Chapter 27

           IwentwithhimandsatinhismusicroomandlistenedtohimplaytheDminorEnglishsuite.AllthroughteaIhadwaitedforsomeindicationonhispartthatheknewIhadseenthegirlashemusthaveknown,foritwasobviousthatthenocturnalconcerthadbeengiventoannounceherpresence.ButIintendedtofollowthesamecourseofactionasIhadovertheearlierincident:tosaynothinguntilhegavemeanopening.Nottheslightestchinkhadappearedinourconversation.Conchisseemedtome,noexpert,toplayasiftherewasnobarrierbetweenhimandthemusic;noneedto"interpret,"topleaseanaudience,tosatisfysomeinnervanity.HeplayedasIsupposeBachhimselfwouldhaveplayedIthinkataratherslowertempothanmostmodernpianistsandharpsichordists,thoughwithnolossofrhythmorshape.Isatinthecool,shutteredroomandwatchedtheslightlybowedbaldheadbehindtheshiningblackharpsichord.IheardthedrivingonwardnessofBach,theendlessprogressions.ItwasthefirsttimeIhadheardhimplaygreatmusic,andIwasmovedasIhadbeenbytheBonnards;movedinadifferentway,butstillmoved.Themysteryoftheoldmandwindled,andhishumanityroseuppermost.ItcametomeasIlistenedthatIdidn’twanttobeanywhereelseintheworldatthatmoment,thatwhatIwasfeelingatthatmomentjustifiedallIhadbeenthrough,becauseallIhadbeenthroughwasmybeingthere.Conchishadspokenofmeetinghisfuture,offeelinghislifebalancedonafulcrum,whenhefirstcametoBourani.

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