S.V. Redkin – The Great Conductor (страница 5)

He had decided that it was time for her to know what he had been busy with. He hadn’t been “horsing around,” and he was not “just a music tutor for lazy children,” either. Even if he was too old to attend serious auditions, he had enough skill and knowledge to create music worth performing onstage.

“Why aren’t you answering me?” Lydia’s authoritative voice barked behind him.

Sebastian turned around and saw Lydia standing next to their dining table, leaning on it with one hand and holding a music score book in the other. She liked to go over the music pieces she used to perform in the evening before dinner. She wore a black silk turtleneck and black pants; she looked as if she were ready to go out. Sebastian knew that Lydia’s evening routine had been her way to feel as if she were still working. He played along, never asking her the reason for looking formal.

“Sorry, Mother. Got carried away with the salad,” Sebastian said, stirring the salad in a big ceramic bowl. “The chicken should be ready in about fifteen minutes. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll pour you a glass of wine.”

Lydia snorted—she did not like it when people told her what to do. “Is it chilled?”

“Of course,” Sebastian said and went to the refrigerator to get the bottle of Chardonnay.

Lydia sat down and placed her score book next to her plate after checking the surface of the table and finding it relatively clean. She folded her arms across her chest and glanced at her son.

“There’s something strange about you today,” she said. “You look . . . excited. What’s happening? Yesterday you didn’t want to talk to me, today you’re cooking—not that I’m complaining about it—and looking . . . I don’t know. Whatever you’re thinking about in that head of yours now makes your face look funny.”

Sebastian finished stirring the salad and brought the bowl over to the table.

“I want to show you something tonight . . . after dinner, of course,” he said, placing the bowl closer to Lydia’s plate.

“Well, whatever it is, don’t forget it, like you usually do. And may I remind you that I might have company later tonight? So I hope it won’t take long.”

Sebastian didn’t think it was true—another made-up excuse for looking proper—but didn’t say anything.

Lydia motioned for him to hurry. “Let’s eat already. I’ll have some of that salad and a glass of wine before the chicken is ready.”

Lydia would often have more than one glass of wine with dinner, moving on to stronger beverages “for dessert.” Her alcohol intake had been gradually increasing over the years.

***

With the last movement of the bow, the piece was over. Sebastian blew some of his hair off his sweaty face. It was the first time that he had played his “masterpiece” for someone else. Even Paul had not heard it. He looked at his mother and wondered whether it had been a mistake to play it for her, after all. He could count all those instances when she had been remotely indulgent toward whatever he had been able to do on one hand. He did not even need all his fingers on that hand to do it.

He looked at her.

“Well?” he asked.

Lydia took a deep breath and shook her head. She was sitting in her favorite chair—the same chair where Nathan used to sit—and looked as if contemplating what she wanted to say.

“You hated it,” Sebastian said with an affirmative intonation.

She took a sip of her bourbon, her preferred “after dinner” beverage that she had brought to the “presentation” in the living room, before answering. “It doesn’t matter whether I like it or not,” she said. “The question is, do you think it’s good enough musically? Do you think you fully conveyed the message with that piece?” she asked in a condescending tone.

It was clear to Sebastian that Lydia did not think much of the piece, and he started to put “Galina” back into her case without saying much.

“I mean,” Lydia continued, “there was just too much of everything, wasn’t there? It sounded like you were trying to cram Shostakovich, Beethoven, Smetana, and Mozart all into one small space and have them fight each other.” She took another sip of her drink. “What was it, some sort of short audition list? It’s like you’re trying too hard to hide the fact that you lack the ability to compose behind technicalities. Do you remember when you were a kid and used to hide your wet bedsheets?”

Sebastian’s face twitch at the mention of his “little problem” when he was a boy, and she nodded satisfactorily, as if to say, “you’re getting my point.”

“Pretending that something isn’t there when it is doesn’t make the problem go away,” she added, driving the last nail into the coffin of her assessment.

“Never mind,” Sebastian said, closing the cello case. He did not feel like discussing the piece with his mother anymore. She was clearly getting drunk and was not in the mood to analyze the complexity of his music.

He stood up.

“Where are you going?” Lydia asked, her speech becoming slurred.

“Out,” he said. “Need some fresh air.”

Lydia shrugged, took the TV remote control, turned on the set, and started to surf the channels. “Might as well. My guest is a bit late, but he’s still coming for a drink later,” she said without looking at Sebastian.

She was done talking, which suited Sebastian just fine. He locked the case, leaving the room with only the voices of the news commentators behind him and his mother steadily working through the bottle.

He had an important meeting himself that he did not want to miss. Even Lydia’s indifference did not spoil his mood that much—he had expected her reaction, or lack thereof. In a way, his mother had confirmed what he had always suspected—his music was only for outstanding minds, people who could appreciate the polyrhythmic and hypnotic melodious tranquility of what he had created.

Sebastian needed someone special, and that’s exactly what sheer, unbelievable luck (or providence?) had brought into his life. This man had seemed to appear as the desirable answer to Sebastian’s unspoken prayers. The Great Conductor—one of the greatest musical minds of his generation—had agreed to listen to his piece of music. It was a life-changing experience and the beginning of a unique collaboration. It was everything Sebastian hoped for—a true validation of his talent as a musician.

It had happened a couple of years ago when he had just started working on his piece. The meeting was so unexpected and surreal that he sometimes feared it might not have happened at all. He could not imagine that a musician of his caliber, hardly worth noticing from the perspective of snobbish professional orchestral musicians, could have possibly caught the attention of such a musical giant. But the Great Conductor was different; he could see the core of a true composer in Sebastian.

As for Sebastian’s musical skills, it’s not that he was a bad cellist. He was all right, but there were thousands of other players just like him who were constantly looking for ethereal orchestral positions around the world, through websites and word of mouth, who may have all sorts of strings attached to their applications.

What set him apart from the crowd was his unique mind as a composer. He had read somewhere that composers can hear the unheard, reach into the subconscious mind from the conscious mind, and shape emotions into sonic existence. This was exactly how he felt about his own mind. He did not just strive to be a great soloist, putting in tens of hours each week to master his performance skills. He wanted to be onstage, playing his own music. His compositions were the pinnacle of human creativity. His pieces would stand the test of time, like the Egyptian pyramids, and be enjoyed by people forever.

The Great Conductor was very patient and waited until Sebastian was ready to work on the final part of his concerto. He proposed his assistance, which was an extraordinary honor for Sebastian, who was speechless and flabbergasted by the offer.

However, there were two conditions. The first was that Sebastian’s mind had to be free from any negative thoughts, and he needed to create a perfect environment for music composition. This meant that he had to be free from anyone’s influence, including his mother’s.

Once this condition was met, the Great Conductor would reveal the second condition.

Tonight, though, the Great Conductor was going to meet with Sebastian and see the progress on the piece. Sebastian would forget about Lydia’s reaction and concentrate on meeting the man who would most likely change his life.

Chapter 5

It was Sunday evening, and Christine was on her way to her first ever blind date, with Victor O’Brian. She had finally agreed to this date in order to make her grandparents happy or because “constant dripping water wears away a stone” as her grandfather Sam Heart had put it. During lunch on Saturday, the topic of the date was avoided until dessert—a carrot cake that Christine had brought along with a bottle of wine. They had agreed that if the date went badly, there would be no more attempts at matchmaking. Christine had shaken hands with Veronica and Sam to make sure that they had a deal—“the deal of the century” was another wise input from her grandfather.