The Silent Pianist

Today is Wednesday. In the dark and dreary town of Beldurra, there is a constant, thick fog. The town does not look particularly rundown or abandoned but it would still seem eerie and off-putting to any outsiders. As such, very little ever happened. Except on Wednesdays.

A few months back, a young stranger started appearing out of the surrounding fog. He was always well dressed, showing up in the same neatly ironed black tailcoat and polished leather oxfords. Not once did he ever speak. The man was strange enough considering his overly formal attire and apparent muteness. Stranger still were his activities.

In the center of this town, an old piano sat in a circle of grass. It was covered in moss and vines from years of disuse. Its wood cracked and its keys crumbling. A useless centerpiece. Yet the man always made a beeline for the instrument, walking quick and confident until he neared it. Then hesitancy would take over and stop him a few meters away.

After stopping, the man would stare. Sometimes for minutes and other times for hours without pause. Occasionally, he would pull out a pair of fine, white gloves and put them on. Eventually, he would leave as quietly as he arrived, disappearing into the fog.

During one of his earlier visits, the man came within an arm’s reach of the piano and reached out to touch the keys. Just before he made contact, one of the townsmen started laughing at him as if he were an idiot. He shouted through his laughs that the piano was clearly in ruin. That there was no way it would ever play. What idiot would even try? The man froze like a deer in the headlights before turning around and leaving the way he just came. His visit that day was barely 6 minutes total.

It was shortly after 10am today and, as always, the man appeared out of the fog wearing his tailcoat and dress shoes. A few of the townspeople nodded a greeting. The man did not so much as acknowledge them. The rest ignored him.

He walked at his usual calm and confident pace to the piano. His steps slowed as he approached. The man began his usual ritual. Staring. He stared at the piano for hours, studying its splitting wood and dulled keys. At some point, he decided to put on his gloves.

In the early evening, he sat down with his knees tucked into his chest and his shoulders hunched. Now this was unusual. A few villagers stared curiously at the sudden informality of the slouching man. Not one noticed the fierce fire glowing in his eyes.

The sun now setting, the man uncurled himself. Taking a moment to stretch his legs, he stood up and walked a bit closer to the piano. His steps became more hesitant the closer he got. He stopped fully just out of reach, paused, and turned around to leave town. The farther he got, the more confidence his steps regained.

Wednesday rolled around again. The villagers rose and carried about their usual mornings, readying breakfast or starting chores. Animals rose and began their long day of grazing. Ten o’clock came and went in silence. The man did not come but no one really noticed. The hours ticked by. The villagers continued their work. The man still did not come.

Evening arrived and turned the fog orange. Small, golden beams of light poked through in places. It was a beautiful sight. The man did not even notice as he rushed into the town with a small wooden bench.

He rushed past the rows of houses. Past the curiously staring villagers going about their evenings. Past his usual spot in the grass and straight to the piano. He placed the bench at the piano, put on his gloves, and with a swish of his tailcoat sat down.

The man readied himself, fingers hovering just over the keys. Then the laughs broke out. Here was this strange man who was dressed so formally and neatly about to try and play a broken piano. The townspeople could not bear the hilarity of it.

The man seemingly ignored the laughs and started to play. The piano could still make a sound. In fact, it was surprisingly in-tune. The man, however, played horrifically. He was stiff and shaking. He fumbled with the keys like a toddler learning to walk. The townspeople howled louder. All that dress and pomp and this is what they get!

The man stood violently, knocking the bench back. Then he ran. Down the streets and past the houses where he tripped and fell. He didn’t even clean the dust off his always pristine clothes before he disappeared into the thick evening fog.

Wednesday soon rolled around again. The townspeople had been excitedly waiting to see what the man would do during his next visit after the scene he had made. Gossip spread like wildfire, consuming the town.

In the early dawn, the man walked quietly into town dressed as finely as ever. He had arrived even before the first villagers had woken. Before the sun had even touched the tops of the small houses. He walked through the quiet town to the old piano and sat down.

What was likely once a pristine and beautiful instrument had become a shadow of its former self. The man examined it with a look of familiarity. Of belonging. The weathered ivory keys now dull. The wood no longer perfectly polished but rough and breaking. The iron nails and hinges rusted over from years of weathering storms and lack of care. Its original seat long lost.

The man pulled out his gloves before pausing. He looked at them and threw them off onto the ground. Then he placed his hands on the keys. The keys were cold and heavy but welcomed him as he pushed down once. Tired of waiting, they gave readily. A strong, clear note rang out. The man smiled in his solitude.

Sweeping his gaze over the rest of the keys, the man readied his hands. He pushed down a chord and it sang. So, he played another chord and another. The piano was in complete working order. Not a single broken string or key.

The man paused for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. He began to play a piece, loudly and poorly. His fingers struggled to remember their roles, but they had not completely forgotten. In time, they were beginning to regain some semblance of practiced skill.

A few villagers began to awaken. They had been roused by a poor mimicry of piano music. Some snickered to themselves at the terrible music. Some roused their family. Soon, an entire crowd had gathered around the aged piano and its strange player.

It took only moments for the gossiping to start. Insults were passed around like potatoes at dinner, slowly growing in volume. A few particularly nasty individuals began to boo. None of these activities lasted for long, however.

While he started out playing terribly, the man was rapidly improving. His body was remembering every movement and skill he had thought lost. His confidence was growing just as his smile and with it his music grew in volume and beauty. The fumbling was now truly music.

Beams from the rising sun burst through the clouds and lit the man’s stage as he continued. His fingers flew across the board. Wherever they went, noted cascaded upon the now silent watchers. They were in complete awe.

Slowly, the notes built up into an explosion of melody. It was a tragic and melancholic, yet it still contained a glimmer of hope. The song had the villagers enraptured. It made them forget the small, bleak town they lived in and the murky mists that threatened to swallow them whole. This was something new for them. It was like a circus had come to town, but the only performance was a beautiful song.

The man began his crashing descent from the crescendo. Fingers flowing along the keys, the song was rapidly trickling to a close. The old piano displayed its full talents as the man tampered with the high notes. Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended.

Panting and covered in sweat, the man stood. He turned to his still silent audience and bowed deeply. Cheers erupted. A thunder of clapping gently shook the once still morning air. The sun shone down brilliantly, for once keeping the depressing fog at bay.

The piano, still old and decrepit, stood proudly. Having had one more glorious performance, it seemed happy and full of pride standing beside its player. The man rose, gently placing a hand on its weathered wood. His smile was blinding.

Villagers rushed towards him, spilling praise everywhere as the approached. They were full of questions and curiosities that man stubbornly refused to answer.

Amid the assault of words, the man looked down at the piano. He looked out over the crowd and into the clouded horizon beyond. Maybe he was ready for the stage again.