"Gustav, come inside. It's time to practice."
The child did not have to be told twice as he bound for his mother, reaching for her hand as soon as he was close enough. He beamed brilliantly for her, dragging her to the bench, and sitting himself down expertly, sitting up straight with his fingers lightly resting on the ivory keys.
"Mama, will you sing with me today?"
Christine paused beside her son, letting her fingers trail absentmindedly over the keys. When she accidently pressed a key, she immediately heard a voice say, "You must open your mouth wider or you will never reach the pitch." She jerked her hand away and stepped back. Gustav asked if she was all right.
"Of course I am, Darling." She said, gently touching his head. "How about you play for me?"
And immediately he did, a song that she knew was coming out of his head at that very moment. His hands were too swift to belong to a six year old, his fingers too accurate. Of course, Christine was proud of her son. Such talent he possessed and his parents did not know where it came from.
Christine bit the inside of her lip and stood behind her son, watching his fingers travel up and down the keys, touching them with just enough grace, emitting the most beautiful song. It was a joy to watch him play. For such a young child, he was passionate about his piano, he was willing to learn and always wanted to try harder. When it became very apparent that he was mastering pieces that should have taken him years to learn and playing it like he had created it himself, it was becoming harder for Christine to ignore what had infested the back of her mind.
Suddenly, Gustav's fingers stopped over the keys, poised in midair as if a thought had struck him.
"Mama, why does everybody know you?"
"What do you mean, my dear?"
He turned full around in his seat. "Why do people other than me and Papa know you? Why do strangers know your name?"
Christine smiled softly and touched one of her son's curls. "Because I used to sing for people."
"Oh." He said, almost adult like. "Like when you're in the bath?"
Christine laughed. "No, dear. On a stage."
"Oh. Do you sing for them now?"
She shook her head. "Only here and there."
"Why?"
She bent down and wrapped her arms around her son, his sweet little body fitting perfectly. "Because I have you. I wanted you more than I wanted to sing for others."
"Why?"
Christine pulled back and stared into her son's eyes, trying to see where this new curiosity had come from. But the green that reflected her face held too many memories and she had to close her eyes. "It is simply because I love you, mon ange. And when you love someone, you have to make sacrifices." Gustav nodded, as if he understood. Christine let him go and he turned back around to play the piano, picking out a melody Christine had never heard before.
"Mere," he started again, his fingers never breaking their stride. "Did you love someone before me?"
"In a way, yes, I loved your father."
"What about before him?"
"No," she answered quickly, shaking her head. "No, I never loved anyone before your father." It was as if time had stopped. As Gustav kept playing, Christine tried to forget memories that had been forgotten for years.
No, not forgotten, just repressed, always there but never close enough to be recognized. She looked out the window, letting herself wonder why she was doing this to herself. She had never... loved him. His presence when she was a child, his voice that was so mesmerizing... that was what she adored. Her teacher and her friend.
And that was all.
"Mama, I thought you only sang here and there."
Startled, Christine turned away from the window. "I do."
"Then why are you singing now?"
"Was I?" She didn't recall-
"Yes. It sounded like this," and he flawlessly played a song she had not heard in years, one she knew Gustav had never heard before.
"I suppose I do miss it," she created wildly. "Singing, I mean. You never forget something you loved."
Gustav kept playing, but his mouth was slightly pursed as if he was in deep thought. Or as if he could see what his mother was hiding.
"Gustav," Christine said suddenly. "Why don't you stop for now. Later on when Papa comes home, you can play for him. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."
"Did I do something wrong, Mere?" Her son asked, in the way children will to tug at heartstrings.
"No, mon ange, you did nothing wrong. I am only... feeling unwell. I'll go lie down. You may go back outside to play, but be back in time for supper."
"Yes, Mama." He stood, mimicking his father as he stood proud. "It wasn't my playing, was it?"
"Oh, no, my dearest. I am only feeling a little unwell. Come, go outside and play. I will call you when supper is ready."
She tucked the smile he gave her away in her heart as she watched him rush out for the trees, humming to himself.
Christine let go of the shuddering breath she had been holding. She calmly went back to her private rooms where she shut the doors and went to the windows. She watched her son make himself comfortable under the trees, watched his hands move through the air as if he were composing.
Gustav was everything to her. A reminder that all things were not born evil, only made that way through hardships. He showed her that evil could not be inherited when it wasn't there. That love took many forms. He told her silently every day that life was beautiful, reminded her that music was beautiful. And every day, when she looked at her sweet, little boy, that dreams were very much real.
"In dreams he came," she whispered.
