Page 12 of Semblance

“What a special night it is for all of us,” Calisto said, standing at the top of the banister overlooking everyone. She looked ravishing in a cream colored dress that was embellished with tiny diamonds at the bust. The end of her gown seemed to flow like a river of milk as she strolled down the winding marble staircase, making her way to the ground level.

Whereas all the other female masks (aside from my own) were white in color, hers was black with an exotic flower tattooed onto the left cheek.

“Because of the importance of this celebration, I have flown over the rarest of talents from the most rural regions of Eastern Europe—the small town of Anastasia.”

I turned to Abraham and whispered into his ear, “Where’s Anastasia?”

“I doubt it exists,” he replied. “Calisto enjoys playing games with everyone, stretching her stories to the realms of impossible just to see who she can fool into believing her.”

It made me second-guess whether or not she actually did fuck a Chilean carpenter rather than a Chili-eating carpet seller.

“I cannot tell you what a treat it is for the Golden Virgin to grace us with her beautiful music tonight,” she continued. “She is a mystical entity that will set the entire music world on fire. She is the start of the new era of provocative classical. To give you some history, I heard a tale just last week from a very reliable source that simply stunned me.”

Oh God,I thought to myself. What the hell was Calisto doing? I looked around and saw the entire crowd of faceless masks drawn to her speech like addicts; her eloquent words the opium that seduced them.

“Word has it that a man knocking on death’s door, dying from an incurable stage of cancer had the final wish of listening to the Golden Virgin play on his old, run-down, out-of-tune piano,” she began. “Being the saint that she was, the Golden Virgin rushed as fast as she could to his home, making it just in time before the cancer stole him away into death’s arms. She played for him a heartbreaking song that she wrote for her own father when he passed away.Taofie Cyhmore Mag-pubr Tynwonshe called it, which translated to ‘Breathless’ in her native tongue.”

The people of Anastasia used too many words, I thought.

“Despite the dismal state of the man’s upright piano, the sounds escaping from its wooden husk were never more beautiful. It was as if the winds of heaven were carrying her melody through the old man’s ears and filling his soul. For a brief moment, just before he died, he no longer felt pain. He only felt peace. It was her music that ushered him through the gates of heaven and into a life of eternal bliss.”

There was a moment of silence as Calisto allowed her preposterous story to sink into the hearts of everyone in the room. I’ll give her credit; she definitely knew how to captivate an audience.

“And now, without further ado, I am honored to present to you the lovely and mysterious Golden Virgin,” Calisto said, turning in my direction.

All eyes in the room, hidden behind enigmatic masks, fell upon me.

Though I had played to large audiences before and dealt with the pressure of pleasing hundreds of judgmental ears, it felt different this time. First off, I couldn’t see anyone’s face, so I had no idea what type of response I was going to receive from the audience. Usually I could judge by facial expressions.

Second, if what both Calisto and Abraham said was true, someone here was either going to help me realize my dream of becoming a world-renowned pianist, or obliterate it. It was a lot of pressure and the idea of spending the rest of my career playing drinking songs in local dive bars for pennies was too much to handle.

I needed to dazzle this crowd and give them a performance they’d remember for a lifetime.

As I made my way to the Heintzman piano, I sensed the anticipation from this eclectic crowd, and the excitement of hearing that first note resonate throughout the mansion. They craved to hear the sounds of my playing, and I vowed to deliver it to them.

I closed my eyes and brushed my fingertips across the cool, smooth piano keys, worshipping the craftsmanship of this majestic instrument. As I hit the first note, I heard and felt the perfect balance of sound and weight from the piano. I lost myself to the music, allowing it to touch me like a mysterious lover, the reverberations of the instrument reaching deep inside me as I let loose a long sigh. I released the haunting and pleasurable sounds of Liszt’sBenediction de Dieu dans la Solitudefrom the piano and played it with an absolute reverence.

Every beautiful note was a blessing from Franz Liszt’s creative genius.

When I was finished, I paused for a moment, and then went into another one of the composer’s masterpieces,Harmonies Poetiques et Religieuses,using the full range of the Heintzman to weave together sounds of this absolutely stunning work.

A few times I looked up from the keys to see the crowd’s reaction, but only saw the chilling sight of expressionless masks gazing in my direction. It was unnerving, and I decided that it was best to focus on the music alone, and not allow the people and the surroundings distract me from the music.

After I finished playing an eight-piece set, I had to stop and take a small break. My wrists and forearms were on fire from the sheer complexity of the pieces and to play another one right away would end up a butcher’s mess.

I glanced at the audience, many of them still focused in my direction. I had no idea if people were receptive to my playing, or if they were gawking at me like a sideshow attraction. I was glad that I was wearing this golden mask. At least they couldn’t see the nervous expression on my face.

“That was simply stunning,” said a voice from behind me. I turned around to see a tall man with blonde hair, his face hidden underneath a red Venetian mask resembling a fox. “Your combination of virtuoso playing and eloquent grace is a marvel to watch. I’m just surprised that I haven’t heard of you prior to tonight.”

“Thanks for the compliments,” I replied. I was excited to hear someone acknowledge my performance. “I’ve been kind of keeping a low profile lately, you know, preparing for my big North American debut.”

The fox’s eyes glanced over me. “Your European English sounds very…North American.”

“I spent a lot of time studying in North America,” I was quick to reply. “I’ve assimilated the language pretty fast.”

There was another long pause from Mr. Fox. “Speak in your native tongue over in Anastasia.”

What was with the twenty questions? Why was he so concerned about my background and where I came from?

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