be a huge mistake which might ruin our relationship to say something directly like that. I didn't mean to mess up the chance that we could keep our friendship by writing anything stupid. It's a huge relief you finally wrote to me. Thank god and thank you.
I'd kept thinking of the way you play the cello which you modestly concluded as an experienced outcome. I hardly agree with you on it no matter how unprofessional you think I am. Not that I'm trying to underestimate your effort on practice-though it would be great if I could get a chance to watch it, I just don't want you to undervalue yourself or your performance. I know you've always been challenged by your fellows and some critics, but as you may notice, great writers were always criticized by the harshest words, the same were musicians.
I'm not flattering you (I know you would say so and don't ever try to deny it); I have my total reason to pay you a compliment when you deserve one. It is just that I could see the very nature in your performance-I assumed you'd realized that I'd got plenty of chances approaching other great musicians so I had fair enough opportunities to see and hear them playing. You have a warm and sensitive heart to not even let yourself turn me down after I wrote those inappropriate words, no wonder I could felt it in your music. That was something really touching me so much, and making you so different from many others, so unique and extraordinary. I knew you wouldn't like to take the word 'talented' as a compliment but rather an insult, so I won't use it to describe what you had. But I absolutely think it as a gift you're born with-not the techniques of your performance, but the way you feel things in life, the way you think of yourself and other people. I couldn't find someone like you that could be so cynical and extremely sentimental at the same time-remember when we talked about how people living in poverty struggled with unavoidable industrialization, how they could enjoy music the way we did when they barely had a shelter, I was very much inspired by your argument of promoting education among the public. You almost set a goal for my life. I just want you to realize that how much you could make an influence on people, especially on me.
I should have known that you knew it all the time but never bothered to mention it to embarrass me. But somehow I felt embarrassed you told me in your letter. I shouldn't assume you'd like to see my embarrassment, or should I? I guess it's probably your twisted interest to tease me in an unpredictable way. I have been aware of it since we got a bit drunk that night, when you mocked my interest in Romanticism, in Keats and Wordsworth. It's interesting to hear you recite their poems without a stammer for simply teasing me liking their sensitive emotions and metaphorical expression. I couldn't help but imagine how many of their works you have read before and how much exactly you do not like them as you claimed. I mean, how could someone dislike those poems but remember that many of them so well at the same time? It's so cruel even for yourself to do something like that. It's not like Jane Austen or Oscar Wilde that we had to read in our teenage years. I am so curious but somehow feel that you won't tell me the truth, or will you?
As you may know, there will be Wagner's emThe Flying Dutchman/em showing in Venice on the 4th of the next month and I got an invitation from the host for two. Though I'm not sure if you are already tired of me or if you may think Wagner is not your thing, or if you already have other plans at that certain time, I still want to invite you to come with me. But I will understand if your practice and performance take priority.
Your Sincerely,
Naruto Uzumaki
To be honest, I'd grown more curious about this Mr. Uzumaki now when I was conscious of myself so enjoying reading his letter that I was actually grinning at it. I couldn't deny that it was so amusing to picture how dad and this guy mocked each other with romanticist poems and maybe laughed a bit as well after drinking some wine together. I tried to imagine how dad would possibly be grinning or smirking when he read this (because he did love Wordsworth a lot and Shelley as I know though he didn't seem to mention it to this Mr. Uzumaki) and it turned out for me too rare to ever imagine some similar expression like that on dad's face. There's no doubt this Mr. Uzumaki saw it that night-I felt a bit jealous of him having the capability of uncovering dad's cool shell.
After I finished this letter, I started to recall whether dad made this trip to Venice or not. I had a vague memory that he told me at that time he had a plan to Italy but didn't mention exactly where he would be. It was reasonable to presume dad'd been there eventually with this Mr. Uzumaki because this guy was so adorable with that tone of a kicked puppy at the end that no one would like to reject him, not even my seemingly cold-blooded dad who obviously was warmer than he appeared to be in this Mr. Uzumaki's eyes. I admired his way of understanding dad. He did somehow understand dad, much deeper than I expected someone outside the family could. I could hardly imagine that dad would like to admit his underestimation of himself or his struggles in his career in the letter due to his pride, and with his cool face on, most of his fellows and critics would take that as a sign of confidence, even arrogance. Therefore, it remained a mystery how this Mr. Uzumaki could see dad in this way. I mean, could it be just that one single reason that dad wrote back after this guy crazily expressed his fondness of dad ('s music)? I didn't know if dad could get his point or not. But I could definitely recognize how meaningful the underlying encouragement was for dad-there's once, when we hosted some musicians in our house and played the cello together after dinner, one of dad's friend pointed out that his performance was 'more natural and relaxed'. I wouldn't take that as an coincidence after I read this.
I couldn't wait any longer to start the third one. Before discovering what happened in their trip to Venice, I took a glimpse of the clock which had already shown 7:43 pm. I read the one held in my hands hungrily and more quickly (the second one was just under it) and hoped myself keep the promise.