Before the Frost (2004) by Henning Mankell

Author:Henning Mankell [Mankell, Henning]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Henning Mankell
ISBN: 9781565848351
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2004-08-22T23:00:00+00:00

"I'm not a student," Linda said. "I just want to ask you some questions."

"I've been answering questions my whole life," he said. "I've told them why it's so important to sit correctly when playing the piano. I've tried to explain to countless young pianists why not everyone can learn to play Chopin with the required combination of caution and power. Above all, I try to get my impatient opera singers to stand properly, and not to attempt the hardest pieces without wearing good shoes. Have you got that? Opera singers need good shoes, and pianists need to take care not to develop haemorrhoids. What did you say your name was?" "It's Linda, and I'm neither a pianist nor an opera singer. I've come to ask you about something that has nothing to do with music."

"Well, you must have the wrong man, because I can only answer questions about music. The world beyond that is incomprehensible to me."

Linda was momentarily confused. "Your name is Fredrik Vigsten, isn't it?" "Not Fredrik: Frans. But the last name is right." He sat at the piano and began turning over the paper of some music. Linda had the feeling that he had forgotten she was there.

"Your name appears in the journal of my friend Anna Westin," she said.

Vigsten tapped rhythmically on the paper and did not seem to hear her.

"Anna Westin," she repeated, louder.

He looked up abruptly. "Who?"

"Anna Westin. A Swedish girl."

"I've had many Swedish pupils," he said. "Of course, now it is as if everyone has forgotten about me, and .. ."

He interrupted himself and looked at Linda. "Did you tell me your

| name?"

"I'm happy to tell you again. It's Linda."

"And you are not a pupil? Not a pianist? Not an opera singer?" "No."

"You're asking about someone called Anna?" "Anna Westin."

"I don't know an Anna Westin. Vest-in. My wife was a vestal, but she died thirty-nine years ago. Have you any idea what it is like to be a widower for almost four decades?"

He stretched out a thin hand with finely etched blue veins and touched her wrist.

"Alone," he said. "It was one thing when I had my day job doing rehearsals at Det Kongelige. But one day they told me I was too old. Maybe it was that I insisted on doing things the old-fashioned way. I didn't tolerate sloppiness."

"I found your name in my friend's journal," Linda interrupted him.

She took his hand. The fingers that held hers so hungrily were surprisingly strong.

"Anna Westin, is that right?"

"Yes."

"I've never had a pupil of that name. My memory is not what it once was, but I remember all their names. They are the only ones who have given my life meaning since Mariana was taken by the gods."

Linda didn't think there was any point in pursuing the conversation. There was really only one thing left to ask.

"Do you know someone called Torgeir Langaas?"

But Vigsten was lost in dreamland again. He picked out some notes on the piano with his free hand.

"Torgeir Langaas," she repeated. "A Norwegian.

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