His students referred to him as Professor, and only Professor.
There was no last name, no first. There was a man with glasses and steely eyes who worshiped the metronome like it was a God -- but he was only the Professor.
Or, rather, Professor.
Checks were made to him, children were taught the piano with a discipline some considered almost military and music was made.
His best students were only given Beethoven after they proved they could handle Mozart. Handel, Bach and the organ and the elusive Mendolsohn. Czerny was a must, and Hanon was considered almost-always mandatory.
Brahms was only for the best and then (this only happened once) afterwards, Rachmaninoff.
A teenage girl got Rachmaninoff.
The Professor was only there for half of her concert.
A young child-prodigy named Josef received Brahms.
The Professor was only there for a quarter of his concert.
Josef and the teenager girl, Natalie, were related by blood. They were cousins.
Natalie did not know why her teacher left. Nor did her cousin.
But suddenly there were no more lessons, no more visits and the dark-eyed man with the metronome was no longer there.
Like he had vanished.
Like he never existed.
Natalie and Josef missed the Professor.
Even though, sometimes (for he was never a really kind man, though an excellent teacher and mentor he certainly was) they didn't know why.