I looked up to my orchestra. It was time to light up. The stage was neatly polished and the wooden floor glazed like marble. The lights on top of our heads weren’t as intense as the spirit in us. The different sections of my orchestra were illuminated by the flashes of fame and adulation. Looking at the naïve and unblemished faces in the audience, I raised my hand to initiate the symphony.
With a slight twitch of the baton, the ensemble started. A simple mixture of oak, walnut, rosewood and cork pressed into a thin stick is the one of the few things I had seen in my drunk, foul mouthed father’s hand other than bottles of liquor. I used to wonder if it was some kind of bottle opener, but as soon as I came of age, I realized it really opened up flagons of spectacular music. The violinists were playing a piece from the Medieval age. The slow plucking of strings and the lightvibrato created by Arienne, concertmaster of violin and the mystique singing of Kayla seemed like a dream. I remember how I used to run around the cows in our farm when the call to holocaust came. The genocide, death squads and gas chambers exterminating my people in Albersdorf, while I peeped from behind the cows’ udders. My fingers tensed, my baton dropped and my expressions became tranquil. The note had ended just like the tyranny and despotism, gradual but potent. A childhood had traversed into deep, unguided and unknown realms of manhood.
A slight inhalation made the tip-tap of piano start. The black and white colours had never been manipulated so intricatelybefore. Usually black and white symbolize competition, feud and prejudice. But when Charles made those octaves twirl and jiggle, a sensation of choral rising spread through the audience. The drops of love descended upon us as the piano picked up tempo. I could make out romantic young couples holding their hands and seeing in each other’s eyes and admiring the beauty of love. I smiled and closed my eyes and saw my love Elise, hopping and dancing in the first shower just like a daffodil oscillates in the rains. The hard press of the key was Elise’s laughter at my coy smile of invitation at a party and the slow light tap of the keys made her drift away into oblivion. Charles and the chorus led by Jenny had left a void in my enthusiasm but the crowd was left in a state of awe and applause. Picking up my sudden diminution, Sanchez had got his cue to drumming. The drumsticks accompanied with cymbals, a group of cello players and the guitar section was the climax that I had composed for my ensemble. With every beat of the drum, I felt a strong respect flowing through my team member’s eyes. The days of preparation, the backstage quarrels, internal bias and the fear of failure was put into that loud sonorous clash of cymbals. I had to deplete all my money into this one last show. The producers weren’t confident of our music, the audience had abandoned us earlier and our optimism was its lowest. But here we were, performing, stunning and mesmerizing people to our symphony. I still remember how they used to call me “The Grand Maester” during our practice sessions. I could feel myself getting lifted up from the polished wooden floors, I could see the glittering diamonds and rubies on elegant ladies’ neck, and I could also see the polished shoes of the distinguished men. But more importantly, I noticed the sweat beads on my team’s faces, I could see their shining instruments and I could see their delight and resplendent hearts. The crash of the piano and I closed my palm into darkness.
It was on 15th June that Sir Christoph Adler died, a day before the grand show. The Grand Maester had left the theatre of life. People could still feel his strong presence on the stage especially when the orchestra played a beautiful composition. I stand behind the curtains and walk through the upper balconies, admiring the new conductor. The baton had passed on to the new “Maester.”
karanvankani 