- The last dance. Part 1
- The last dance. Part 2
- The last dance. Part 3
Page: 2 of 2
as tears dripped onto the paper. Damn it! Why is he so with me? What have I done?
Somehow after serving a lecture, I first left the museum and went for a walk. The warm September sun was playing with golden sparks in the crowns of the trees, and watching the light gently pour through the leaves, I began to calm down. Having bought a soda and a hot sandwich at the kiosk, I landed on a bench near the park that adjoined the museum. Sticking my teeth into the soft, warm dough, I thought, what if he didn't recognize me? Well, after all, can this be? Especially since our meeting, I have changed: I dyed my hair a dark chocolate color and gained five kilograms. Yes exactly. He simply did not recognize me, otherwise he would not have humiliated him for anything.
Dozing a loaf of bread, I noticed how Lev Semyonovich came out of the main entrance of the museum and, leaning on his cane, was approaching the park avenue. He probably decided to walk. Do not hesitate, I got up, shook the dress from the crumbs and moved to the same alley. Reaching his level, I looked into his eyes as openly as possible. He answered, but passed on. Then I ran to the end of the alley and ran to the parallel one, and from there I went to the other end of the same alley along which Lev Semenovich walked. And once again I caught up with him, I looked into his eyes. He stopped and addressed me:
- Well, well, Mikhalchuk. Speak
- What to say? - I portrayed surprise.
“Well, are you going to tell me something?” - rather approved than he asked.
- No, I'm just ... just walking. It's very beautiful here, aren't you?
My voice trembled like an idiot, and I annoyed myself at that moment. But I wanted him to remember me, to understand how unfairly he humiliated me in a lecture.
- Enough. Stop breaking the comedy. - His voice thundered, from which everything shrank inside me, and my body shuddered with trembling fear. “I recognized you as soon as I entered the office.” Did you want to ask about this?
So he still remembered me! Fine. Now I can ask him what his views, words and handshakes in the theater meant. This question still worried and intrigued me.
- Yes, but not only. - I admitted.
- Is that so? - he raised his thick eyebrows and smiled derisively. - What else are you interested in?
- I am interested in what your gesture meant when you sent me flowers and a note after the evening in the theater.
Oh, it seems I was in vain so hurried with a question. His face was gray, he frowned and pursed his lips, according to his reaction it was clear that this was not good. At that moment I was afraid of him. And for good reason.
- I do not understand what colors you are talking about. As for that evening in the theater, you in vain attach so much importance to it. During my life I talked to hundreds of people in the theater, but only you alone imagined that this had some meaning. Forget this episode, it is insignificant in its meaning.
Having said this, he angrily walked without saying goodbye. I wanted to remind him that he secretly shook my hand, but did not dare to catch up with him. Lev Semenovich was angry, and I confess, really scared him. He really looked like a lion - powerful, stern, with a mane of hard hair. Attractive and dangerous.
All night I could not sleep, the thought gave me no peace: why did Lev Semenovich deny the fact that he sent me flowers? Well, I understood that it was he, and no one else. Perhaps he was embarrassed, thought that I perceived this gesture as courtship, or something else, but one thing I knew for sure - he sent the flowers. Twisting at the stiff bunk bed of midnight, I still fell asleep.
At noon, I again crossed the threshold of the museum, and began to help Anna Alexandrovna transfer the archive data to a computer. Communication with office equipment was not easy for her, and my help came in very handy. With concealed fear, I waited for five hours, the moment when Lev Semyonovich would begin the lecture.I was afraid that he would again make fun of me in front of everyone. But my fears were not embodied, he conducted the lesson in a completely neutral manner and released us. Three more days had passed in the same way, the week was over, and so did the lectures. In these classes, I used to catch his every word, eagerly absorbing into myself. Sometimes I caught on his eyes, and once he even touched my hair with his fingers as he passed between training tables. No, there can be no doubt, he gives me some signals, and I will find out which ones.
On Saturday, I came back to the museum, although I could not do that. But a major tour was planned in all the tourist halls, and I decided to attend. Anna Alexandrovna admired my “deep self-awareness and the desire to improve skills,” and I, being flattered by her words, was about to go home when I saw Lev Semenovich. He asked some woman if she found a pianist for Sunday evening. After waiting for him to be alone, I approached him.
- What did you want, Sophia? - he was deep in thought and did not even look at me properly.
With a cough, I plucked up the courage and spoke.
- Lev Semenovich, it just so happened that I heard your conversation about the pianist. If you want, I can help you.
He slowly, even somewhat haughtily, looked at me, and then asked:
- Do you have any familiar pianists who can fly here by tomorrow evening?
- No, no, I myself play the piano. I graduated from music school. - I hurried to explain.
- Indeed? It is not joke? - interested look, with a touch of relief. I made the right move!
- Absolute truth. Only I have to prepare if the evening is tomorrow. Show me the instrument and give the notes.
- Well, let's go, let's go dear. - He took my arm and walked hurriedly down the corridor. I barely kept up with him. - Of course, you would really help me out. Imagine, Sonechka, what a stupidest situation is - an evening of romances will take place in the music hall tomorrow, and all the pianists are busy. It is absolutely impossible to cancel the event, the last hope was for one familiar woman, but she, it seems, deigned to get sick.
So, we came to a small hall. A lot of windows, light gas curtains with lush flounces down to the window sills, beautiful and comfortable chairs upholstered in blue velvet, and near the far wall - a small stage and a piano. Very cozy and neat.
- I ask you, Sonya, try the tool. Now Tamara Sergeyevna will bring you notes. In the meantime, play.
He sat down on a chair and stretched his legs, expressing full readiness to listen. I climbed the white wooden steps, sat on a chair and opened the glossy black cover. Blutner. Great tool! Not a single scraper on the keys, not a single note. I turned to him and asked:
- What do you play?
- Oh, what do you want, Sonechka. What do you want.
- Do you like Beethoven?
- Of course. Yes, great, play Beethoven.
I touched the keys and the melody flowed. Passionate, chaotic, exciting. The third part of the seventeenth sonata, "The Tempest." Reveling in the amazing clarity of the instrument, I plunged into the exciting world of music and unexpectedly played so well for myself that I wanted to applaud myself. Having finished, I turned into the hall. Next to Lev Semenovich, his secretary was already standing with a folder. He looked at her and said:
- Tamara Sergeyevna, tomorrow night is saved.
- Thank God, Lev Semenovich, thank God.
She crossed the hall and gave me notes. I leafed through and laid them on the lid in satisfaction.
- All these romances are known to me, I played them earlier. So do not worry, there will be no overlays.
- Tamara, give Sonia a program of the evening. You do need to be aware, right? - the last words were already said to me, and I nodded my head in agreement.
Resurrection has come. I came to the museum long before the evening, several times I lost all romances and read the program of the evening. Finally, a singer arrived - an elderly obese woman who introduced herself as Olga Konstantinovna. She crucified, and we rehearsed together. By seven in the evening the hall was filled with visitors and the concert began. Having played my own accompaniment as it should be, I bowed out and went out into the street. The hour was late and it was already dark.Taking a breath of the cool autumn air, I was already assembled to quickly zasterochit park avenues, as I called out a voice from the dark:
- Sonya? Hold on
Looking closely, I saw Lev Semenovich.
- It's already dark, I feel embarrassed that because of me you come back so late. Let me guide you. Do not you mind?
- I do not mind. - I smiled and put my elbow to him.
- You very much helped me and Olga Konstantinovna. I am very grateful to you and would like to thank you. Tell me, how long do you have to practice?
- Another two weeks, but what? - I was intrigued.
- You can assume that you have already passed it. I will ask Anna Alexandrovna to put you “excellent” and close the practice ahead of time.
I looked away in disappointment. It is good that he did not see it in the twilight.
- Thank you, Lev Semenovich, but I like the practice in your museum, and if you allow me, I would still like to go through it completely.
- Ltd. - he said in surprise. - You surprised me. Usually young girls are bored in a museum, and I thought I would do you a favor.
“No, no, it's all right.” Nothing needed, I was not burdened to play today. On the contrary, it gave me great pleasure. So you are not at all indebted to me.
He led me confidently, firmly holding my elbow. Lanterns lit up in the streets and in their yellow light falling on the asphalt, shadows danced out a fancy dance.
- Where are you staying? - he asked, when we had already passed two lanes from the one in which it was necessary to turn to go to the hotel. But I deliberately said nothing, I wanted to extend this evening walk. I do not know why, but I felt boundless happiness in those moments.
- In one hotel. She is already close. Thank you for spending. Then I will go myself.
He stopped and looked at me. I remember his look, full of warmth and tenderness.
- Thanks again, Sonya. And now, wait ... - he opened his cloak. - It is for you.
He handed me flowers. White orchids. I looked up at him, in which there was a clear question. He just smiled and, pressing his hand to his chest, bowed slightly and left. Pressing the delicate flowers to my chest, I ran to the hotel. I was afraid to freeze them with the cool evening air. Putting them in the water, I sat opposite and stared at the white tender inflorescences. He gave me white orchids for a reason, no. Thus, he secretly confirmed that then, two years ago, the flowers sent to me by a stranger were from him. But why, why? This I could not understand. I felt that he distinguishes me from everyone, I felt that I was not indifferent to him. But she could not understand what caused it. He was very old, and I was young, so he hardly drew attention to me as a woman, but I could not find any other explanation. In agitation, I went to bed. But in the middle of the night she jumped off and went to the window, where a glass of orchids stood on the windowsill. Gently running my finger over the petals, I closed my eyes and remembered the note sent by Lev Semenovich along with those first colors. "What have you not met me before ..."
“But we met now,” I told him in my mind.
With this thought, I fell asleep.
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And in the dark irises read "I want."
In the arms of tenderness to pass the border,
Open love, dissolve in it.
Lips that taste like honey with cinnamon,
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Bluthner in a seedy museum? Although not. The lion turned him into a palace. And our chanterelle in this palace is cozy. This is not a story of beauty and monster, this is the story of Beethoven’s seventeenth sonata).
Emilia, you just admire. And yet ... Does history have a sequel?
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Thank you) For admiration and all that ...)))))
Blutner in the museum, it seems to me, the thing is quite real - even though this story is based on real content, yet the circumstances and the scene of action are a fiction of the author. But wrapping the plot with artistic fiction, I, as a person having a direct relationship to the world of music, perfectly imagine this museum and cultural world, and Blyutners may not stand everywhere, of course, but this is also possible) I met) I will tell you one incredible story, if I did not see it myself, I would never have believed it.
I used to be in the same house as a guest. Usually such an old house in Odessa, with shabby spiral staircases and broken windows in the entrance. On the landing of one of the floors of this house, I saw something strange - a piano without a top cover, filled to the top with cigarette butts. It turns out that the tenants of this house have adapted the instrument under a convenient bench for smoking near the window, well, and an ashtray in combination. Having opened the lid of the keyboard, I read with horror - Renish ... So, and you are surprised at Blutner in the museum.)))
As for the continuation, it will certainly be, this is not the end. But I confess honestly, the author is confused, and does not know how to develop the plot. Whether to give the heroes the joy of love, or leave the understatement ... I do not want to hurry, there is a desire for the story to be truly beautiful, touching, and as realistic as possible. But you will wait for me, my dear reader?))
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Emilia, everything is wonderful, but ... I lacked some kind of dynamic. It is time to decide on something)
Well, how to finish - think. There are many real stories when a man is much older than a woman. And he was not afraid to confess her feelings. But will your heroine accept it? For some reason it seemed to me that no. However, wait and see)
Nine points.
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How impatient you are))) Sooner!)))) What is it, like this with a swoop yes?)))) But you didn’t wait literally a bit, the prelude was completed, but you shouldn’t expect a brisk development - however, I warned reader about it immediately, in the first part. I will not break the intrigue, as to whether the heroine will accept the hero’s feelings) Indeed, wait and see)))))
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How many will you say, I will wait so much). I am also a lion, though only by a horoscope).
You know, I am not surprised by the ashtrays from the piano, and I believe.
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Wow, how cool)))) I mean that you are Leo))) The sign of fire is my favorite) And I am Libra) I do not really believe in a horoscope, but judging by life experience it is not an empty phrase, and with some signs Well, there is no communication, and with others is best.
Ashtrays are still that))) I saw enough of it during my studies and practice!) Poor tools, which we didn’t get up with))
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10!!! +++
Romantic story of one of the first love. Again, the same feeling as if it had fallen into past centuries. Where the gentlemen for weeks cared for the ladies for a gentle kiss on the cheek.
Chevalier shy of his age and in vain. For love - this is absolutely not important. More precisely for the turbulent romance that could happen during Sonechkoy practice. perhaps if she is more assertive, and he is flexible ... Or vice versa? But then it would be something to remember all my life.
About this picture. Sonya takes a huge folio from the bookshelf and opens it, gently strokes those long-dried orchids, which he presented to her before the first night of love ... years after twelve)))
A bit of tar in a beautiful idyll. Somewhere on the first page there is a numerous repetition of the word: “she”, but this is a trifle compared to the even romantic description of what is happening.
It seems that Emilia decided to feed us on a couple of spoons \ pages \ of honey of this series)))
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And tell me honestly, Yura, when were you in your museum?
I, no matter how puffed up, did not remember where he was and what he was.
No, I visited our museum with children, but already quite a while ago.
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Zhenya, do you want to calculate the scene?)))))))
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Eugene, honestly? 10-15 years ago. My wife took me on a tour of various museums. It seems in the center near the exit of the subway.
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Yura, well, what a tumultuous romance between an elderly cultural doctor of science and a young student?))) No, it would have been a completely different story, and it would have gone out, most likely, not from my pen))))) and there will be - half the hitch, misbehavior, guessing ...
I don’t know if it’s good or bad about a couple of spoons))) On the one hand, I like it myself - long anticipation, slowness. But to be honest, there is one more reason - I don’t want to part with this plot, and I don’t want to spoil it by hurrying and heaping up with events. Therefore it is necessary to give out just such small portions)))
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Oleg Tabakov is 80 years old, his wife, Marina Zudina - 50. Married 22 years.
Stormy relationships can be at any age. But time will tell - will they turn into something real, reliable, or will people part so that later it will be something to remember)
Do not be afraid of love. Otherwise she will not forgive this.
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“Do not be afraid of love. Otherwise, she will not forgive this. ”- That's right. However, feelings are not always stormy, and in this story they rather have a gentle, calm flow. Based not on passion, from which blows the roof) This is something more subtle, not having a clear outline. This also happens.
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It seems to me, Nefertiti, that I myself would have married Oleg Tabakov. HE IS SHIKAREN.)))))) Seriously, he is just SHIKAREN.
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Undoubtedly)
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Yes, I agree with you)
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In my opinion, the second part looks stronger than the first. This is confirmed by the fact that the two pages are easily swallowed. I, as a reader, was fascinated by the plot, although nothing much happened.
Now I'm thinking: to include your story as a favorite? And decided this: let everything determine the end of the plot.
And finally, a comic rhyme:
She and the musician, she and the playwright,
Now and cultural. Do you feel sorry for yourself?
Who needs museums, their dusty skeletons
Yes shards dishes - from the past greetings?
And life is in full swing, (not happy with the forecasts),
They put Obama in our ass splinters,
All tear down the price of oil, dreaming to swat us.
What museums are there, what excavations are there ?!
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I agree about the second part. I myself think so, and the plot has its main development, in fact, only with the beginning of this part.
And the poem - well, what are you so critical?) Yes, our world is ugly and cruel, but there are corners of purity and guilt in the highest ideals in it. far-fetched greetings from the past, dusty skeletons. And I do not protrude outside, although I perfectly see from the window what is happening there, outside ...
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A couple of technical points.
1. In four consecutive short sentences there is a pronoun “she”.
2. Generally not familiar with the music. school, but the question is: is there a faculty of academies? Do vocals teach piano lessons? Or GG finished two specialties? Then about this in the text is not a word.
3. Another tiny blot in writing direct speech.
In general, a good story, but I think it does not require further. What do you, dear Emilia think about this?
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Alex, I will answer this way: in order to enroll in a music college, you must at least finish a music school as a minimum) And there you need an instrument. But if the school interests you directly - the instrument is MANDATORY both at the college and at the conservatory. This is a companion subject, obligatory for any musician, as well as musical diploma, and music theory. And much more) So, I have 22 years of piano experience, while the academic school is only 12.The instrument is necessary for the singer - while rehearsing, he accompanies himself, and also acts as an accompanist in the classroom with other students. This is a mandatory practice.
There will be a continuation, it has already been partially written, and it was not difficult for me, as the author, while there remained a thread of reality that connects me with this story. But as soon as it broke off - the question arose of how to continue. I'm in thought. But the sequel will certainly be.
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That's why I asked. I will know and generally appreciate the answer. And of course, if a sequel comes out, be sure to read))
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Thank you)) For your attention)) And for the interest in the nuances - this is an indication that the reader was attentive)
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Sorry, I'm late. Something to say already unnecessary. Yes, great, yes, great. But didn't you hear it already? There are shortcomings and greats, so that I also keep silence about them. According to the story, there will be no comments, only a request - leave everything as it is, do not put the heroine under Grandpa. This will ruin everything. But of course you, like all women, will do it your way.
You thought to burn, but here it is necessary to dive ...
This is my general opinion of you. About your creativity.
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I will tell you one of my weaknesses - there are never many pleasant words))) But only if they are sincere and not flattering))) I need criticism as well - but also in business, and not from a desire to find fault. So do not be lazy, please write your opinion about the read, especially since I always wait for it))))))
About your request - most likely it will be so. If eroticism emerges, then only as a fantasy, desire, anticipation. This option is closer to me than a real event.
I did not quite understand you again, with the last sentence))) Is it possible to reveal? I have not disappointed you yet with my stupidity?))))
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Stupid no, it is not inherent to you. I will answer in a personal, if you do not mind.
Opinion want expanded? I am sorry, I am not able to today. Why - also in a personal. But do not be afraid, it is not critical, are you afraid of this?
This topic is very delicate, intimate details are not needed here, they will turn a good story into a vulgar one. I admit the fascination of a young girl, I admit even a tide of senile sentimental tenderness as the last sobbing of a fading masculine principle. You took the name successful - if we are talking about a hero, for him this is the last dance. Just let it be a waltz, not a tango.
I, by the way, are also a horoscope lion ...
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I'm waiting for you ... Leo)))
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Not bad, but as was correctly noted above, there is no dynamics. For a story or a novel, this is normal, but for a story ...
There are also a couple of actual incomprehensibilities.
1. Do you need to finish music school by fono till 17? Little hard to believe.
2. Connoisseur and lover of ballet during the action tells his daughter all sorts of stories and interfere with others? Incredible.)
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Sailor, and this is the story. And since there is no such section on the site, it turns out the story in many parts))) As for your remarks, you hardly believe in vain) After the ninth grade, you can study at the music school for 2 years. Provided primary music education, of course. And not by Fano, read carefully))) Academic military.
As for the second, it is very likely. There is such a category of people - experts, well, or they consider themselves as such))) They have already seen all the productions one hundred fifty thousand times, and go to the theater without anticipation of novelty, and with a desire to compare, perhaps criticize. Honestly, I can’t fully explain to another person why and why he did this, but there is a rationale) And it didn’t bother me too much - he was quiet, I just sat next to her and heard. At the ballet, quiet negotiations are not so disturbing as, say, at the opera or the usual drama production. I myself sometimes no-no and yes, yes, in the sense of quietly discussing what is happening. You did not think that he was sitting there in the voice of Basil?))))
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