Chapter 4: Claire de Lune
Sitting down. Arranging myself, balance, straight back, hands lifted, arms relaxed but prepared, mind clear and focused.
I get as far as the third measure. Then a sudden chord cluster as he suddenly appears in front of me.
Silly me, I was so incredibly focused that I didn't even notice him enter. How often does that happen?
His eyes widen, and he puts his hands up in an apologetic manner. "I'm sorry, Senritsu, I didn't think I'd disturb you."
Still a little hazy from being interrupted, from being torn from the world of notes to the real world, I murmur, "It's all right, don't worry about it." Unconsciously, I scoot over on the bench to make room for him. His heartbeat is a little confused as he hesitates, and then sits down to my left.
A little silence. His heartbeat is doing very strange things, speeding up, slowing down, in turmoil, expectant yet unsure.
"What is this you're playing?" he asks, gesturing towards the music I've set up. I don't usually use music, preferring to play from memory, but this piece needed a good going-over, so today I hauled out the music and came prepared to work at it until I was satisfied.
"Another Debussy, I see," he says, looking at the composer's name on the score.
"Yes, I have a weakness for the Impressionists," I say with a tiny laugh. "Ravel...Debussy...Faure...they're so brilliant, so different, yet so delicate!"
He frowns at the music, getting closer to it. "This is an F," he says, playing the note, "and this is an A..."
My ears instantly offended, I hastily correct him. "It's a flat," I say. He thinks for a minute, and then plays the black note above.
"Augh! The one below, the one below!" I say, and instinctively place my hand over his.
He freezes for a minute. Swallows uncertainly. I gasp and draw my hand back. "Sorry...I don't know, it just sounded so wrong I HAD to do something," I say.
He thinks for a minute. "No, it's okay," he says, finally, and suddenly grabs my left hand with his right and places it over his own. "Show me," he says.
I bite my lower lip. Then I press down with my fingers on his, playing the F and the Ab together with our left hands. Then I take his right hand with mine and place it over the same notes, an octave above. Then the left hand goes up a semitone, and the right plays a set of three intervals, quickly.
And so we get through the end of the first part of the piece. I release his hands, praying that he can't hear my heartbeat like I can hear his.
Because there's very little trace of the giddy delight in his that there is in mine. Mostly confusion and uncertainty.
"Well, thank you for the lesson, Senritsu-sensei," he says with a little grin, getting up.
"You're welcome," I reply. If I could blush...ooooh, my face would be so red right now!
After he's left, I berate myself. "Bad Senritsu, bad Senritsu, bad Senritsu..."