Mr. Lizard Outside the Window - Chapter 43
Chapter 43: The Pain of a Broken String
I'm messing this up, aren't I? Banxia thought, standing on stage, her violin in hand.
She could almost feel Xiao Lian's worried gaze on her back.
He must be so worried, watching me from backstage, she thought.
Her fingers moved across the strings, but her mind was elsewhere.
I was so confident yesterday, she thought ruefully. I told him I wouldn't let seeing my father affect my performance.
But now, standing on stage, under the bright lights, she realized the impact of that childhood encounter was far deeper than she had imagined.
Memories she thought she had buried, emotions she had suppressed for years, now resurfaced, overwhelming her, fueled by the unexpected sight of him in the audience.
She had avoided looking at the judges' panel, but the man she had never wanted to see again was clearly etched in her mind, his presence filling the empty chair in the front row, the imagined figure of her childhood now merged with the real, flesh-and-blood man.
He sat there, his gaze fixed on her.
Her father.
A torrent of memories flooded her mind: the cruel whispers, the fights with the children who taunted her and her mother, the long, lonely bus rides to the city, the hunger and exhaustion, the tears shed in secret outside her mother's hospital room, her mother's pale face on her deathbed…
She tried to push the memories away, but they persisted, relentless.
You're so strong, aren't you? she mocked herself. You thought you had finally moved on, found happiness. But deep down, you're still that same pathetic, helpless child.
In the audience, one of Zhang Qinyun's friends nudged him, his eyes questioning.
Zhang Qinyun gave him a reassuring nod.
He had been tense when Banxia first took the stage, sensing a strong rival.
But now, listening to her play, he relaxed, leaning back in his chair.
Mediocre, he thought. Not even as good as yesterday by the lake. He chuckled inwardly, realizing he had overestimated her, wondering if the captivating performance yesterday had been just an illusion, a trick of the light and the scenery.
At the judges' table, Fu Zhengqi, his pen hovering over the score sheet, frowned.
This was the girl, Banxia, whose performance of Zigeunerweisen in the preliminary round had been so impressive, so mature beyond her years, that he had seen a glimmer of hope for the future of violin playing.
He even recognized her. He had seen her busking on the streets of Rongcheng during a recent visit, playing a spirited rendition of "Flight of the Bumblebee," her unique style catching his attention. He had even dropped a 100-yuan bill into her violin case.
He had been surprised and delighted to see her name on the list of contestants.
But her performance today was disappointing. He frowned, his white eyebrows furrowing.
Her playing was technically proficient, but it lacked the emotional depth, the spark of inspiration that had made her preliminary performance so captivating. It was… ordinary.
It wasn't even as good as her impromptu performance on the street.
Jiang Lin, who had just arrived yesterday, sat nearby.
A judge beside him was looking at Banxia's profile. "Ban… Xia. Is that pronounced 'Ban'?" he murmured.
"No, it's 'Mi'," Jiang Lin corrected him.
"Oh, Mi Xia. You're so knowledgeable, Maestro Jiang!"
Jiang Lin smiled faintly. It wasn't knowledge, but memory. He had known a girl with that surname, many years ago.
His first love.
First love was always a special memory.
He had been captivated by Mi Xia. Her pale eyes, her slender frame, her natural confidence and swagger… she had been unlike anyone he had ever met.
They had been young, their love passionate and intense. He had seduced her, whispered sweet nothings in her ear, promised her the world.
He had been so young, so foolish.
He had even considered staying in China for her, giving up his chance to study abroad.
But then, he had left, his eyes opened to the wider world, realizing that a man's ambition shouldn't be limited by love.
She had been pregnant, hadn't she? But he had cut off all contact, and she, proud and stubborn, hadn't pursued him, simply fading from his life.
It had been twenty years. Even the most vivid memories faded with time. If it hadn't been for this girl with the same unusual surname, he would have forgotten that youthful indiscretion.
For the semi-finals, the contestants had to perform a complete concerto.
A concerto, longer and more technically demanding, was a better showcase of a musician's skill.
Banxia was playing Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D major, a three-movement work.
By the end of the first movement, a wave of despair washed over her. Though her fingers moved flawlessly, her technique impeccable, her mind was a jumble of distracting thoughts, preventing her from expressing the true emotion of the music.
Was she going to ruin this performance, dressed in her beautiful gown, playing a priceless violin, her arrogant boasts echoing in her ears, only to flee the stage in shame?
No, she couldn't. She wouldn't.
As the music reached the cadenza, a technically demanding passage, her fingers flew across the strings, the bow dancing frantically, the violin's voice rising to a fever pitch.
And then, with a sharp snap, the E string broke, the thin wire whipping against her cheek, drawing blood, a sharp sting that jolted her out of her reverie.
The music stopped, the sudden silence echoing in the concert hall. The audience gasped, turning to look at each other, such a mishap a rare occurrence.
On stage, Banxia froze for a moment.
Then, Xiao Lian's words from last night echoed in her mind: "I don't mind the pain. Pain is…memorable."
Xiao Lian…
What am I doing? she thought, the sting of the broken string bringing a sudden clarity.
When she had struggled with the Tchaikovsky concerto before, it had been Xiao Lian, the little lizard, who had shyly suggested she try to express the feeling of first love through the music.
And so she had, exploring those new emotions, those unfamiliar desires, pouring her love for him, the sweet torment of their relationship, into the music, crafting a performance that had finally satisfied her.
This concerto was a testament to their love, and she was ruining it, letting the ghost of a man who had never been a part of her life, a man she should have forgotten long ago, overshadow her music, her love.
What must Xiao Lian be thinking, listening to me play like this?
The broken string had been a momentary interruption, a fleeting pause.
The audience barely had time to react before the music resumed, even more passionate, even more intense.
"The E string broke! Is she going to continue?"
"It's possible, theoretically, but…that's insane!"
The whispers rippled through the audience.
A violin had four strings. If one broke, it was theoretically possible to compensate with the remaining three.
But to change fingerings mid-performance, while maintaining the musicality of the piece, was almost impossible.
Fu Zhengqi's pen stopped tapping on the table. He raised his white eyebrows, intrigued.
A broken string is nothing unusual, he thought. But to play even better after a broken string… that's interesting.
Zhang Qinyun's friend whispered in his ear, "Can she really change her fingerings like that, on the spot? Even if she can, it won't be perfect. We were worried for nothing. She's no match for you."
But the violin prodigy, his brow furrowed, leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the stage, a flicker of unease in his eyes.
The first movement ended, and thunderous applause erupted, mostly out of respect for her perseverance, her courage to continue playing despite the broken string.
Banxia walked backstage, put down the Adelina, and picked up her own old violin.
As she returned to the stage, she grabbed Xiao Lian, who was waiting by the door, and kissed him fiercely.
As the second movement began, the audience noticed the difference in the sound. The tone of her old violin was nowhere near as rich and resonant as the Adelina.
But she stood there, under the spotlight, steady and confident, as if the instrument in her hands, whether a cheap student violin or a priceless antique, made no difference.
She was lost in her music, unfazed by the mishap.
The melody began, soft and melancholic, a gentle tug at the heartstrings.
The music painted a vivid picture: a sunlit forest, a lover emerging from the mist, their scent sweet and intoxicating.
A yearning, a hesitation, a push and pull of emotions, a sweet torment.
And then, the veil was torn away, the passion unleashed.
The tempo quickened, the music now both joyful and intense, a powerful expression of desire.
The accompanist, glancing at her, inwardly cursed and scrambled to keep up with her sudden change in tempo and style.
It was like a predator chasing its prey across the wilderness, its teeth sinking into the soft flesh, a thrill of the hunt, a slow, deliberate savoring of the kill.
The audience, their hearts captivated by the initial tenderness, now soared with the music's passionate climax.
I've never heard Tchaikovsky played like this before, many of them thought.
The younger audience members, their own emotions resonating with the music, were thrilled.
The more conservative judges, however, frowned, unsure how to score such an unconventional performance.
The boys who had heard her play by the lake the previous day exchanged surprised glances.
This is completely different from yesterday. Did she change her interpretation overnight?
Fu Zhengqi, his fingers interlaced, his eyes shining with excitement, almost clapped his hands in delight.
I was right about her! he thought. A golden voice, a heart of pure gold! A true genius! I haven't seen such talent in years!
Even Jiang Lin, who had been listening with detached amusement, now sat up straight, his attention fully engaged.
The young woman on stage, like a predator on a mountain peak, her youthful energy unleashed, her pale eyes, no longer hesitant or shy, but filled with confidence, with passion, with a fierce ambition.
Jiang Lin frowned, a flicker of recognition, a sense of unease, in his eyes.
Ban… Twenty years old… such exceptional talent… and that faint resemblance…
It must be a coincidence.
But just to be sure, he turned to his assistant. "Do we have her profile? Get me a copy from the organizers. I want to know where she's from, her parents' names."
Comments
Post a Comment