Chapter Eight
School had now begun in earnest. Teachers were already talking about term papers and midterm exams. Students were frantically scheduling the performance and recital halls, trying to get the best times for their required performances.
Eroica sat in the practice room, metronome clicking, while she worked on four inches of music over and over. She was determined to learn the Heinrich Schelling Concerto perfectly, so she practiced it more painstakingly than she had ever practiced anything. Going back to the top of the page, she tried to play through the entire section of music. It was beautiful to listen to. The melody was calm and flowing, while the left hand became, little by little, disturbed and frantic. The parts intertwined until both hands were thundering out calamity and destruction.
And then crash. Eroica would get to those few inches of music and she would mess up. So she would start the whole process over again. The more she worked on it though, the more frustrated she became with her inability to play it correctly. Consequently, the worse it sounded. Finally, she took the music off the piano and buried it under a stack of etude books.
A knock at the door made her jump, causing her to drop the books onto the floor. She had been so involved in her own practicing that she had forgotten about the rest of the world.
“That’s quite a handful of music that you’re working on” said Mark Wallace as he came into the room. Eroica had not forgotten that he was planning on helping her with her theory assignments. She had, however, doubted that he would come.
“Heinrich Schelling?” questioned Mark, as he picked the concerto music off the floor for her. “I’ve never heard of him. He sounds like the Paganini of piano, writing such technically difficult music that no one can play it. Oh, but don’t misunderstand me,” he hurried, seeing her shoot one of her fiery glances at him. “You were playing extremely well. You have the ability to put emotion into every note, even the difficult passages. I have heard many musicians tense up through the hard spots, letting everyone know just how hard it is. You, however, methodically work your way through the technically difficult passages until they become strengths to you. When an audience can listen to you play music like this and think to themselves that you make it sound so easy, then you know you are doing it right.”
“And how long have you been out here?” Eroica asked, rather surprised.
“You couldn’t possibly have concluded all that by hearing me hammer out chords as you walked down the hall.”
“Oh, long enough,” was all he said. “It does surprise me though, that you are such a quiet person—you’re not one of those that talks before, during, and after class—and yet you play so brilliantly. I find you to be a very interesting person, Eroica. Remember, you said that the next time we met we would talk about you.”
“But this isn’t the next time, Brother Wallace. You said that you would help me get an A on the next theory test.”
“You’re right,” he agreed.
So Mark and Eroica discussed chord inversions and resolutions together instead. At first Eroica was too self-conscious to let on that she was thoroughly confused. But as Mark explained the different structures and why they each had their own set of rules, Eroica began to see a pattern. In the past she had just tried to memorize the formulas, as if she were in a chemistry class. Now she was beginning to understand what the rules meant and how they were applied.
When they were finished, Eroica began the lengthy process of gathering up her books and music. When Eroica practiced, she took over every inch of the room. She had music scattered all over the top of the piano, and under the piano bench. Mark began to help her, and once again picked up the concerto music.
“A concerto like this is not one that pianists would pass up. I wonder why I’ve never heard it before?”
“It just had its premiere performance this past summer, in Germany. The night before I flew back from Germany I went to one final concert, and I heard it performed. The winner of the European International Piano Competition had commissioned Heinrich Schelling to write a piano concerto for him. He was performing it that night. I was excited to hear something new, but wasn’t expecting an experience like that. I had never heard a concerto like this one. It was so powerful. I can’t even describe it. I was on the edge of my seat, leaning over the balcony the whole time. I wanted the music to go on forever. And I felt as if it would. Even when the performance had ended I still felt the music. I stayed in the balcony for the longest time, not wanting the feeling to end.
“I went out the next morning and bought the piano music. I thought it wouldn’t have been published yet, but it had been. And apparently it wasn’t a big seller because it was so difficult. I was supposed to be packing and getting ready to catch a plane back to Utah. But with that music in my hands I felt as if I had uncovered a treasure.
“I thought I could just slip into a practice room at the conservatory and quickly go through a few sections before going back to packing. But I completely lost track of time, and before I knew it, our plane had taken off. My parents were with the German police and everyone was looking for me. I felt so foolish.
“And yet, knowing that I had this concerto in my hands, nothing else mattered. I told my parents that I had just wanted to get in a bit more practicing and had lost track of time, which was true. My father, who has had several similar experiences, didn’t even question me.
“I didn’t want to tell them about my concerto. It had become my concerto, and it was still too new and too personal to share. And if my father knew that I was learning such a difficult piece of music, he would never have left me alone. He would have given me all kinds of advice on how it should be practiced, and who would be the best teachers to help me with it. My father is wonderful and I have always appreciated and benefited from his help. But this is something that I want to do on my own. I am going to learn it, but I may never perform it. I want to have the choice of keeping it to myself.”
Eroica had said far too much. Far more than she meant to. But Mark was so easy to talk to. She didn’t even realize how much she was saying until she had told him the whole story.
“I just wish I had a recording of it,” Eroica ended, stuffing the last of her music into her bag. “I would love to hear it again, but it hasn’t come to our country yet. And it probably won’t for some time.”
She noticed that Mark was leaning against the wall watching her, as she tried to fit her triangular-shaped metronome into her bag. Eroica liked the old-fashioned metronomes the best. The electric ones were a nuisance if the outlet was too far away from the piano. And the ones that took batteries used them up too quickly. So she carried around her very old, awkward-shaped metronome and never cared, until now, that it looked odd.
Eroica wondered if Mark was laughing at her. He was staring at her again. A habit of his that made Eroica uneasy. But when Eroica looked up at him, she could see that he was not laughing. He seemed very serious. Maybe he was just bored. She knew that she tended to bore people. She wasn’t lively and bubbly like so many other girls.
With all of these different thoughts racing through her head, Mark leaned towards her and said, “You know, Eroica, sometimes God gives us a small glimpse of Heaven to help us along with our earthly goals. Something like your concerto can fill your soul, even if it is difficult. And as you work your way through the hard parts, you gain understanding. Everyone has a concerto to work on, to pray about, and yes, sometimes to perform.”
“Do you?” she asked, not quite sure if they had left off talking about music and were now talking about life.
His eyes cleared, his voice strengthened. He looked right into her eyes as if he were looking into her soul. “Yes.”