"Oh my," she said. "What is that?"
"That," replied Beethoven, "is a grand piano." He took her by the elbow and led her into the room. The piano, an elegant piece of work in polished wood, seemed to gleam in the lights of the room. It took up much of the center of the room, and the chairs and couches were pushed against the wall, as if they did not think themselves worthy to be close to such a beautiful instrument. Only the bench stood near it, gleaming with the same rich, dark brown sheen.
Beethoven brought her closer to the piano. She marveled at its size; the only pianos she'd ever seen were uprights, like the one that he played at the bar. This ... this was different. Fuller, richer, more full of that energy that she felt when the Bear played for the crowds. She reached out to touch it, but stopped inches from the lid, afraid that she might break some taboo of his. "It's all right," he said, reaching out to guide her hands to the closed lid. "She doesn't mind being touched."
Lora felt the smoothness of polished wood, felt the richness of the oils in it. It was almost silky. The wood had absorbed the warmth of the room, and she could almost say that the piano was a living animal. She turned to him, and asked, "She?"
He nodded. "She. Her name is Irene."
She smiled at his tone, as if he were showing off a new girlfriend. "And how do you know that?"
In response, he reached out and raised the lid. "I found her at an estate auction. Some old fellow up on the Hill offed himself. He didn't have any heirs, and had made no will, so his lawyers and the neighborhood decided to auction off the land." He raised the prop, sliding it smoothly into place, and continued, "It was pure chance that I heard about it, and pure whim that sent me up the Hill that day. And only by the odd twists of fate that I came across Irene."
"Oh?" she asked. She didn't ask what this had to do with the piano's 'name.' The Bear was like this sometimes, launching into a story in lieu of a direct answer, and she knew that, at such times it was best to let him tell his story. "You weren't looking for a piano?"
He shook his head. "I had thought to find something small. Some painting perhaps, or maybe a sofa that no one else was going to bid on. I never thought to find this lady." He ran his hand across the edge of the lid with a loving touch, like a caress that one bestows upon a cherished lover.
"The house was open to all comers," he continued. "It was a beautiful spring day, and all the doors and windows were open. People wandered from room to room -- mostly residents of the Hill -- examining the items that would be up for bid. The obvious ones were tagged, and there was a full list that each bidder was given at the door. I wandered about for a few minutes, looking at endtables and paintings. Nothing truly caught my eye, though, until I stepped into a room at the back of the house."
"It had been a conservatory, I suppose, for it opened onto the garden, but both the room and the garden had fallen into disuse. I could see people through the windows, examining terra cotta birdbaths and bronze sundials. But, as soon as I entered the room, all I saw was her."
He paused; his eyes looking someplace else at some other time, but still focusing on her. "It was like seeing a woman across a crowded room, and instantly being smitten. You know, like in the books, 'Their eyes met.' She was dusty, and badly in need of a polish, but the lines were there. I felt myself drawn to her. I lifted the lid and put the prop up, half afraid that it would be rotted through. But it held, and in that moment, I felt as if I was saying, 'How do you do, miss? My name is Beethoven. May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?'"
He looked down into the interior of the piano, and said, "And almost in response, my eyes were drawn to the opposite side of the frame. And there, I saw my answer." He gestured, and she saw, carved in the wood, as if with a knife, the name 'Irene.'
He stepped around and sat at the bench, and then said, "I remember stepping away, and I swear that I bowed and doffed my hat, as if I was in the presence of a woman who was so high above me, and yet, had chosen to be with me, and no one else. I also remember running my hand down across the lid, and lifting it up." He did so, revealing the ivory keys, tinged with the yellow of age. "It felt like I had taken her hand, this woman, and gently kissed it."
"The keys were much as you see them, real ivory; a lady's smile of encouragement to tentative suitor. I gently touched the middle C, and was rewarded with a voice that, despite the rustiness of long disuse -- for I gathered that the lady had not engaged in conversation in some time -- was still clear and beautiful. And it suddenly felt that someone behind me had nudged me towards her, and that we were stepping out onto a dance floor, and that I, as the gentleman, was supposed to choose the dance. And I found that I very much wanted to dance with her."
Beethoven's eyes were no longer looking at her, but instead, they were staring off into the past. And, reflected in them, she could almost see that spring afternoon, as he sat in front of this beautiful piano, one hand resting on the Middle C, caught up in the spell that had enraptured him.
He was talking again. "I wanted to choose something appropriate. I knew that she would appreciate something classical, but she was younger than that, and I suddenly felt the need to play something more for her than anything else. Something from her time, so that she would know that I knew what she wanted."
He stopped, obviously caught up in the moment. "What did you play?" she asked.
"Billie Holiday. 'God Bless the Child.' And I swear, it was as sweet as anything I had ever heard. It was like I was in the room with Lady Day herself, and I could hear Billie singing. For six or seven minutes, everything seemed to stop. Everyone in the yard, in the house, even down the street. Everyone, from the auctioneer who was readying his list, to the old man's chauffeur, whose last task was to ready the automobiles he had cared for for so long for sale. They all stopped and listened. Even the birds stopped singing. The notes were so clear, I could almost see them, hanging in the air and being blown out on the breeze."
Beethoven's eyes glistened with tears, but there was a rapturous smile on his face. She stood transfixed, as she had when she'd heard him play the music of his namesake, on a lonely night, down on 14th Street, in the bar, not so very long ago. She could see it, almost as if it were in front of her right then, and happening right at that moment, instead of in the past, before she had met this man, this Bear. She could see him, playing the music, in the conservatory of a house that she knew that she had never been in, but that she would recognize if she ever saw it. She could see the people, caught in the web of music, sharing in the wonder of the sounds that Beethoven and Irene were creating. She could also see, with a clarity that surprised her, the sight of this beautiful woman, with dark lustrous hair, dancing with him, in a place that only exists in music.
Beethoven cleared his throat, and said, "The next thing that I was aware of, was the last note echoing into silence, and Grandfather Bear standing behind me. I could feel him so strongly; I swear that it was almost like the full moon was in the sky. I heard him say, 'You done good, son.' and then he was gone, and the people in the house, and in the yard, and in the street were applauding. Even passersby who had nothing to do with the auction, but who had only stopped when they heard the music, were applauding. And I looked down, at these keys, and I swear, she smiled at me."
Beethoven blinked, and looked at her. He saw her now, instead of the old house of the memory. "Several people complimented me on the music as we sat down to start the auction. I knew that I would be bidding on the piano, but I was sure that I would not be able to buy it. There were plenty of people there, and many of them were very rich."
He fell silent again, looking back into memory. A few minutes went past, and she said, "But ...?"
At her prompting, he said, very quietly, "When the auctioneer announced the lot number for the piano, he looked directly at me. He paused after describing Irene, and then thanked me for demonstrating the quality of her sound. A number of people turned to look at me. Many of them smiled, a few nodded, and few more turned and said something to their friends. And then ...." He trailed off.
"And then?" she asked.
He took a deep breath, and said, in a voice full of emotion, "And then, the auctioneer smiled, and said, 'We shall start the bidding at one hundred.'" He looked up at her and smiled. "He knew. He knew and he was willing. And there was silence in the room, and everyone looked at me, until I said, 'One hundred.' And there was still silence, until the auctioneer said, 'One hundred. Going once ... going twice ... sold, to the man who made such wonderful music.' And they all smiled, and few applauded again. And I paid the money, and the cashier thanked me. And two men with a truck, who were there to make money moving furniture, they brought Irene here, and they thanked me. They all knew. They all felt it." He smiled. "And none of them wanted to be the ones who to stop it, to stop Irene and I from playing again."
He dropped his gaze from her to the piano. Silently, he sat there, contemplating the strange and wondrous events that had brought Irene into his life, and considering the equally strange and wondrous events that had brought her into his life.
Silently, she sat down on the bench next to him. She took his right hand in hers, lifted it to her lips and kissed the fingertips. Then she put it across the keys, and said, quietly, looking in his eyes, "Play."
"What should I play?" he asked.
She smiled, and said, "You know." And, after a moment, he did know, and he smiled too. And then he put his other hand on the keys, and he and Irene made music. And when the time was right, she added her voice, clear and pure,
"Them that's got shall get,
Them that's not shall lose.
So the Bible said and it still is news.
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own."
And the three of them danced, in a place that only exists in music.
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