Its' raining outside, a steady soft drizzle, hardly more than just a thick
fog. So soft that when you're walking, you can't be sure if water is falling
on your face or maybe you're just walking straight into droplets hanging in
the air. Kim grins at the mirror. He looks grizzled by the hundreds of tiny
water pearls glittering in his dark hair, as if he were covered by breath-thin
cobwebs.
He drops his keys into a pocket - he doesn't want to always make Dalen or Tim
answer the door when he comes from school, as far as he's concerned, the two
servants can save a few steps every now and then. Then he stops and holds his
breath, listening. He hears something strange wafting in the air and pricks
his ears. Music?
Usually it's so quiet. The sounds of carriages and horses rarely get so loud
that they would penetrate through thick walls and upper-floor windows. Kim knows
every sound of the apartment, the clocks on walls, the unique click or rattle
of each lock and door handle, the creak of an old armchair, clattering of cutlery
when Dalen is setting the table, the low rumble of heavy stone balls on the
billiards table. But this is something he's never heard here. Somebody is playing
the piano.
Kim lowers his briefcase beside the table, shrugs out of his jacket and kicks
the shoes off before padding quietly into the corridor. He's on a quest, but
the sound is elusive. It seems to come now from the right, now from the left,
and there are so many rooms where he's hardly set a foot before. He makes halting
progress, shakes his head, picks another direction. But of course he finds it
eventually, sees a door ajar and now the piano is just behind that one door.
Kim takes a deep breath and tiptoes closer to peer in.
He's known it all along, that it cannot be anyone else, and yet he's beyond
amazed when he sees it. Chaim is sitting by a baby grand piano, a soft cashmere
cardigan over a shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, hair hanging
over his eyes. His back is turned to the door but Kim can see that he's smiling.
Large hands glide over keys as he plays. The long fingers don't hesitate - they
deliberate.
Kim walks quietly closer, fascinated. Chaim picks a melody, plays it for a while,
then it somehow changes key or tempo and finally just morphs into another one.
He never stops, but the music is shifting all the time. It's a little melancholy,
a little playful, somewhat mischievous. It looks and sounds like meditation.
Kim smiles.
"I didn't know that you play," he says softly when the hands almost stop. Chaim
spins around with a gasp.
"Kim! You're back already!" He's about to get up but Kim shakes his head and
puts a hand on Chaim's shoulder.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asks. "I want to hear more! And why have
I never known that you can play?"
"Oh, you know, I just dabble." Chaim looks at the same time innocent and slightly
guilty. "I don't want to bore anybody with -"
"So 'dabbling' sounds like you were born to play?" Kim folds his arms. "To me
it rather sounds like you've studied music!"
"Since I was four," Chaim admits. "The piano was a suitable artistic pastime,
and besides my mother loved music. I took lessons for over ten years."
"You're so silly, Chaim," Kim sighs. "And you play like a concert pianist!"
He sits next to the man on the bench, Chaim shifts a little to make room for
him but for once Kim doesn't try to keep his distance. Their arms press together,
Kim smells Chaim's cologne and the familiar scent of cigarettes, he leans a
little closer and glances sideways up at the man. Chaim's face is expectant.
Kim feels his hesitation.
"I guess now I can tell you something," he says, a smile tugging the corner
of his mouth. "I've been wondering how to tell you, but obviously I wouldn't
have needed to be afraid... even though I'm wasting your money and all."
"What're you talking about?" Chaim is astonished. Kim looks straight ahead,
shrugs, chews on his lip not to grin.
"Well... you know where the Academy is. I mean, in Coronation Street, right
next to the College Lawns."
"Of course," Chaim says, head tilting. "What about it?"
"And you know that the College Lawns are called that because some University
colleges are there as well?" Kim's finger is drawing circles on the bench cushion.
"Yes..."
"And the Conservatory too..."
Now Kim can't resist looking. Chaim's eyes widen as realization sets in, he
wraps an arm around Kim's shoulders and laughs. "Kim, oh Kim... go on, please!"
"I found out a while ago, from a classmate whose brother studies music, that
the University and Academy and Conservatory have this cross-curriculum system,
since they all used to be parts of the old Royal Academy of Arts. There are
botany students of the Uni coming to us if they're interested in more practical
subjects, and people studying music and taking some history courses, and..."
"And a gardening student who studies some music, right?" Chaim laughs again,
that deep purr that makes Kim shiver. "All right, confess! What're you studying?
Would you want to try and switch schools?"
"I'm taking singing lessons," Kim admits. "Some theory as well, just a little...
but I want to stay in the Academy, at least for now. Unless you think -"
"You do exactly as you please," Chaim says emphatically and hugs him. "If I
may hear you sing sometimes."
"I think I can promise that," Kim says. "If you promise to play for me."
"I think I can promise that," Chaim echoes and smiles as Kim jumps on his feet.
He has noticed a low shelf full of sheet music.
