MUSE-ic [CHPT. 1]

double bass

The concert started on time. The moment the clock struck 7pm the organist hit a note and the auditorium fell silent. The magnificence of the grandiose instrument that had been built into the hall, with its golden pipes scaling the soft brown walls was breathtakingly beautiful. The lights had been put out where the audience sat and the stage was lit up. Dzidzor sat in the first row, taking it all in. She scanned the orchestra, the organist down to the choristers robed in gold-rimmed ivory gowns and relaxed into her seat as the show began.

                It was the passion with which Beethoven’s Hallelujah Mount of Olives was being played that had Dzidzor opening her eyes to find the origin of the string instrument she could hear so loudly hit the accidentals that were scattered all over the score of the piece. He sat there, to the left of the conductor, his eyes closed, the double bass propped between his legs and his hands poised, one holding the extended length of the large violin, and the other holding the bow. It stood about six feet and she could tell the back had been made from maple, spruce for the top, and ebony for the fingerboard. Her eyes remained fixed on his arms, which were firm, muscular. His face looked struck with heavy emotions as the tempo rose towards the end, and the choir pealed forth while he hit the low pitches that arrested Dzidzor’s attention.

As they brought Handel’s Surely He Was Wounded to a close, something snapped and she started to sweat profusely. She had to step out. It felt as if she was having a panic attack. She got up and walked to the exit. Just when she was about to leave three strings started off Canon on a slow pace and she sighed. One of them was plucking at her strings and again the young man with the double bass joined. She could not move. The memories flooded in and she crouched. It was the first concert she had attended since two Easters ago and as if the stage had turned into a scroll, a poem started to form before her eyes as the dam finally broke. She knew months of dryness had just come to an end, getting back on her feet.

The second she resumed her seat the auditorium burst forth again as the orchestra started Hallelujah Chorus to end the concert. Dzidzor hummed the alto from beginning to end and as the instruments shook with the encomiums they added to the basic score, an image of her father was projected on the screen behind the stage and the whole room stood up in applause. It had been his creation, the entire team of instrumentalist and vocalists as well as the auditorium. She had grown up with music all around her and had grown so attached to it that her gift of poetry was linked to notes of harmony. She could not do without it. He had started as a young boy who played the double bass; his passion running wild, and it had grown to what lay before her. She thought everything had died with him, but that day had proven her wrong. Seeing his face, with that almost-smile playing on his lips with the glint of mischief in his eyes, the greying beard and balding hair, Dzidzor stood up and joined in applause. Her father was very much alive, and the joy she felt was beyond measure.

“I’m proud of you”

She whispered, and the stage lights dimmed as the one in her heart glowed.


8 thoughts on “MUSE-ic [CHPT. 1]

  1. The writer couldn’t extricate her passion and herself from this piece. Looking forward to attending an orchestra event someday.


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