The Rising Star of Rusty Nail by Lesley M M Blume

Author:Lesley M M Blume [Blume, Lesley M M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307490216
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2009-02-04T05:00:00+00:00

She carried it into the kitchen, where Olga sat at the table in her brace, sipping tea and reading a book written in the same kind of letters. The Russian glanced down at the score that Franny was holding and said: “That says ’Sergei Rachmaninoff.’ Your favorite.”

And she went right back to drinking her tea. Franny stood there for a minute, waiting for Olga to look up again.

“Why are you still looming there?” the Russian said into her mug, not taking her eyes off the page in front of her.

“I was wondering why you have so many different instruments,” Franny said. “Can you play all of them?”

“No,” Olga said.

“Then why do you bring them with you everywhere?” Franny pressed.

“And why are you so nosy?” Olga countered, putting down her mug. “Do you take nosiness classes at that cow-shed of a school?”

“I was just curious,” Franny said. “No one else in Rusty Nail has so many. We have a piano and trumpet in my house, but no violins or anything.”

Olga sighed. “My father had one of the finest rare-instrument collections in Russia. Then, when the big revolution happened there, he sent some of them to a museum in New York for safekeeping. Now I have them.”

“The piano too?” asked Franny.

“No, the piano was a gift to me from the famous pianist Arthur Rubenstein.”

A bit overwhelmed, Franny turned to go back to the music room. And then she stopped and asked boldly: “Madame Malenkov, if your father had so many instruments around all the time, why did you decide to play the piano instead of the viola or something?”

Olga put her cup down again in annoyance. “Because I wanted to,” she said impatiently. “Why did you pick the piano when there is a trumpet in your house too?”

Franny thought for a minute. “ ’Cause I liked the way it sounded, I guess,” she said. “I just started playing it naturally.”

“That is how all musicians begin their careers,” the Russian said. “They are drawn to the instrument, like a calling. Now go away.”

Satisfied with what she had learned, Franny went back to her unpacking and organizing.

It took Franny the whole week to empty all of the boxes in the music room and organize the scores. She’d had to make many trips into the kitchen, since most of the books were written in Russian. By Thursday evening, her arms ached and dozens of tall piles divided the room into a complicated maze.

Olga limped into the parlor to survey the results.

“I forgot how many music books I have,” she said, leaning stiffly over a pile of Haydn scores. “Okay, Dyevushka, I give up. Tomorrow when you come, I will give you a short lesson. Bring your old lesson books, unless they are those dreadful John Thompson ones for beginners. Leave those at home.”

The next day, Franny arrived at Olga’s clutching the music books that Mrs. Staudt had given her, mostly Bach.

Olga took them out of Franny’s hands and examined each one.

“You will not need these again, Dyevushka,” she said, hobbling into the kitchen.

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