The Pianist

by Sidarth Bansal

The old man walked into the concert hall and took a seat on the luxurious, velvet piano stool. His gnarled, arthritic fingers began to dance along the ivory keys like a troupe of deformed ballerinas. He felt the beaming rays from the spotlight singe his neck hairs, as the eyes of hundreds of enraptured people burnt a hole in the side of his head. He imagined that he was in his dark living room, playing on a tattered upright to his old tabby (who lay curled up in next to the portable heater, purring between laboured wheezes). He played long, low legato notes adding the odd crescendo here and there. It was a piece of his own creation and he knew it well. As he played a few scattered minor chords, he noticed the tarnished ring on his finger; realising that the music would never be complete without his beloved wife. A solitary tear trickled down his cheek like an iridescent pearl. He wished desperately that she was here with him, by his side, to complete the music. Then, as if by magic, she walked through the stage door towards him, and then there were four hands pirouetting along the keys, stubby and knobbly next to graceful and elegant. In perfect unison, they played their melancholy tune. He was overjoyed; a wide smile stretched across his withered face. The song was suddenly transformed and now the notes were soaring, high above the trees, calling out and singing with their whole hearts as they flew. Then, they were flying again, relaxedly, as they glided in the cool breeze, skimming lakes and streams. His wife turned her elegant swan-like neck towards him and kissed him gently with her silky smooth lips.

Floating.

That's how he felt.

Floating.

Not flying or gliding.

Floating.

No wind holding him up, just...

Floating in a little bubble of peace.

Free.

They arose at the thunderous applause of masses giving a unanimous standing ovation.

" I can't believe he hasn't played for 30 years, that was sensational! "

He gestured towards his wife and clapped,

" That was the best thing I ever heard, thanks for forcing me to come mum...but what on earth is he doing???"

" Who is he pointing to ?"

Confused expressions rippled along the crowd as the clapping grew softer and softer.

"I told you he's gone loopy, incredible music though.."

The old man reached over and embraced his wife, laughing, yet crying at the same time.

"Now he's kissing the air !"

The old man was gently ushered off the stage by an official as he moaned the name Sybil over and over again.

Whispers in the near silence of "That poor man" and similar.

An hour later at home, on her tablet, Sienna and others were googling and saw...

NEW REVELATIONS AS OSKAR BERNSTEIN IS RELEASED FROM THE ASYLUM: RENOWNED PIANIST SYBIL BERNSTEIN'S, TRAGIC SECRET SUICIDE IN 1988 - THE TIMES.