JENNY'S FINGERS REACHED the hallowed ivory keys of Mrs Nikolayeva's imported muscovite grand piano. Her index finger and forefinger played the opening notes.
Mr Armstrong nodded his head approvingly, as if to say, "Thank goodness she's managed to play the first handful of notes correctly."
However, Mrs Anna Nikolayeva's eyebrows arched in surprise and her face took on a stunned look as if she had seen the ghost of Ludwig van Beethoven himself, for she was one of the greatest pianists who ever lived. To an ordinary person, or even to a reasonably talented pianist like Mr Armstrong, Jenny's first few notes would simply have sounded correctly played. But to Mrs Anna Nikolayeva's ears, just the handful of notes Jenny first played were perfection incarnate. The rhythm, the touch, the interpretation, was truly a work of art.
Then, as Jenny's left hand joined in the action, Mrs Nikolayeva gasped and she pursed her lips, her face frozen in a permanent "Ooh". Mr Armstrong for his part also gasped, simply because he had never witnessed her playing the piece anywhere near correctly before. She had certainly never synchronised her left hand bass notes with her right hand melody notes. A few notes later, he noticed Mrs Nikolayeva's stunned frozen face and realised that Jenny wasn't just playing the piece correctly, but playing it exceptionally.
Alison Thompson, sitting in the corridor outside, must have thought that Mrs Nikolayeva was demonstrating the piece to Jenny.
As Jenny progressed with the piece, her fingers danced upon the piano keys with great poise, grace and precision, as if they were the miniaturised legs of the world's greatest Russian ballerinas. And all the while, Jenny's face was breathing in the music as if it was part of her.
As she approached the middle section, she gave Mrs Nikolayeva a cursory glance as she had been instructed earlier not to play it. Of course, Mrs Nikolayeva nodded eagerly her approval indicating that she wanted Jenny to play it.
And play it, she did.
More perfection.
Mrs Nikolayeva was soon clasping her hands over her heart, and tears were streaming down her knowledgeable face.
Mr Armstrong was trying his best to keep his emotions together and took to continually wiping his glasses.
Finally, Jenny played the last few dying bass notes of the piece's rising and falling arpeggio.
Her small audience exploded into applause.
"Bravo, Miss Sullivan! Bravo! Full marks and more! Bravo! School prize for music and more. Bravo!"
"Well played, Jenny," said Mr Armstrong. Then he wagged his finger playfully at her and said, "Where did that come from? You certainly stitched me up like a kipper. Thank you for providing me with the greatest surprise of my life."
"No problem, sir," said Jenny. "I think I provided myself with the same surprise."
"And the next piece in your practical examination is your free choice piece," said Mrs Nikolayeva. "What piece did you prepare?"
"I didn't prepare anything really," admitted Jenny. "I didn't imagine I would get this far, in all honesty."
"What!" Mrs Nikolayeva was befuddled.
"But never mind," said Jenny with a big smile. "I can easily make a piece up. That's true free choice, if you think about it."
"Oh good," said Mrs Nikolayeva, rubbing her hands joyfully. "I can see with a talent like yours, this is bound to be an interesting listen."
"Shall I start?"
"Wait a minute, Jennifer," said Mrs Nikolayeva. "I'll just bring in Alison Thompson. She's a promising pupil, and I'd like to see her observe what is ultimately possible for a human to achieve."
For once in her life, Jenny would be pleased to put Alison Thompson well and truly in her place.
Into the room bounded Alison with all the arrogance of a deluded show pony, chaperoned by Mrs Nikolayeva.
"Now you sit there, Miss Thompson," said Mrs Nikolayeva, grabbing a chair from the side of the room and placing it next to Mr Armstrong's. "Did you hear that rendition of Fur Elise, Alison?" she asked.
"Yes, Miss. The notes sounded clearly right through the door. It must have been quite something for Jenny to witness your beautiful playing first hand. Did she muck up her own attempt or something?"
"Didn't you hear the applause?"
"I heard quite a racket. But words don't come through the door as clearly as the piano notes. I thought it was a bit confusing, though, because it did sound as if you were doing most of the applauding. In England we don't applaud ourselves."
"In Russia, as in the whole world, we don't applaud ourselves either," snapped Mrs Nikolayeva. "It was Jennifer's playing of Fur Elise that myself and Mr Armstrong were applauding."
"Huh?" Alison was completely discombobulated. Both of her blue eyes lost their sense of direction and each took a different path. This made Jenny giggle.
"Now, Jennifer is about to play piano free-form for her free choice piece. She is going to make something up on the spot. Though it will obviously not be a remarkable piece in terms of composition, I want you to observe her technique and construction. I would be surprised if you did not learn a musical lesson of great significance."
"Mr Armstrong?" queried Alison. "Should I go and fetch the nurse?"
"What on earth for?"
"Well, it's Mrs Nikolayeva. Hasn't she had a breakdown or something?"
"No. Now be quiet and pay attention."
"Is everybody ready?" said Jenny, her wriggling fingers waiting for their inexorable descent to the impatiently waiting ivory keys.
"Play, Jennifer! Play!" cried Mrs Nikolayeva dramatically.
Once again, Jenny's fingers gracefully descended and plunged into a musical masterpiece. It was impossible for anyone to observe Jenny's technique and construction of the piece because the music was so mesmerisingly moving.
Mrs Nikolayeva's icy heart had been thawed out for good. Her red spotted handkerchief was soon soaking wet. Mr Armstrong was wishing Jenny was his daughter. Alison was simply flabbergasted. Hardly able to believe her eyes or ears. But whether she liked it or not, the music had grabbed her heart and was taking it on a journey through the snakes and ladders of life. And like Mrs Nikolayeva and Mr Armstrong, she too could not stop the tears flowing from her eyes and cascading down her cheeks.
This time, when Jenny stopped playing, bringing her piece to an end with the most emotionally outrageous syncopated arpeggio, silence filled the music room as if it were a living oxymoron. The audience of three were just too stunned to respond to what they had heard. They felt as if every emotion in their heart and soul had been pummelled in a musical war of attrition.
Time seemed to stop still ...
But then Time accelerated back to its normal frame of reference and the audience of three exploded into raucous applause. Even Alison Thompson was on her feet alongside Mr Armstrong clapping and cheering Jenny.
"Bravo, Jenny! Bravo!" cried Mrs Nikolayeva. "Beyond a child prodigy! The finished article! Incomparable!"
"What a shame there are only two pieces allowed in this practical exam," said Mr Armstrong, allowing his clapping to subside and sinking back down onto his chair.
"No, no," insisted Mrs Nikolayeva. "The schedule will have to wait. The other pupils can take their practical exam as planned after the morning break, but we'll have to see Alison tomorrow. We must hear Jennifer play another piece. Days like this come once in a lifetime in the history of music, and I can quite assure you, this is a moment to be bottled for all time. You must believe me."
"Yes, since you put it like that ..." said Mr Armstrong, nodding his head, vigorously. He turned to Alison. "You do understand, Alison?"
"Yes, sir," said Alison rather meekly. Any feelings of musical superiority she once had over Jenny had been boxed, taped up and sent to an address labelled "Oblivion".
And so, Jenny played another piece from the top of her head, and from the depths of her heart. This time it was more dark and gripping. Her audience of three seem to hold their breath throughout the whole piece. And when it finished, they immediately burst into passionate applause, as they were no longer shocked by Jenny's brilliance and simply wanted to show their immediate appreciation.
"Well," said Mrs Nikolayeva, "we're not supposed to tell you your scores. However, even without consulting with Mr Armstrong, I can tell you that for the first time in my life a pupil has received a mark of 100%. That pupil is you, Jennifer Sullivan. Bravo!"
"Thank you, Mrs Nikolayeva," said Jenny. "But I'm sure I didn't deserve 100%. It all seemed rather natural to me. I think you must have just been surprised that I could play properly. A bit like on a talent show when you hear a singer who is better than you thought he or she could possibly be. Years later, you realise they're just not that good."
"That is a good attempt at humility," said Mrs Nikolayeva. "However, I can assure you, I don't watch those wretched television talent shows. I have played with the best orchestras in the world. I've played on every continent in the world. And I have given master classes to every leading concert pianist in the world. I, Anna Nikolayeva, am not easily impressed. You, Jennifer Sullivan, are by far and away the best I've ever had the privilege to witness." Mrs Nikolayeva, bowed her head and said, "I thank you."
At that point, to bring Jenny's practical music exam to a definite close, the morning-break bell sounded.
"I know it's a lot to ask, Jenny," said Mr Armstrong, "but would you mind just playing for some members of staff during the break?"
"I'd love to," said the generously natured Jenny with her typical effervescent smile.
"Okay then, I'll just rush over to the Staff Room and grab whomever I can. Mrs Nikolayeva, I'll bring you your usual Earl Grey tea. And Jenny, would you like a tea or coffee?"
"I'm all right, sir. I've got a bottle of lemonade in my backpack."
"And you're welcome to stay too, Alison," said Mr Armstrong.
"I'm sorry, Mr Armstrong. But I've got other things to do. The music sounded great when it was playing, but I think I've had more than my fair fill of it. I think it's a bit over my head."
And so, Mr Armstrong rushed off to the Staff Room and Alison rushed off to meet her gang of five friends (together, they called themselves the "Sensational Six"). Mrs Nikolayeva stayed and started off a pleasant conversation about the excitement of travelling around the world playing the piano. "That could be your world soon, Jennifer."
When Mr Armstrong barrelled into the Staff Room asking everyone if they would like to come and listen to Jenny Sullivan play the piano, they thought he had gone out of his mind. And because he insisted that everything he had told them about Jenny Sullivan was true, and because they had never seen him look so excited before, a fair proportion of them shrugged their shoulders at one another and headed off with him to Music Room 2—even Jenny's strict registration class teacher, Mr Sims.
"If this turns out to be true, Michael, I'll buy you a couple of pints," said Mr Sims to Mr Armstrong. "However, if it turns out to be false ... God help you!"
Within minutes, Music Room 2 was quite full. All the teachers were either standing around or had pulled themselves up some chairs, and all staring at Jenny sitting like an innocent angel on the piano stool being bombarded with platitudes from of all people, Mrs Nikolayeva. The hubbub of curious conversation sounded like a gently rumbling thunder storm.
Then, Mrs Nikolayeva slapped her clipboard a couple of times with her powerful pianist hands to get everyone's attention, not that she didn't have it already.
"And now the moment has arrived for Jennifer Sullivan, the most prodigiously phenomenal pianist whoever tickled God's ivories, to entertain us with her undeniably unquestionable and unquenchable talent." She gestured to Jenny with a graceful sweeping motion of her hand.
"Play, Maestro. Play ..."
Jenny put on quite a show. Not only did she play an incredibly original and moving version of Tchaikovsky's "1812 Overture". But for some reason, which even she could not fathom, she played it using only her right hand and her left foot. What's more, a feeling deep inside her, told her that she had to perform it that way. She could see how perhaps the incredible properties of the silver banana could imbue her with such talent in her right hand, but was rather taken aback at the dexterity and precision she was managing to hit the keys with her left foot. She used her toes, her anklebone and her heel in one long flowing sequence of perfection. She was just as amazed at everything she was doing as all who watched her.
On the completion of the final note, which Jenny decided to deliver with a delightful kiss of the piano key, the applause that rang out was deafening. Through the boisterous applause, she managed to hear Mr Sims shouting to her, "That's the real reason you've been late all these days. You were secretly practising your piano skills, weren't you? You're a marvel of the age. At least when it comes to playing the piano."
When the applause subsided, Mr Armstrong shouted to all and sundry to give Jenny a rip-roaring highly deserved "Three cheers".
After the last cheer, Jenny cheekily shouted out:
"Three cheers for a banana more like."
"You're not a banana," said Mr Sims, naturally misunderstanding Jenny's words. "No, you're a 24 carat gold marvel."
"I'd say, perhaps 24 carat silver marvel might be more accurate," said Jenny, giving Mr Sims a cheeky thumbs-up gesture.
And with that, Jenny stood up from her piano stool and amid further applause, made her way out of Music Room 2 to enjoy the last five minutes of the morning break with her friends.
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I hope you enjoyed this Chapter. I welcome any votes, comments or constructive criticisms (style, spelling, grammar and punctuation errors).
T. J. P. CAMPBELL.