Psalm at Journey's End by Erik Fosnes Hansen

Author:Erik Fosnes Hansen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published: 2012-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

The maestro stood still, watching what was happening for a few seconds, his expression troubled. But he had seen a great deal in his time and he thought he understood something, slowly, without really being able to put it into words. So he calmly knelt down beside Leo, stayed there for a few seconds, then took hold of one trembling arm, which was shaking so violently he could hardly get a grasp on it. But once he did, he did not let go. He forced the hand into his and pressed it to Leo’s chest, patting him cautiously with the other hand, then began to stroke Leo slowly across the shoulders and chest. That helped. When the trembling eased a little, Leo looked up in anguish.

“Don’t go,” he whispered. Then he began to shake again.

“No,” said the maestro. “I won’t go. Do you want me to call your mother and father?”

Leo desperately shook his head.

“No? All right, I won’t.”

The maestro went on calming Leo.

“Hm,” he said after a while. Leo was still lying on the floor, but was almost still now, only a shudder occasionally running through him.

“Hm. No cramps. So not epilepsy. I’ve seen that before and it’s not that.”

“It’s never happened to me before,” whispered Leo. He could feel the tears coming into his eyes.

“You mustn’t be afraid of me.”

“No,” whispered Leo.

“You are afraid of a great many things.” He smiled for the first time, showing those sharp teeth. “You don’t want to be sent to Paris. Is that right?”

“Yes,” whispered Leo. “But it’s not just that.”

“So. Then there’s something else, eh?”

“Paris would … ten hours a day … I really want …” But he had no words for what he wanted to say.

He had never said it to anyone before.

“Hm.”

“I want … I sit up at night and compose. It has to be at night. I already practice so much, there’s no other time but at night.”

The maestro smiled, and there was now almost warmth in his smile. His eyes suddenly seemed friendly and wise.

“So that’s what the matter is,” he said. Leo swallowed, then nodded, and went on to tell him of the concerts, his parents, and how his secret nights turned out.

“If that’s how things are,” said the maestro, when Leo had finished, “there’s little I can do for you.” He smiled again.

“I’d like to develop my technique …”

“But that’s not the main thing?”

“No.”

“Hm. Now hear what I have to say. Listen. As you know, there are composers who are musicians and musicians who are composers. But there are also more one-sided people, composers who are competent musicians but have never played in public. And there are soloists with no imagination whatsoever, virtuosi, who can scarcely compose a ditty. Unfortunately, I am one of the latter. The little I have composed is not good. Even if I dreamed it well. Now you must listen very carefully. The composer is in this case the one who is blessed. Never let anyone tell you anything different. It is the composer who creates music.

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