Short Story(ies)

Con Sentimento

​I had never wanted to play a song so badly in my life. Pachelbel's manuscript lay just out of reach, hidden away by my older brother, Johann Christoph Bach, for some reason known only to him. The piece enchanted me, though I didn't know why. I hadn't even heard the manuscript being played, so maybe the fact that it was forbidden was what made the song so thrilling.
​ I had been allowed to hold the manuscript only once, with Christoph's careful gaze watching me the entire time. I knew it would be a challenge, which made it far more exciting than the simple songs that Christoph had always taught me. One would think that the instructor of music would know when to give the student more complex pieces, but Christoph never had, even though he was the one to introduce me to the organ when I was only eleven years old. Three years later, he refused to let me play the manuscript on which I had set my sights months ago.
​ When I had asked him about the song, he had immediately refused, saying it was too difficult and that I would dislike the complexity. I'd begun to copy the precious manuscript almost right after.
​ Each night, I would slip into his room and retrieve the manuscript and then copy it out by the light of the moon. An eighth note, a half note, a sharp. One at a time, double checking every scratch of the quill. A mezzopiano, crescendoing to a forte. I could hear the music, and I wondered if it would sound as I imagined.
​ Finally, I finished the manuscript, and the timing could not have been better if I tried. Christoph was leaving for the day, allowing me plenty of time to sneak out to the church to try the song, because he wouldn't be home until four in the afternoon.
​ Unfortunately, Christoph's wife had other plans.
​ It was afternoon when I was at last granted a free moment. I swiftly retrieved my copied manuscript and hurried towards the church. It was raining outside, the drops falling harder every minute. Every splash in the puddles urged me forwards.
​When I arrived, the church was silent. I carefully pushed the door open, taking a minute to breathe in the stillness.
​As much as I wanted to stay and bask in the quiet that was such a vast difference from my everyday life, I wanted to play the organ more. I took the steps up to the organist's seat two at a time, allowing myself only a moment to gape at the massive pipes that seemed to stretch towards the clouds. The organ's pipes reminded me of proud queens, elaborately decorated and glittering with gold.
​I sat down and ran a quick scale before I began the manuscript.
​It was a charismatic piece, demanding my full attention in order to give it the feeling and emotion it deserved. Every chord was rich, satisfying my ears, and the beautiful scales made my fingers fly. They danced as they had never danced before - like a ballroom of nobles in the midst of an elegant but spritely danse à deux. The rhythm slowed and weaved, engraving itself in my mind, and it made me want to play it over and over . . . and over.
​ The song was better than I had imagined it to be.
​ After the final note reverberated throughout the building, I slowly took my hands off the keys and the church was once more quiet.
​"What are you playing?" Christoph roared from behind me. His face was red, and I knew why. I had only played the manuscript through once, but I had played it better than he had.
​ I shrank back, uncertain of what to do. I had never seen him so mad. "Christoph!" I exclaimed. "What are-"
​He cut me off with a fierce look. "Is that my music?"
​ "Of course not," I stuttered as I stood and backed away from the organ.
​Christoph snatched the copied manuscript from the music stand. "You copied it?" he questioned incredulously, his face contorted in rage.
​ "I'm sorry," I told him, my voice trembling. "I didn't think it mattered-"
​ Again, he cut me off as his fist clenched around the papers. "Johann Sebastian Bach! Of course it matters!"
​ He marched to a window and pushed it open before dropping the papers out onto the wet ground below. I watched helplessly as they drifted down, pelted by the unrelenting rain.
​ Christoph turned back to face me. "Don't touch my music." He ordered darkly.
​ I pushed past him and darted through the church. Not caring about the rain, I hurried outside, to the ground where my papers lay. I grabbed at them, clutched them to me.
​ The rain had made the ink bleed together. Only a few notes were legible on the first page. "No, no, no," I muttered, trying desperately to remove the raindrops from the damp paper.
​I looked to the second page. Sighing in relief, I noted that it was only crumpled a little bit, and mostly unsmudged.
​The rest of the papers were in similar condition to the second and as footsteps drew up beside me, I turned and smiled triumphantly. "The manuscript isn't ruined," I told my brother, thankful he hadn't completely destroyed my hard work. "I can still play most of the pages."
​ Christoph shook his head, sending drops of water flying from his hat, and I held the copy behind my back so it would not become even more damaged. "Give me the paper," he ordered, still angry.
​"I worked hard for it," I shouted back, not about to give up the manuscript. "Why can't you let me play it?"
​Christoph gave no reply. He took hold of my arm and yanked me close, reaching simultaneously for the papers and throwing the pages towards a puddle. They fluttered into it like a wounded bird. "I told you, Sebastian. Don't touch my music."