Vol. 2: Prologue: The sins of the father
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Cover vol2 phantom adagio

The music for this chapter: Spotify link

Nastya’s POV (when she was 12)

“Listen, papa, my teacher said I played it perfectly!”

I took my violin and started playing Vivaldi’s winter. I had been practicing on the part of the first violin for ages. Papa looked at me with sad melancholic eyes like usual and midway he just turned around and continued what he was doing. I guess it still was not good enough to be worth his time.

Ever since mama died, he had been holed up like that. I had been doing my best to cheer him up. I even took on more private violin lessons to learn to play the songs that used to make him happy or get a reaction out of him but these days nothing seemed to get to him anymore. But I wasn’t about to give up.

Like always he was busy making some minor changes to a score. He had been doing that more and more lately. It had even become hard to hear the difference between the versions but sometimes after an intense session like that he would snap out of it for a little while and be elated like the best thing in the world just happened.

I stopped playing feeling rejected. “What are you working on?” I asked looking over his shoulder to the score he was working on. Czardas.

“I played this for your mom on the day I met her,” Papa said with bright dreamy eyes before turning serious. “I am sure this has to be her sign! I can feel I am close. I’m just not doing it right.”

The last time I was here, he said something along the same lines about Vivaldi’s winter. It hurt to see him losing it like that. I know he loved mom, but doesn’t he love me too?

A couple of hands suddenly took my shoulder. I looked back to see grandpa’s gentle smile. I didn’t know he had come home. I thought he was still abroad for one of his concerts. “I could hear you did your best on Vivaldi’s winter, but there is still room for improvement. Now it was a beautiful tune, but I could not feel the winter. It was a bit stale.”

So, it was bad. That’s why dad did not want to listen. But I worked so hard. I was certain that this time I could make papa listen to my song. I felt like crying, but then I noticed the score again. Czardas… I would play Czardas right! This time I would get it right. I will play it just like papa wrote it on his scores. Just like he wants it to sound.

“Please leave little girl. I need to have a word with your father.”

Grandpa was clearly here to have another argument with papa. I hated it when they fought. They mostly fought about me. I did not want to be the reason for arguments in the house.

After I left the room, I could hear grandpa’s angry voice. “Has this madness not gone long enough? You should focus on what’s still here. You have a beautiful daughter that is looking for your attention. You can’t keep on doing this. Have you any idea how hard she worked just to get some sort of reaction out of you?”

“She needs her mother. She was the one who insisted to have a kid and then she left me with it. I can’t do this by myself. If I succeed, she will have her mother again. I need her! But I am stuck. Maybe if you helped me, it would go faster. You are a much better musician than I will ever be.” My papa answered.

“I won’t help you fall into madness even further. We don’t even know how much we can believe from those old books. I want you to take up your responsibilities. If you insist on going there, you will be on your own!”

Suddenly the door opened again in front of me. Grandpa looked seething with anger, but when he noticed I was still here, his eyes changed to something a lot softer. “You were still here. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“Does papa not want me?” I asked grandpa.

“O-of course he wants you! He is just really sad about your mom.”

He put his hand on my head and said “I’m sure he’ll snap out of it soon. If his daughter’s music can’t, I do not know what can.”

But it had been years already and he hadn’t snapped out of it. I had tried many times. I worked so hard. It must mean that my music isn’t good enough! But I am no quitter. I decided to put in the effort one last time.

Czardas, unfortunately, was a lot harder to learn than Vivaldi’s winter largo. And if I incorporated the notes papa made, it became even harder. My teacher told me it was impossible to play it like this, so I started practicing on my own. I mean, it clearly wasn’t impossible if papa was doing it.

Today was my 13th birthday. Grandpa was on tour again, and I was alone in the house with papa. Only the housekeeping staff visited daily to prepare food for us and clean.

After putting myself through rigorous practice for more than 6 months, I felt like I had broken through a dam that was keeping me back and I mastered both the tragic slow part and the rousing gypsy rhythms and loops from Czardas. Once more I made my way to my father’s study. This time for sure my music would get through to him. It was my birthday after all. Dad smiling again at me would be the greatest present I could get.

When I knocked, on the door, there was no reaction. But that wasn’t really out of the ordinary. I quietly opened the door and entered the room. Papa was sleeping on his bed, still holding his violin in one hand.

I decided to try to gently wake him up with my music and started to play. I did my best and gave it my all. 6 months of practice accumulated at this very moment. I put in everything I had. I was sure that this time I could make him listen to the version he wrote himself.

But papa did not wake up. After I finished playing, I walked up to the bed and gently touched his forehead to wake him up, but instead of his warmth, he felt cold. I noticed he wasn’t breathing. I realized what this meant. I had been too slow, and now papa left me too. I was alone now. I lay next to him in the bed and lay my head on his chest as I started crying.

Why did he leave me? Why could I not be good enough for him so he would want to stay?

It was only the next morning that I was awoken by a loud scream of the housekeeper and pulled away from papa.

The following days all happened in a blur. A doctor explained to me that papa had taken an overdose of tranquilizers after he had suffered from a psychosis believing that he could bring back people from the dead. In his note, he wrote that he could no longer wait to be reunited with his beloved, he decided to join mom where she was now. The only moment he mentioned me in that note was when he said he left me his violin with the words “You’re on the road to becoming a better violinist than I’ll ever be. Please take good care of it. You deserve this instrument more than I ever did.”

Grandpa gave me papa’s violin, but he did not say a word when he gave it to me. I could see something had broken inside of him.

Grandpa quit his career and came home to take care of me. He didn’t act like it was a sacrifice, I could see that he felt that it was the natural thing to do.

“I should have done this a lot sooner. I should not have refused him. Then maybe it would not have come to this…” Grandpa mumbled when I asked him about it.

Even though grandpa stayed with me now, we slowly started to grow apart. He vehemently refused to teach me, calling my music stale. We disagreed on the approach to music. We disagreed on almost everything.

I focused on the technical side of music. The beauty of its mathematics. Performing always as close to the original score as possible. How else was I going to play papa’s scores as he intended them? I won every competition I entered, but still, I felt like it wasn’t enough and that these competitions were no longer pushing me to greater heights, so I tried talking to grandpa, but all he ever gave me were these blown-up rants about music being a language and that it always should project the emotions of the musician. He never gave me anything concrete. Always that vague mumbo jumbo.

I had no idea what he meant by music as a language. How vague can you be? Until one day I was practicing in the courtyard garden when a piercing cello sound blew away everything I did not get and made me break through a dam that I did not even realize was there. It had been ages since I felt so connected to anyone. The sound of that cello was fierce and had completely blown me away. It felt as if the warmth running through my veins woke me up from a deep slumber.

That was the moment I met Fleure. I was surprised that such a fierce sound had been produced by a girl. It was the first time I met someone my own age who played at this level. And to top that, grandpa had taken her in as his student.

“Why this girl and not me?” I asked myself. Each time she visited I tried to find out more and listened to what she was playing. I had declared her my rival, but at the same time, I noticed I started to look forward to her visits and hearing her music again.

At the entrance exam, Fleure had performed outside of the expectations of the jury. I heard her play. It was indeed a magnificent performance. Fleure was awarded a special honor while I got first place. At first, I was happy that our rivalry hadn’t really been decided, but for some reason, I found it hard to confront her now. I could tell Fleure wanted to talk to me, but I hadn’t managed to talk to Fleure even once after that day. Each time I saw her, I grew nervous, and my heart started beating like crazy and I just could not find my words. I even ran away a couple of times. What on earth was going on with me? Did I feel that threatened by her performance? It did not feel like that. This was something else, although I could not place it.

After the summer we would be in the same dorms, so in the end, I decided to postpone the problem and just avoid her until then. That would give me time to sort out this mess in my head.

Welcome to the start of the second volume. I am excited to start sharing this with you all!

If you want to support me, both Vol.1 and Vol.2 are available in my ko-fi shop. So, if you want you can read the entire book today for the price of a cup of coffee.

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