business.”
“Fishing?”
“Hasn’t it paid for your schooling so far?”
The very thought of working down by the wharf where I would doubtless need to get up early in the morning and wear a pair of rubber boots and tromp around in cold saltwater and fish blood disgusted me. “There is one thing,” I said. “You remember Rie Sanada? She says that I would benefit from studying in Europe. She wants me to audition for school in Paris.”
“Oh?” My mother raised her eyebrows.
I chose my words carefully. “She says that I have a passionate nature and that I would do better in Europe. She lived there for several years before coming back to Japan. I remind her of the French musicians. She says that Japan isn’t going to be able to teach me everything I need to know and that if I am going to perform before an international audience, I have to, well, ‘lose my accent.’ ”
My mother settled back into the water again and I waited to see if my words would have an effect. “Of course,” she finally said. “Japan didn’t invent classical music. The Europeans did. It shouldn’t be expected that you would learn to play truly great music here in Japan.”
I thought of the jazz musicians that Masayoshi and I had gone to hear. “I wonder if we will ever play as well as they do.”
She laughed. “Eventually we’ll play better than they do. And so
you
must be part of the new wave of artists who truly master Western classical music and come back to Japan to show us how to do it correctly.
Sah
.” She stood up out of the water and began to walk across the tiled floor of the tub to the steps. She gripped the railing with one hand and held a small white towel over her breasts with the other. Slowly she began to climb out and I looked at her figure, still so girlish. How could she have changed so much, but still look so young?
“Masayoshi …,” I began, but she waved her hand at me.
“You’ll see him from time to time because he is family. But he’s changed the path of his life. You must continue on the one that you started.”
Sanada-sensei and I continued my Thursday lessons, working and reworking the repertory I would use to audition for the École Normale in Paris.But one afternoon when she let me in, she surprised me by asking me to sit at a table by the window. As we made small talk, she served me a small meal of bread, soup, and sardines.
“You have to learn to eat soup with a spoon,” she said. “That’s what they do.”
“I’m not going to play today?” The sudden barrage of eating utensils and the formality of so many cups and plates intimidated me.
“I think we are all done with lessons,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“I still have my last exam. And I have to record my audition tape.”
“You’re ready for all that.”
“You’ll be there for the exam?”
“Of course. I suppose I’ll have to see if there is anyone else with any talent I can take on. Mostly, it’s been so disappointing listening to those children.” She sighed.
I watched her cut her sardines in half and followed suit.
“Do you have any questions?” she asked.
I spent a minute chewing and swallowing my food before I asked, “What if I get there and I’m not good enough?”
“Not even a question anymore.” She smiled kindly. “I know for a fact that all the teachers at Geidai think you are ready to go overseas and that your ability would be wasted here. They find you an overly emotional player, of course. Rather baroque. So while no one is going to help you with the NHK symphony, they do support your application to go overseas. Satomi, it’s really up to you now and up to your will. Many things can happen to a young woman to derail her. I should know.”
“War,” I said. “Bad health.”
“A broken heart,” she replied, darkly, and I wondered to whom she referred.
“But you still played.”
“Yes. Because the piano is my first love.” She watched me intently and set her fork down on a
“Fishing?”
“Hasn’t it paid for your schooling so far?”
The very thought of working down by the wharf where I would doubtless need to get up early in the morning and wear a pair of rubber boots and tromp around in cold saltwater and fish blood disgusted me. “There is one thing,” I said. “You remember Rie Sanada? She says that I would benefit from studying in Europe. She wants me to audition for school in Paris.”
“Oh?” My mother raised her eyebrows.
I chose my words carefully. “She says that I have a passionate nature and that I would do better in Europe. She lived there for several years before coming back to Japan. I remind her of the French musicians. She says that Japan isn’t going to be able to teach me everything I need to know and that if I am going to perform before an international audience, I have to, well, ‘lose my accent.’ ”
My mother settled back into the water again and I waited to see if my words would have an effect. “Of course,” she finally said. “Japan didn’t invent classical music. The Europeans did. It shouldn’t be expected that you would learn to play truly great music here in Japan.”
I thought of the jazz musicians that Masayoshi and I had gone to hear. “I wonder if we will ever play as well as they do.”
She laughed. “Eventually we’ll play better than they do. And so
you
must be part of the new wave of artists who truly master Western classical music and come back to Japan to show us how to do it correctly.
Sah
.” She stood up out of the water and began to walk across the tiled floor of the tub to the steps. She gripped the railing with one hand and held a small white towel over her breasts with the other. Slowly she began to climb out and I looked at her figure, still so girlish. How could she have changed so much, but still look so young?
“Masayoshi …,” I began, but she waved her hand at me.
“You’ll see him from time to time because he is family. But he’s changed the path of his life. You must continue on the one that you started.”
Sanada-sensei and I continued my Thursday lessons, working and reworking the repertory I would use to audition for the École Normale in Paris.But one afternoon when she let me in, she surprised me by asking me to sit at a table by the window. As we made small talk, she served me a small meal of bread, soup, and sardines.
“You have to learn to eat soup with a spoon,” she said. “That’s what they do.”
“I’m not going to play today?” The sudden barrage of eating utensils and the formality of so many cups and plates intimidated me.
“I think we are all done with lessons,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“I still have my last exam. And I have to record my audition tape.”
“You’re ready for all that.”
“You’ll be there for the exam?”
“Of course. I suppose I’ll have to see if there is anyone else with any talent I can take on. Mostly, it’s been so disappointing listening to those children.” She sighed.
I watched her cut her sardines in half and followed suit.
“Do you have any questions?” she asked.
I spent a minute chewing and swallowing my food before I asked, “What if I get there and I’m not good enough?”
“Not even a question anymore.” She smiled kindly. “I know for a fact that all the teachers at Geidai think you are ready to go overseas and that your ability would be wasted here. They find you an overly emotional player, of course. Rather baroque. So while no one is going to help you with the NHK symphony, they do support your application to go overseas. Satomi, it’s really up to you now and up to your will. Many things can happen to a young woman to derail her. I should know.”
“War,” I said. “Bad health.”
“A broken heart,” she replied, darkly, and I wondered to whom she referred.
“But you still played.”
“Yes. Because the piano is my first love.” She watched me intently and set her fork down on a
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