Sanjana Sunilkumar

India

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Joined: March 26, 2020

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Always wanted to write something like this.

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The secret bond (based on a true story)

September 21, 2020

"Why should I?" I asked him, trembling. He looked so creepy with his long white hair and the black soutane. "Rosie dear, what are you doing there? Talking to yourself?" I remember Mama calling me. Why didn't she ask him to get out? Why couldn't she see him? My little mind was full of questions. "One day, you will become a great musician and I will come back again to teach you," he smiled caressing my hair and vanished into thin air. I told mother what had happened but she insisted that I was just daydreaming. Who listens to a seven year old? Nobody, right?

But this is the guy. Its him for sure. This photograph looks exactly like him. Should I tell her about the incident? No, I would rather not. "Eliza, do you know he is?" I started casually. "Oh, this? Its Mr. Liszt! Franz Liszt! He is such a great musician. Haven't you heard of him?" A great musician? One day you will become a great musician. The words echoed in my ears. "I don't think I have," I told her. "He died decades back. He was grandpa's favourite that's why you can find him in all of his photo albums. And hey you must listen to his Hungarian Rhapsody number 2. Its so good!" she exclaimed. But I was lost in my own thoughts. "Eliza, I guess its time. We will meet tomorrow," I waved her. "Goodbye," she smiled and I ran back home.

I laid my hands over the piano keys. How terrible the music was! I merely had my piano classes for two years and I failed. How can I be a musician? I closed my eyes, pulled my sheets and went to sleep curled up in ball. 

Forty years have passed. Charles is dead. Children have grown. I looked back at the piano. Maybe I was just daydreaming, I thought and sat before the huge black thing. I promise, I didn't touch it, but I felt someone take my hands and work on it. "Start here... like this...  and that... now this way and then again. Do you get it?" said an old voice from behind. I turned back and gasped, "Mist - Mr. Franz?" He smiled back and asked me to concentrate on the notes. "My fellow composers will meet you soon. Let us get this done first, then you will learn more," he grinned. I kept silent for a few minutes."I am ready," said I. "I know," he smiled. 

"... this is unbelievable. And yet the musicologists say that the notes match for almost 95%!" my daughter was staring at the television set with her mouth opening and closing like a golden fish. "Uh, mom, are you just acting?" she questioned me for the very first time in her life. "Why should I?" I asked as a tear slipped my eye. Knock. Knock. Knock. I headed to the door. A lean and wiry man stood, checking the time. "Madame Brown?" he asked. "Yes?" he kept studying me. "As you might have heard, I would like to listen to the so called tale of yours," he had a wicked smile. "Your name, sir?" "Andrew. Andrew Neher." So this was the guy calling me names in the radio this morning. "Please come in," I asked him.

He observed every nook and corner of our house. "So that's your piano! Who is sitting there now? Sergei Rachmaninoff or Franz Schubert?" And he laughed at his own joke. "No, Mr. Neher, Johannes Brahms was here till morning," I told him. "Really? Shall we keep the lies aside and come to the real life?" he smirked and I gestured him to sit. "Madame Brown, do you speak German?" Why is he asking this to me? "No, may I know why?" He cleared his throat. "Well, you released two symphonies yesterday which you said were dictated to you by Ludwig van Beethoven, right?" Couldn't he speak with a little respect? "I did-" "Well, it is a well known fact that Beethoven is German and has very little knowledge of English," he cut me off. "But, Mr. Neher, all of them, all of the dead composers I have met have talked to me in English! And if you have a problem with that, maybe you should go meet them when your time comes." He gave me a sly leer. "Okay then, did you learn to play piano when you were young?" Mr. Andrew, I won't fall in your trap, for I am not lying. "Yes, when I was fifteen. I went to training for two years, but could not concentrate and so I gave up." He was ready with the next question. "If you gave up, you could have given away the whole piano for money. But you didn't. May I know why?" Its our wish to have or lend. What's his problem? "That was because, my mother used to play it every night." And for this, he started laughing. "This is enough. Take care, Madame Brown. Its time for my press meet," he sniggered and left my mind in chaos. 

Next morning, when I took the newspaper, I was surprised to see that every page of it had some news about me. And Andrew Neher's statement was the headline, "Rosemary Brown - a fraud who failed in fooling us!" He had mentioned that, "Brown loved music as a child, there was a piano in her home while she was growing up, her mother played the piano, and she herself took piano lessons. All of this, together with the enhanced skill often displayed in altered states of consciousness, seems sufficient to account for her musical compositions." Professor of psychology John Sloboda wrote, "The most convincing case of unconscious composition on a large scale." Paranormal investigator Harry Edwards said that "Ms. Brown elicits contradictory information about her alleged lack of musical education. Originally she stated that she had had no musical training; later she was reported to have had only a couple of years of music lessons, and recently admitted to belonging to a musical household and being a competent musician and pianist."

I barged out of my home slamming the door and group of reporters followed me with pens and papers. But I could not hear them for my mind was filled with deafening silence. I reached the yard and sat before Mr. Liszt's grave. "Mr. Liszt! Why did you die? Mr. Liszt!" I screamed. "What are you doing there Rosie dear, turn back, I am here!" said a familiar voice. I turned around. There he was, standing with a crowd gathered behind him and no one seemed to have seen or heard him. "I am happy where I am. Don't you worry, I am always with you and will always be" he smiled and disappeared. And I wondered, how my tears dried all of a sudden. Am I still daydreaming? I don't know.

That was the diary's last page. I held it tight and couldn't stop crying. Wherever you are, Rosemary Brown, God bless you...

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6 Comments
  • Coolgirl2020

    Just submitted this!


    3 days ago
  • Coolgirl2020

    Replying: Thanks! <3


    3 days ago
  • Coolgirl2020

    Replying: Shhh. It's a secret. I'll send it to you in an email. ;)


    3 days ago
  • Coolgirl2020

    Replying: I saw the reminder, but I can't seem to access it...does it not work on phones?


    3 days ago
  • Coolgirl2020

    Replying: Will review either today or tomorrow. If I don’t say I have, please remind my forgetful self. :)


    3 days ago
  • Emi

    This is such a fascinating historical character to write about! Good work bringing her to life! Now I'm going to read up on her because I'd never heard about her before.


    11 days ago