The Madness Between The Notes
Chapter 10 : A Pianist's Solo
After Arthur left Roderich fell into a deep sleep. It wasn't the kind of sleep that keeps one in a peaceful silence, it was the dreadful and troubling sleep that pierced through walls of the mind. It caused Roderich to awake in a sweat to find that it was almost sunrise. Deciding that he had rested more than what he considered necessary, Roderich went about his usual morning routine. He made coffee and started composing, noticing more natural light become available to him as time wore on.
Roderich went on to compose for many hours, pushing his mind to the limit of effectiveness in an effort to complete the requiem. His fingers ached and the ink smeared at certain points in the composition but it didn't seem to matter. Roderich had entered a fit of desperation. Finishing the piece was no longer just about returning home. It was the anxiety of being so close to finishing the piece that made him push himself further. At times his mind would locate the opium and seemed to beg for it. However, Roderich pushed away the thoughts with anger. He was angry for the distraction, he was angry that he craved the drug so badly. He untangled the notes floating around his head and they scrambled onto paper. The keys on the piano seemed to call to Roderich, as though they were screaming at him to work faster. It was chaotic and noisy inside the composer's mind.
And then, it all went silent. The last of the piano's echoes rang through the apartment, and after that there nothing to be heard. The requiem was at last finished. The silence was broken with the sound of Roderich's heaving breaths of relief.
He sat for a moment, letting the quill slip through his fingertips and fall to the floor. The quill spotted the floor with ink, and rolled underneath the piano. Roderich couldn't believe that he had finished the piece. The size was far larger than anything he had ever written before. It's melody was beautiful to the common ear, but melancholic to the musical one. Roderich considered it his most successful piece, it satisfied him just to the point where he would leave it be. He sat in the quiet staring at the composition's final page until there was a swift knock at the door.
Roderich got up slowly, which caused the guest to knock again. When opening the door he saw that it was Francis, who was smiling joyously.
"Hello, Roderich! I came by to see how you're doing!" Francis greeted while taking off his light coat.
"Francis! You have come just at the right moment. I have finished your requiem." Roderich responded with a small smile.
"Oh lovely! You're happy with it?"
"As satisfied with it as I'll ever be." Roderich chuckled a bit, trying to make light of his perfectionist attitude.
"Good, good. I came to ask you something as well." Francis sat on the sofa as Roderich followed.
"Oh?"
"Yes. There is an opening a for a pianist at the club at attend regularly. I was wondering if you'd be interested in performing again."
Roderich thought about the prospect of performing. It had been a long while since he had performed, and the rush of an audience's approval always gave him power. He nodded his head in approval and responded, "Yes, I'd be interested. It's been a while."
"Great! How does tonight sound?" Francis's eyes glittered with excitement as he awaited for an answer.
"Francis, that's such a short notice. Luckily, I am a man with nothing else to do."
"Fantastic! Here, I'll give you the address. Call for a carriage, they'll know it for sure." Francis smiled and scribbled an address on a spare piece of paper. "I'll see you later, yes?"
Roderich smiled and ruffled his hair with his hand. "Of course."
Day turned to night and Roderich soon found himself in a carriage. He was wearing his best outfit, one he always saved for performances or meetings. The carriage arrived at the club and Roderich stepped inside. The air was somewhat stuffy, and the sound of chatter filled the air. Everyone in the club looked of higher stature, and Roderich could hear strings of intellectual conversation. He soon spotted Francis, who was waving and smiling.
"Roderich! It's great to see you!" Francis, said his back leaning on a wooden table with four chairs to accompany it.
"Great to see you as well, Francis." Roderich greeted, taking a seat, Francis following.
"Listen, you'll perform in about an hour. Look over there." Francis pointed across the club to a small stage that was covered in velvet curtain. "That's where performances are. The music and performances are suppose to be somewhat background noise, but you being who you are, will most likely garner the club's full attention."
"I see. I'll garner the whole club's attention you say?" Roderich chuckled, being doubtful.
"Of course! Roderich Edelstein, here in Paris? Most may not recognize your appearance, but the name will surely turn heads. Did you know that many travel to Vienna just to see you perform?"
"I didn't realize I was such a well-known figure."
"You are, you are! I invited your friend to see you, Arnold right?"
"No, his name is Arthur."
"Ah, yes that's right. He should be here shortly."
Roderich and Francis sat in silence for a little while. Francis stirred sugar in his coffee and Roderich fiddled with a napkin on the table. Then, someone sat down at the table with them. They both looked up to find that it was Gilbert, who seemed to have been caught in the rain.
"Gilbert! I thought that you would come, that's why I got a table of four." Francis said, placing his cup on the table.
"Of course. I finally get to see the Piano Man in his natural environment." Gilbert smiled, looking at Roderich. "Good Evening."
"Good Evening. It's nice to see you again." Roderich responded, smiling back.
"It's a pleasure to see you again." Gilbert said, taking a sip of Francis' coffee, which caused the Frenchman to roll his eyes.
"Sorry, am I late?" A voice called out, which belonged to Arthur.
"Oh not at all, take a seat!" Roderich greeted his friend, watching him take a seat at the table.
"Good. I was beginning to worry that I was! It's a pleasure to see you perform, never thought I would!" Arthur chuckled, taking off his coat and hanging it on the back of his chair.
"Arthur, this is Francis and Gilbert." Roderich introduced to the two other men at the table, and they all exchanged handshakes.
"This is most likely going to be your only performance in Paris, isn't it?" Arthur questioned, tapping his fingers on the table.
"I would say so. A first that is also a last it would seem." Roderich responded, his voice somewhat quiet.
"When will you be returning to Vienna?" Gilbert asked.
"As soon as I play the requiem for Francis and he approves, I suppose." Roderich made eye contact with Francis, who smiled and nodded in response.
The four men sat at the table and talked until it was time for Roderich to go backstage. The performances before his were merely background noise to add to the ambiance of the club, performers would some heads on occasion. Roderich knew that when his name was called, his performance would not be just background noise. It would turn every head and silence would prevail. It unnerved him to a point, although he didn't often get stage fright. Francis stood next to him to keep him company.
"Do you get stage fright, Roderich?" Francis asked, tossing a coin to pass the time.
"Not often, but every once in a while." Roderich responded, fiddling with the tin opium can in his pocket. He didn't want to admit it, but he was nervous. It had been so long since he had stepped on the stage by himself and sat at a piano. The opium beckoned him with its promise of relief. Roderich took the tin can from his pocket and opened the lid, careful not to let anyone see it's name. "Do you mind?" He asked Francis.
"Not at all. What do you take that for?" Francis responded. Francis had often taken medicines for various things, and being an intellectual, was up to date on healthcare.
"Anxiety, Insomnia."
"I see."
Talking ceased as Roderich took the opium. It had been a while since he had gone backstage, and he wondered if he had left the table too early. After a while, Roderich began to feel the opium's effects and was called on stage.
"Remember, my friend, a pianist's solo is when you get to see who they really are. It's raw and it's pure." Roderich said to Francis, whose face contorted at the thought. Then, he pulled the curtain and walked on stage.
When Roderich stepped onstage, it was exactly how he expected it to be. All heads turned, some with faces of shock and surprise. And most of all, there was absolute silence. He sat down at the piano and began to play. The song was slow at first, but picked up speed and tone as it progressed. Roderich had the idea of what he was playing, but as he progressed lost sight of it and started improvising. The notes he played were of no particular piece and was nothing he had ever thought of before. As the piece progressed, Roderich began to lose his concentration. He fingers would slip over the keys and he couldn't remember where he was going to place them next. He didn't know how the audience was reacting, for he had blocked them out of his mind completely. As Roderich reached the end of his performance, he vision became impaired and it was difficult to keep his eyes open completely. He ended the performance by slamming his palms on the piano's keys, and standing up shakily. The audience clapped with what seemed like approval. The faces looked impressed, it was as though they had no clue that the whole piece was improvised. Roderich took his bow, his head rushing and his hands sweating. He stood from his bow, looking across the audience at their standing ovation. Roderich stepped once, stepped twice, and then collapsed, his audience's clapping ceasing.