Samuel Watkinson

A young pianists ordeal

To Paul Hewlett, his room, not unlike that of most sixteen-year-old teenagers, was an asylum
where most cogitations about life were formulatedeverything from profound as
philosophical thoughts about the metaphysical, to something as clichd as wondering
whether it would come across as intelligent to buy every single food at Market day. More
importantly, it was a place where a great deal of his musical life flourished. Paul was an avid
musician; an aspiring pianist primarily, but definitely more than passable at the violin too.
Recently, he had also come to relish the art of music composition; and with an expert
knowledge of the meticulous harmonies required for pieces involving both piano and strings,
he was effortlessly working at his fifth piano concerto.
In spite of everything, though, the piano had eternally been the instrument he had resonated
with the most. With just the right timbre, Paul considered it to produce the most pleasant
sound on earth. It should come across as no surprise, then, that the piano was the
instrument that he spent the most time practicing on. But it was only under the blessing of
the superior Steinway D grand piano bequeathed to him by his late grandmother that he
could remain unfatigued and feel euphoric in playing endlessly for hours a day on end. Its
entrance into Pauls life shed light into so many dark and hazy areasand it was in a truly
unimaginable way.
Before looking into the story of why this piano carried such importance to Paul, it is
necessary to look further into his musical life. He had a repertoire which consisted of works
from an extensive array of composers, but his most preferred were the similar, yet unique in
their own ways, Romantic composers Sergei Rachmaninoff and Frederic Chopin. In Pauls
view, both composers music complemented each other, and so he couldnt choose just one
favourite composer. It would be insipid to just have one, much like it is to just have a piano,
by itselfa fruitless, inanimate piece of furniturewithout a player to press its keys.
Whilst Paul Hewlett could play a lot of difficult pieces by these two composers to a level of
masterywith memorisationhe wasnt a child prodigy. He would promptly deny that label,
and rather he would describe himself as an assiduous individual who had a mind-set to
constantly improve his musical abilities. It would be apt to say here that neither Pauls
parents nor siblings nor anyone else in his known family line has or had any talent, affinity or
even an inkling of interest in studying music and its basic theory. That is not to say they
didnt support him in his musical endeavours; they held him in high regard for his talent and
eagerly followed his accomplishments as he advanced from strength to strength. This
support could arguably be perceived as being quite meagre, when weighed against their
sons obvious talent, and maybe it was. But just allowing such an instrument, which
produced up to 100 decibels, to stay in the house surely suffices to show that they, at the
very least, acknowledged his lifes devotion to music.

Thus, having parents who would have no trouble in aiding progression in his musical life
and, of course, a passion for Chopin and Rachmaninoff, Paul was registered to compete in
the International Chopin & Rachmaninoff Competition one day. This was the dayabout a
year agothat shaped Pauls life irrevocably in that truly unimaginable way, and by the end
of the day, Paul, a usually stoic person, cried.
_________

Samuel Watkinson
The day started with a message on the phone early in the morning from Pauls affluent
grandmother, saying that she had purchased a Steinway D-274 grand piano, a $250,000
beast of a thing, for Paul. According to her, it was a gift for the competitionwhat he would
practice on in the lead-up to the competition. But before Paul could even formulate a
thought to fathom the enormity of the gift, he answered a subsequent phone call, literally
seconds after he put down the phone having listened to the message, informing him that his
grandmother had died in her sleep. This made Paul livid with himself. He had not anticipated
this to happen. He was quite willing to admit that the timing was unfortunate, but he was still
livid at the curse of death. It had taken its toll yet again on another blameless human being.
There were far more important things to do, though, than to jeopardise his faith and
instinctively point the finger to a supernatural God as deaths source. Paul tried to cast his
mind back to the competition. He thought about a practice session he had at the venue of
the competition in Warsaw that was coming up in a few short hours, only to be inundated by
a wave of guilt, suddenly realising that the D-274 would be his practicing instrument. His
parents only knew so much (all musical knowledge aside). They knew about the piano
purchase, which Paul explained as enhancing his practice methods, but he had quoted them
a price much lower than what his grandmother had actually paid. Little did he realise at the
time that this seemingly harmless white lie would have any harmful repercussions.
The accident occurred, most mortifyingly, not during the practice session, but the actual
performance a few hours later. The air was still and silent in the concert hall in Warsaw. Paul
slowly sat down upon the adjustable brown piano stool. He smiled, confident, as his eyes
gazed upon his Steinway, a magnificent grand lacquered with a shiny black finish and
propped upon three large brass caster wheels. The pianos lid wasnt up so Paul lifted it with
one of his hands, while resting the fingers of his other hand on the edge of the internal
soundboard. As it turned out the piano was a second-hand, more heavily used than it
appeared to be. That, as well as the introspective self-consciousness that he had misled his
parents, caused the prop to slip from its placement and the heavy top board to slam down
on Pauls hand.
It was a devastating blowfour broken fingers, a dislocated knuckle and the privilege of a
nonchalant audience who expressed barely any sympathy other than a few ephemeral
gasps. He had immediately dropped into the nearest hospital. The musically literate in the
house groaned, disappointed that they couldnt critique whether he captured the poetic and
nuanced approach of the Chopin tudes and the anguish Rachmaninoff experienced while
composing his Preludes.
He later went back to his house despondent. He looked at his throbbingly painful hand that
was dead to the keyboard. The keyboard that was the life of his career. The keyboard given
to him by his late grandmother. There was no way of knowing whether his nimble fingers
would ever know their previous agility. His spirit had been soaring high in the excitement
building up to his debut performance in front of a live audience; now something had clipped
its wings.
Arriving home, hence, in his room, Paul utterly wept. His room continued to be a place where
most cogitations about his life were made, but there was a different aura to it with the
knowledge he would be without playing his beloved Steinway. He would eventually get back
to playinghe knew that; he swore that he wouldbut meanwhile he had nothing to do but
listen to his own recordings of his pieces. He thought Chopins Piano Sonata No.2with its
dissonant and gloomy tonality of B-flat minorwould be appropriate for the mood in light of
recent mishaps. Sinister orchestral music emitted out of the Sony portable CD player

Samuel Watkinson
positioned on Pauls bedside table. The track segued to the third movement of the sonata,
the Funeral March.