The Music Trilogy (6 page)

“Of course, Doctor, what can I help you with?”

“I would like to show you something. Come with me.” The two men headed towards the piano. The Ambassador caught his breath when he saw the vase.

“This is Chinese! Where did you get it?”

“It was a gift from one of my patients.”

“You must have at least saved their life!”

Simeon roared with laughter. “Something like that. Exquisite, don’t you think?”

“Yes, magnificent and unique. But tell me, what is this favor you ask?”

“Let me show you.” Simeon lifted the vase and showed him the inscription written on the bottom. “Can you translate this for me?”

“Of course, it will be my pleasure.” The Chinese man looked at it and smiled. “It is a dedication, and very appropriate for this evening.” Simeon waited, puzzled. The Ambassador continued. “It says:
For my beautiful daughter, may your life be filled with joy and surrounded by music. This vase was made from my heart and with the help of Quan Yin
.” The Chinese man looked up. “It is signed during the Song Dynasty by a man called See-Fu, which means Master.” Simeon nodded. “It is from the 13
th
century and the piece is priceless, Doctor.”

“I know, your Excellency,” he said, and thought the very same thing about his little girl. He put the vase back and thought of what an appropriate birthday gift this truly was, and signed to
his beautiful daughter
no less
.

“I have a birthday gift for you, young lady,” a man said to Sela. He pulled her over to the piano.

“Oh, Uncle Fitzy, you do?”

Gerald Fitzgerald bent down and looked at her with a sly grin on his face. “I do!”

“Where is it?” She asked excitedly.

He extended his hands out to her and wiggled his fingers. “Right here!”

“Where? I don’t see anything.”

“My fingers.”

“Your fingers? What kind of gift is that? I already have fingers. Besides I wouldn’t want you to be without—you need your fingers!”

Gerald laughed. “You are right. Now go tell your Daddy I need a glass with some medicine and I’ll tell you about these fingers.”

“What kind of medicine do you need? You look alright to me.”

“Oh, tell him Irish or Scottish. He’ll know. Now, go on and hurry back,” the Irishman said.

Sela ran up to her father and told him about Uncle Fitzi’s request. Simeon laughed and poured him a glass of Scotch whisky. “Here you are, birthday girl, Fitzi’s medicine.” Sela was always amazed that her father knew exactly what medicine to give his patients. She ran over to the piano with the
medicine
and sat on the bench next to Gerald.

“Here you are, Uncle Fitzi, now where’s the gift?” Sela said, all in one breath.

“Ah, lovely, just what the doctor ordered.” Sela looked at him, puzzled. He took a large swig and put the glass down on a coaster on the piano. “As I said, right here in my fingers. I’m going to play as many songs as you are old tonight. That is my gift to you.”

“Really? Oh, that’s wonderful. Six whole songs! Thank you Uncle Fitzi.”

“You’re very welcome, Luv.”

Sela ran to her father and told him about Gerald’s gift.

“Alright, everybody,” Simeon said, getting everyone’s attention. “Fitzi here is going to play for us. Let’s give him our undivided attention.” The guests clapped and stopped chatting. Sela ran back to the piano and sat next to the Irishman.

“Are you ready, young lady?” He asked.

“Ready!” She answered, smiling delightfully.

Gerald started out with a lovely Irish ballad. Sela watched very closely. She sat transfixed, mesmerized by the agility of his fingers. But what she loved the most was that every time he pushed down on the ivory teeth they made beautiful sounds that became complete melodies.

Gerald had played five of the six songs. He realized that he had never played so well and hadn’t even wanted another drink! He turned to little Sela sitting next to him. “Alright, birthday girl, last song. What will it be?”

“Anything I want?” Gerald nodded. “The first one you played,” she answered.

“As you wish.” He once again played the Irish ballad. The guests were all smiling, loving the little tête-à-tête between the Irishman and Sela. He finished with one finger on a solitary key. They clapped and wished Sela a happy birthday. “Now it’s your turn,” Gerald said, “can you play?”

Sela shrugged. “I don’t know, I never tried.”

“Alright. Put your fingers like this,” he said, taking the little hands and stretched them across an octave. “If you want to play a note over here you cross this middle finger over and push it down. Same with the other hand. Got it?”

“I think so.” To everyone’s amazement her little fingers played the ballad perfectly, as if she had practiced it for years. She finished the piece as Gerald had, with one solitary finger on the key. Sela had a photographic memory. She remembered every hand movement, every finger placement and she had an ear and a talent for music. She would turn it into a lifelong passion.

The guests stood speechless. Not for a moment did they believe she had never played before, and thought she was an amazing pianist.

“Hey, little Mozart,” someone from the crowd cried out, “play us another one!” Sela looked at her father. He nodded at her, beaming. He never knew his daughter could play the piano. When had she learned? Sela played the second song that Gerald had played and then the third. Gerald hugged her. “You little Leprechaun, why didn’t you tell me you could play? And when did you learn those songs? They’re not really played here, but rather in Europe and America.”

“I can’t. I’m just doing what you did.” The entire time Sela had also been glancing at the vase.

♫

19
TH
CENTURY

ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT

CHAPTER 6

Dr. Simeon was doing his rounds at the hospital. He entered Ali’s room. His parents were by his side.

“Good evening, Doctor,” Jamil said.

“Good evening to you. I must tell you the fish dinner the other night was delicious and the desserts absolutely delightful. They were made with great care and much love, I could tell,” he said turning to Leila.

“I’m very glad you enjoyed them, Doctor,” Leila said modestly, appreciating his compliment.

“Also the vase was quite interesting.”

“Oh, Doctor, that was just a packaging,” Jamil answered embarrassed, “something we brought up from the ocean floor. I’m sorry it was not very pretty.”

“Ah, but I think the vase is very beautiful and I would like to pay you for it.”

“No, no, Doctor, absolutely out of the question. What you have done for my family is more than enough—you have given us Ali back!”

“Very well, then, if you insist. Oh, and one more thing.

“Yes, Doctor, anything.”

“Before you leave stop by my office. No need to rush.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Simeon walked into his office and talked to his secretary. “Right away, Doctor,” she answered. She turned and hurried off to do the errand requested. A little while later she returned with an envelope. “Here you are, Doctor.”

“Thank you.” Simeon opened the envelope, looked inside, rubbed his beard and smiled. He took out a piece of paper, dipped his plume into the ink jar and wrote a letter. Once finished, Simeon sealed the envelope. There was a knock on the door. “Enter!” His voice boomed. Jamil, Leila and young Ali walked in. “So, you are leaving us today, Ali.”

“Yes, Doctor,” he said respectfully. “Thank you for saving my life.” Leila beamed, proud of her son’s manners.

“You are most welcome, my young friend.” He turned to Jamil and handed him the envelope he just finished sealing. “This is for Ali. It is to be opened only when he finishes school.” Looking at Ali he said: “You
will
finish school, right?”

“Oh, yes Doctor, whatever you say,” the boy answered.

“Good. It is settled then, Jamil?”

“As you request, Doctor. It will not be opened until Ali finishes school, and I will make sure of that. The envelope will stay in a safe place until then. I promise in the name of Allah.”

“And Mohammed, Jesus and even Quan Yin.”

Just who is this Quan Yin? Jamil remembered the doctor referring to this before.

Simeon rubbed his beard and stepped away from his desk. He held out his hand and Jamil shook it. He is such a big man, he thought, but gentle, like a dolphin.

♫

CHAPTER 7

At seventeen Sela finished school, as well as her studies at the prestigious London Conservatory and now performed in most of the great cities of Europe and the Middle East, from Beirut to Marrakech and Dublin to St. Petersburg. She was a distinguished world-class pianist and a very elegant young woman. Her taste for fine couture never wavered and she always looked as if she just walked out of a Paris fashion show. And her jewelry! Her jewelry was the talk of every city. Ever since she started playing the piano Sela also acquired a passion for gems. She commissioned the best jewelers from Athens, Beirut, Rome, Cairo, Paris, and even Tehran, to create unique and exquisite pieces. She paid handsomely, got what she wanted, and at a correct price. The jewelers were aware of her famous taste, but also of her business acumen, and were always very careful. They knew that their reputation would be on the line and otherwise they stood to lose everything. On the other hand, Sela was their best advertisement and she never missed an occasion to praise their work. They not only worshipped her, they respected her and were devoted to her art, taste and wealth. Since starting to perform professionally at the tender age of fourteen, Sela had become a very wealthy woman and lived to let her fingers run up and down the ivory and ebony keys of the pianos on her tours.

The Mariinsky Theater in St. Petersburg was filled to capacity and Sela dazzled her Russian audience while honoring Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov and Prokofiev. She was on top of the world and the world in turn was at her feet. After several encores Sela adjourned to her dressing room, which, as always, was filled with flowers. Sela’s assistant, Tatiana, a stocky middle aged Russian woman, walked in with yet another bouquet, bigger and more beautiful than the others.

“Miss Sela, there is a note attached,” she cried.

“Mm, yes, I’m sure. There always is. Do you have a light?” She asked, looking at herself in mirror.

“Of course.” Tatiana handed her a box of matches. Sela put a cigarette in the long ivory holder and lit it. She tousled her hair a bit and applied some powder to her cheeks.

“Do we have any champagne?”

“I’ll get some.”

“Thank you.” The assistant left the room. Sela saw the card out of the corner of her eye. Curious, she picked it out of the bouquet and read it:
It has been an honor to be at your performance. May your hands feel only silk and your beauty stay irresistible like the colors of an everlasting butterfly. Your devoted admirer, Grand Duke Ivan Vladimirov.
Sela giggled. Tatiana was back with a cold bottle of champagne.

“Is there something funny, Miss Sela?” She asked, as she poured some champagne into a glass.

“Here,” Sela said, “you can read it.” Tatiana did and gasped. “What is it?” Sela asked.

“Why, this is from the Grand Duke himself!”

“Yes, and?”

“Miss Sela, he is the grand nephew of our late Tsarina, Catherine the Great!”

“Mm, lovely,” Sela said, quite unimpressed.

“And these lovely words… Oh, Miss Sela, and he is
so
handsome!”

“Mm, is that so…” Sela was completely indifferent. “Alright, I’m ready for the reception. Off to indulge in the caviar and blinis. How do I look?” Sela wore an elegant peach-colored silk dress with a large bow at the back and a décolleté that was cut exactly where men hated it—just enough to hide everything, hint at secret curves and be sensually mysterious. The simple elegance of the dress was enhanced with exquisite jewelry that made her glow.

“Absolutely divine!” Tatiana replied. “The Grand Duke will surely fall in love with you on the spot—if he hasn’t already!”

Sela laughed as she exited her dressing room. She was always very sure of herself, fiercely independent and had been that way since she was a child. She knew exactly what she wanted, how to get it, and no one ever seemed to be able to say no to her. Her secret was simply the art of diplomacy, the art of making others say yes—and with pleasure—even though they had been prepared to say no. Of course her kind heart and her beauty enhanced this art, and she was always polite, respectful and fair with everyone she encountered. For a woman so young she had great class and maturity.

The reception at the palace was focused around Sela. The opulence and grandeur of the hall, gilded in gold and red velvet added to the splendor and majesty of the evening. She wasn’t alone for a single moment and out of the corner of her eye she spotted a dashing young man with an Imperial uniform. He had been watching her for quite a while but hadn’t approached her. Then the orchestra, housed in one of the palace’s golden upper balconies, played a waltz. The man came up to her from behind and lightly touched her shoulder. “May I have this dance, Miss Vidalis,” he asked. She turned and without thinking said: “Certainly.” She realized it was the man that had been staring at her all evening. She was momentarily paralyzed. He was even more dashing up close. He graciously offered her his arm and they walked out to the dance floor. The crowd grew quiet.

“Alright,” she said, “you know who I am, but who are you?”

“Ivan,” he said simply. He didn’t say anything else, although he would have told her that he wanted to be with her, get to know her and then become lovers.

“Ivan? Just Ivan?”

“For you, yes. I would like you to call me Ivan. For others I am Captain Ivan Vladimirov, Grand Duke of all Russia.”

“I see. Well, that’s lovely,” she said nonchalantly. Ivan slightly raised an eyebrow.
’That’s lovely?’
He almost laughed. Women practically threw themselves at him, but this one was different. She was enchanting and would be a wonderful challenge, he mused. “Oh, yes, I should thank you for the lovely bouquet.”

“You are most welcome. It is but a small thing of beauty compared to your own and of course your amazing talent is incomparable.”

“Thank you, you’re very kind.” And
gorgeous, she thought. She liked his style. He wasn’t snobby as she expected, and figured that he was the most sought after bachelor
in all Russia,
and understood why. He was intriguing, not the usual pompous pushy male, and charming.
Very
charming! All she really wanted to do was look at this man and listen to what he had to say. Perhaps for the first time in her life Sela found herself searching for things to say. But she had to say
something
. “You have quite a few medals there. What did you do? Fight all the wars single-handedly?”

He laughed. And she had a wonderful sense of humor too, he thought. “Hardly,” he answered.

They continued dancing through the night. If someone tried to cut in Ivan gave them a simple, yet sharp look. They immediately backed off. The orchestra finished their last melody and Ivan gallantly escorted her off the dance floor.

“May I drive you home?” He asked.

“That would be wonderful. I’ve had a long day.”

“You certainly have and your performance was absolutely sublime.” He meant it. He had never seen such a concert and he noted that she hardly ever looked at her hands.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“It’s the truth.”

It was cold and snowing. Sela shivered involuntarily. Ivan put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the sleigh. He easily helped her up and sat next to her. He covered her up to her neck in a sable blanket.

“Warmer?”

“Yes, much, thank you.”

“
Idti!
Go! And keep your eyes in front of you,” Ivan said to the driver in Russian.

Ivan and Sela had been speaking French all night. “You know, your accent is flawless. That must be why they say ‘you speak French like a Russian.’” Sela said.

He laughed. “I believe that we Russians owe that to my great aunt, Catherine. She insisted we be as educated as the Europeans—especially the French, maybe even better.”

“I hear she was quite a woman.”

“Yes, she was. We could have used her in this day and age. Our Tsar is a wonderful man, but I am afraid he is not as powerful. Nor does he have the insight or intuition that the old Tsarina had. Of course that is my opinion and I hope I am wrong. I don’t suggest you repeat any of this. My life has been threatened for less.”

“Someone wants to kill you?”             

“There are many who would like to see all the nobles dead. If the Tsar isn’t careful a lot of blood will be spilled in our country. Of course the aristocracy doesn’t listen to me either. So I guess you could say that I’m getting it from all sides. But let’s not talk politics. It has been such a remarkable evening.”

“Yes, it has, you are right. You know, there have been wars for just about everything and anything, but there has never been a war because of music.”

“How do you mean?” Ivan asked, intrigued.

“Well, nobody ever invaded a country or a people because they want, like, or even dislike their music. As a matter of fact they respect it. Each one has a tradition, a unique sound or dance. The Austrians have waltzes, the Italians tarantellas, the Polish polkas, the French can-can, the Russians ziganka, the Greeks syrtaki, the Arabs belly dances, and so on. They accompany the dances with folk music or great compositions. And operas! Why
they
have no borders whatsoever. You can have a Spanish soprano singing in a German opera house, led by a French maestro with a Polish first violin and composed by an Italian.”

Ivan looked at her. She’s on a roll, he mused. “You love music, don’t you?”

“Of course, but its more than that—it is sacred. And used for all occasions and by everyone. For celebrations, funerals, weddings and in every religion. For announcements, important political rallies, leading soldiers into battle and singing children to sleep. It is the most important weapon we have and nobody realizes it. People should take music as an example!”

“Absolutely!”

“If people loved and respected peace as they do music no one would ever hate each other,” she continued, “everyone would have peace and happiness. Wouldn’t that make sense? And wouldn’t that be magnificent?” Ivan nodded. Sela looked at Ivan. “I’m sorry, I got carried away.”

“If you ever decide to change careers you might want to go into politics—you’ve definitely convinced me.” Ivan had wanted other women before, and he was grateful for the bounties they had generously given him, but never had anyone made him feel like she did at this very moment.

Sela looked deep into his eyes. Ivan leaned closer. Their faces were almost touching. He looked over every inch of her lovely face, the deep dark eyes, the shiny black hair that reflected the moon, the perfectly white straight teeth and the lips that were hypnotizing him deeper with every movement of her mouth. Were they as sweet and soft as they looked? “May I?” He asked. She smiled and nodded slightly. Ivan kissed her delicately and Sela returned his kiss with more passion than either of them expected. The sleigh slowed down as they arrived at Sela’s hotel. The driver turned around and was ready to say something. He saw them kissing and Ivan simply pointed in the air and made a circle with his finger. The driver smiled and made a circle around the neighborhood—a very large one.

Sela and Ivan spent the next few days together. They toured the city and took sleigh rides. They were inseparable and knew they had both fallen in love in a very short time.

“I’m leaving for Paris tomorrow. Oh, Ivan,” she said hugging him under the sable blanket which seemed to be a permanent fixture of the sleigh, “when am I going to see you again?”

“Very soon, I promise.”

“But when? You yourself told me about the political unrest. How could you leave? When and where could we meet?”

“I always keep my promises.”

I’m sure you do, but you have no control over your superiors. Promise me you’ll come soon, and that you’ll stay safe,” she said, sighing.

“Leave it to me. I have something in mind.” He kissed her passionately and held her for a very long time.

♫