Kalyna's Song by Lisa Grekul

Author:Lisa Grekul
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ukrainian Canadian; Ukrainian culture; humour; coming of age; family; Swaziland; cultural interactions; United World College; songwriter; performance; Ukrainian dance; world cultures; St. Paul Alberta; Edmonton; family; youthful idealism; search for identity; self-worth; suicide; death in the family
ISBN: 9781550507768
Publisher: Coteau Books

Three weeks into September, I’m convinced that I’ve chosen all the wrong classes. Maybe the wrong program altogether.

For starters, my new piano teacher is a man. I’ve never had a man for a piano teacher. He’s a man, and he’s hairy. He’s got thick, black hair everywhere – on his arms, on his fingers. On the back of his neck. Curly black chest hair pokes out of his shirt, around the collar, and tufts of coarse black hair grow out of his ears. I catch myself staring at him during our lessons. I’ve never seen such a hairy man. There’s almost no space between his eyebrows. He’s got permanent black shadows on his cheeks where he shaves.

His name is Lazlo Kalman. I’m supposed to call him Dr. Kalman, though. And he doesn’t call me Colleen. It’s “Ms. Lutzak.”

Twice a week, on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, we meet in his music room on the fourth floor of the Fine Arts Building. Almost all of my classes are in the Fine Arts Building, which is easy to get to. It’s only a five-minute walk from our apartment. My lessons with Dr. Kalman are supposed to last an hour and a half, but sometimes we finish early. Which is fine with me. An hour with Dr. Kalman feels like an eternity. I can’t wait for our lessons to end. On Monday and Wednesday nights, I try to think of excuses for leaving early. I have a meeting with another professor. A doctor’s appointment. A headache. I secretly hope that Dr. Kalman will come down with something serious so that my lessons with him will be cancelled. I’d like a different teacher.

As far as I’m concerned, Dr. Kalman’s office is more like a hospital room – or an operating room – than a music room. The walls are painted white, the bookshelves are white, the blinds on the windows are white. Sophie would love it. Except for the two black pianos at either end of the room, the whole room is white.

When I’m in his music room, I never know where to put my knapsack. I wish he’d tell me. Everything has a place. My bag seems to mess things up. On his desk, he keeps two sharpened pencils, an eraser, and a clean notepad of staff paper – nothing else. No loose papers. His bookshelves are lined with music books and sheet music, all arranged in alphabetical order. I think he’s got something against fresh air and natural sunlight because he keeps the windows closed and the blinds down. Not that his office is dark. There are rows of fluorescent lights on the ceiling, and fluorescent lights on each of the pianos. The light on top of the piano makes me feel like I’m playing the piano in a dentist’s chair.

Of course, I don’t play very much.

At the start of my first lesson, three weeks ago, Dr. Kalman asked me to play something for him, but he didn’t even listen to the whole piece before he stopped me.

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