Chapter 1 - I Perform for Questions (Keene)
Submitted October 26, 2007 Updated May 11, 2008 Status Incomplete | Separately, four people are talented artists. But together they become miraculous. They revolutionize a country by merely existing.
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Chapter 1 - I Perform for Questions (Keene)
Chapter 1 - I Perform for Questions (Keene)
Cloth rustles and children chatter. I close my eyes, not to shut anything out, but to ease the muscles. I listen to the tensions, the rhythm of the audience. I smile as it ebbs into a question. “When will he start?”
Now.
The cherry wood viola slips under my chin and she begins. I play for minutes. I play for hours. If this ancient body could go without rest, I would play for years. I can feel my old man fingers creak as they shift. My wrist throbs with arthritis, but her music heals. Soon I won’t feel anything but the vibrating life that is nestled into my neck. The viola is like a lover: soft, tender, curvaceous. She becomes a part of you. But when you finally detach, she leaves you breathless, sore, and yearning. Now my dark lady trembles under my exploring fingers. I finally stop when my hands slip, drenched in sweat.
But when the music dies away in a whisper-like echo…there is still a question hanging over me. The audience still asks a question? All of a sudden I feel very old. I groan and just barely have the energy to collect the coins I have earned. My unseeing eyes twitch and I press on my aching temples. Never have I performed and received a question in return. Even when I was young and I could read the faces I played for, never a question was asked when I stopped to bow. I turn to leave the artist platform as the next performer arrives.
Now.
The cherry wood viola slips under my chin and she begins. I play for minutes. I play for hours. If this ancient body could go without rest, I would play for years. I can feel my old man fingers creak as they shift. My wrist throbs with arthritis, but her music heals. Soon I won’t feel anything but the vibrating life that is nestled into my neck. The viola is like a lover: soft, tender, curvaceous. She becomes a part of you. But when you finally detach, she leaves you breathless, sore, and yearning. Now my dark lady trembles under my exploring fingers. I finally stop when my hands slip, drenched in sweat.
But when the music dies away in a whisper-like echo…there is still a question hanging over me. The audience still asks a question? All of a sudden I feel very old. I groan and just barely have the energy to collect the coins I have earned. My unseeing eyes twitch and I press on my aching temples. Never have I performed and received a question in return. Even when I was young and I could read the faces I played for, never a question was asked when I stopped to bow. I turn to leave the artist platform as the next performer arrives.
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musicismylife on November 28, 2007, 8:58:23 AM
VERY NICE!!!! woot!!!!! are you a violist?thelump on November 29, 2007, 6:03:46 AM
thelump on
I'm actually a violINist. But I have always envied those that played the viola... it has such a rich tone. musicismylife on December 11, 2007, 7:05:27 AM
true true. i is pianist+ violinist+ hopefully (eventually) cellistredclaw on October 26, 2007, 10:54:19 AM
redclaw on
ooooooooo, very interesting......kinda confusing though...