The Pianist of the Lost Hearts

Chapter I

The rocking of the train lulled even the most restless souls sleeping in that carriage. The timid and warm sun penetrated through the glass surfaces of the windows, spilling golden light on the frozen skin of the passengers. In the most isolated corner of that wagon, could hear a pen dipped in black ink scribbling wildly on paper whose alphabet was not letters, but treble clefs, bass clefs, musical notes, bars and silent pauses.

His look, exotic for that old continent, which made the children as well as some girls whisper, without being able to stop admiring from afar, with sealed and shy lips, he stared confused and lost in a melody that could only be heard in his mind. Frustrated with his lack of inspiration in that hour that slowly fell asleep with the calm of the nostalgic landscape, he let his tense body rest on the seat and leaned his head against the wooden surface, letting out a long sigh.

Musical notes seem to elude me. He closed his eyes, massaging the fountain with his fingertips, slowly circling. What a rage, what am I going to do?

He went back to watching the view, momentarily forgetting the sheet music spread out on his lap from his antique, handcrafted black leather briefcase. The golden light of the sunset illuminated his torn, oriental gaze, whose black irises seemed lost in the forest through which they entered little by little, just like those that were at the heart of the fairy tales that the great adults told us when we were still naive children.

The warm tones colored the leaves that fluttered in the wind, dancing in a serene waltz, just as the young musician had imagined at that moment. In the distance, dozens of calm lakes, of the most diverse sizes and shapes, mirrored sparkling orange particles in the small and calm waves, completing the impressionist picture of that isolated place in the world.Just greeted by him across that train, asleep and lost in time, whose only people who could appreciate that painting most wanted to get out of that place, back to civilization.Firm, measured steps awakened him from his philosophical thoughts, from his hypothetical questions and from his answers that seemed to escape his lips. They stopped beside him, making him look up at the man, who was dressed in a navy blue uniform with a silver railway emblem on his chest.

"Good afternoon sir. Your ticket?"

"Oh." With that, he quickly rummaged through the pockets of his black overcoat, fumbling for the fine texture of the paper. "Here it is." He held it out to him.

His anxious gaze watched the proofreader's face as he scanned the letters engraved in black ink on that small piece of paper.

"Sonathea?" He stared at him in disbelief. "Are you really sure you want to go there?""Yes." His Asian accent emanated in his words, nervous with the pressure from that guy. "Is there a problem?"

The proofreader peered around, unobtrusively, checking to see if anyone else had been paying attention to the conversation. Then, he leaned towards him, making him notice the blond hairs in his beard, the wrinkles of expression that marked his face, weighing more the irises colored by blue streaks translucent as water, through which the musician could not detour, anxious to recover the peace and silence that had been stolen from him.

"What exactly do you know about this place?"

"It's a quiet village and in the middle of the countryside, great to spend a season away from..." He looked him deep in the eyes, underlining the words with his noble tone of voice. "Peeves of civilization."

The lord narrowed his eyes, straightening his posture, with a stern countenance.

"My boy, you have no idea what you're getting into." His words were harsh. "After all, he is a foreigner."

"So tell me, what am I supposed to know?" In turn, he rested his face in his hand, with a critical and stern look. "Since you take such pleasure in letting me know."