Vilify a Violin

Chapter 5

Gotman's house, unlike the Samsa's, was neat but delicate. Flowers standed in the corner in transparent vases, and beneath them stretched the satin light green table cloth. Two wood chair on both side of the table, enabled visitors to have a glimpse of the serene but peaky countryside, for the table was placed exactly at the window. The design reminded Grete the train they took from Prague to Kierling, though Gotman's house was in still. American style? She squinted the candles standing upright proudly on the long table probably served for dinner; Though she's never been to America in person, she happened to read some magazines years ago, introducing various inside design styles from different regions. A spiral stair took Grete and Elly to second floor, where the latter spent most of her time practice and sleeping. Usually, according to Elly, she would not do serious tasks like composing in her bedroom. "You don't wanna lie in your bed when you get stuck. I mean, of course you want, so I have to prevent this from happening. Otherwise you would slouch in its tenderness." She preferred working in iron room instead. It can be considered the remains of the house, a part cut directly from the whole without any hesitation. A door connect to a narrow, long hallway, and at the end, where it took a turn, hung various irons. 

Though Elly suggested them playing in her bedroom due to limited space, several scenes of how the pearky young woman surrounded by draft paper, knelt on the floor and scribbled whatever popped up in her mind, also how she hurried to get her violin to play each note cautionsly, and in a light sneer, tossed the paper away. 

"Good for you, as a composer," said Grete, nonchalantly, "I never write anything myself. It must be hard, and I appreciate your talent."

"Oh, Comen on," laughed Elly and tapped Grete on her shoulder to disguise her flush, "It's indeed very hard, and I'm just messing around- you know, trying different combinations of chords and imitating master's style...I never finish a piece in real sense. It's all segments. To be honest, I don't think I'm a gifted composer, and perhaps that's why I get stuck each time and give up."

Grete shook her head to show disaproval, "May I have a look of your works? I mean, even in segments."

"Sure, but it may take some time. I think I keep some I once found satisfied, and if I remembered correctly, it must be somewhere in my drawer..." She glanced over the room while pointing with her finger, as if she was casting some spell summoning the right stuff; then she turned to Grete, " Wait for a minute, alright?  You can have a rest here if you don't mind this..." Mess. She uttered not this word and left the sentence unfinished awakwardly, and to protect her last dignity, Grete didn't say a thing but merely nodded.

While Elly started riffling piles of paper, including music sheets, sketch and booklets, Grete got a chance to take a closer look of the former's room. There were several small mount (pile, in Elly's term) scattering in the room: at the back of the door; next to the mirror; right against one foot of the bed. Did Elly read? She did not appear the to be type obscessed with literature or typical book lover. Otherwise she had no reason to butressed the lamp with a hard cover book, Goathe or someone else. She also got sketch. Some were vague outlines draw with pencil and probably tore down from a booklet directly, implied by the zigzags cut. From where Grete sat, she couldn't tell what exactly Elly draw, but it was assumed to be figures and sets of single object; undoubtedly, she was an expert on drawing, and all these were lighthearted recreation. The room resembled its owner, so the lack of orders and haphazardly arranged stuff bothered her a little, only when she nevigated through the indoor chaos. 

Grete didn't ask if the Gotman would tell their daughter off for turning her room into a poor-managed storeroom, as she began to recall her old bedroom in Prague. She couldn't tell which one was better, hers or Elly's, though the latter was obviously larger and brighter, receiving suburban sunshine gratefully everyday. Her confidience mainly came from the tidiness she've been keeping all the years until the day moving out. The Samsa was always trying to maintain an order on everything. Regularly everyone's schedule's fixed. Inside their house, the scent of Lily hung in the air. Warm bed. Fluffy pillows Grete owned. Curtain with stamps. 

Though being plain compared to Elly's, Grete had the most well-decorated room among all. Last time she visisted Gregor's room, it was empty, without a piece furniture. Once they removed everything could get in the insect's way, including bed and wodrobe, leaving bare cement exposing to the air. It can't be cement. Cement is not for human's bedroom. Grete thought. She only remembered seeing cement paved floor in zoo, as animal enjoyed (or as we considered ) aesthetic pleasure little. But Gregor was different. He's the eldest kids of the family also the pillar who supported the family financially. Human, in essence, was different with animals. Thus, there's no reason human to be treated as stocks.  

"Ah, Got it!" cried Elly with a smile of victory, waving the sheets between her fingers, "I told you it must be at somewhere inside this house. No other possibilities. Ha, kick it off! "

She then spreaded the sheet and pressed the creases gently with palm. At the head of the paper, it said "Vilify! "

"'Vilify', intriuing name. How comes? "

"Well, just a random name, nevermind, " The composer shrugged, yet added explanation after seeing her friend's unchanged contenance, "I was very pissed off that day I wrote it, and I really hoped to come up with something convincing."

She cleared her throat, and resumed, "Last year, on my family gathering, I had a little..." Her eyes rolled as she's locating the proper word, "...argument with my parents since I told them I would not marry and stayed here till my death. I told them I had to be a sololist and earned a living in Vienna, or, hm, other big cities. "

"From a very young age I realized I couldn't waste my youth as my parents did- spending time on things you don't truly care just to fit into the format. Here you won't see much change over a decade, but in Prague, I know is ever-changing. When I look up, the sky shines with possibilities and uncertainty- for me in a good sense...The thing is... Well, it's a long and tedious story anyone can fall sleep at once."

She gave a wry smile, "You know how I happen to start playing violin? "