Hye-jae: Book 4

East Coast Joy Part 59

Now, seeing her totally relaxed pose in sleep, he took a moment to admire the dark brows and lashes against smooth skin, before he slid from under her hand and made for the bedroom door, silently. He stopped by the children's room, loving the luxury of being able to see them in sleep - Hye-jae as always, neat and tidy, while her brother reached towards all 4 corners of the bed with wildly, out-stretched limbs.  He popped 2 adoring kisses on their heads before heading downstairs, where he eased closed the sitting room door, before turning on a low light and looking to the Hanil.

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He stood inside the door without moving and let his eyes flow over the familiar lines.  Here was the nick to the left of the left pedal where his 12-year-old self had kicked out in frustration, at his inability to perfect a passage with duple and triple rhythms together, his foot slightly denting the wood, though he had always felt too guilty to confess it to Eomma - Mum.  There was the scratch on the lid that had happened when he had knocked a coffee cup - thankfully empty - from his work desk onto the keyboard lid.  This scar his Eomma - Mum did know about, as she had been in the flat when it happened but no amount of careful polishing or waxing had ever really fixed it completely.  

He felt his heart thump faster and his blood pump strongly.  Why do I feel so...nervous?  He took a small step forward, his eyes roving over the instrument, as though his brain couldn't adjust to this artefact from his past, now so real in his present.  He remembered the sad feeling that had run through him that day in Seoul when they had realised that his old flat - empty of tenants - was empty of his piano too but he hadn't shared these feelings with his love, not wanting to burden her.  And yet, she knew.  She always knows.  But how did she do this?  To even try to find it was so thoughtful but to actually pull it off and ship it here, as the perfect gift for my home-coming...I can't believe how clever she is.  

He closed the remaining distance to stand in front of the piano, his breath now lifting in heavy pants, as though he were going all-out in the gym, though he stood inert.  He lifted his arms which somehow felt heavy and ran his fingers - trembling, light - in opposite directions along the top lid, down the side panels and across the keyboard lid to meet in the centre, under the golden lettering.  How many times have I lifted this lid in my life?  Why do I feel so...nervous?  With a deep breath and a conscious effort, he slid his fingers under the lid and pulled it up to expose the keyboard.  He pulled out the stool this is new, much better than the one I used before and with pulse pounding, sat before the keys, like a nervous novice awaiting instruction.

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His first instinct was just to gaze at the 88 white and black keys, from bass to treble and back again.  I can almost hear them sound, as I look at them.  The feeling of the keys smoothly slipping beneath his skimming fingers was tantalising, making him long to press just a little harder to hear again this familiar voice of his past but he held back.  I wouldn't disturb Hye-wona or the babies for anything.  That thought brought a memory of waking one morning to see Hye-won playing the piano in his flat in Freiburg, completely absorbed in the moment but without actually making a sound.  She was even pedalling silently. 

He placed his hands in position to play his favourite of the Diabelli Variations - the 31st - and a short breath later, he let his fingers play the 7-note melodic ornament that opened this emotional high-point of Beethoven's heart-breaking and complex work.  It was amazing how, just a few notes in, he had forgotten that he wasn't depressing the keys, for in his head, it felt like the most glorious and soothing sounds were released from his fingers, every one of the many trills, running passages, single notes and chords striking him deep in his soul, as though he was actually hearing his beloved instrument again.  As he played on - his conscious mind immersed in the playing - his unconscious floated random snippets through his mind - him playing alone, as he grew up, playing for his Eomma - Mom, Hye-won, his friends - a muddled mèlange of memories that both gladdened and saddened him.  The abrupt end - a single note in the upper register paused tantalisingly, in advance of the massive change from the fripperies of 31 to the dense double fugue of 32 - seemed to come too soon and Seon-jae realised that he had truly lost himself in the playing in a way that didn't happen often.  It's as though I can hear the echoes of that last note still fading away too.  Hands still resting lightly on the keys, he took a deep inhalation - as though he hadn't breathed in hours - held it inside like a secret and closed his eyes. 1...2...3... The memories whispered away to the edges of his mind, the last one of all to fade, the memory of playing side-by-side with Hye-won, on their first night.  Then he opened his eyes and expelled a slow, cleansing breath, feeling a heady sense of release and relief, as though a hurting sadness within him had been healed, in a way that he couldn't have explained in words but felt right through him, in every breath and heart-beat.  And this amazing feeling is all due to Hye-wona's wonderful gesture.  This last thought spurred him to stand and close the lid quietly, with a loving pat.  I'm home and you are too, Hanil - welcome home to us both.  He moved through the softly moonlit house to re-join his love in their bedroom. He slipped carefully beneath the covers again and turned to gaze upon her fair features in rest.   He gently whispered a kiss of thanks upon her forehead and then closed his eyes to sleep the sweetest rest of all, the rest of home.