T2W10

The hushed appreciation of and wonder at the grubby hands that could produce such wonderful melody made me want to burst with pride. I had found him! Suddenly the music stopped and Nikolai's head slumped loudly onto the keys. I rushed to him and held his tear-stained face in my hands. Questioning him in a jocose manner, i tried to wheedle him back into playing the piano. In a quavering voice, Nikolai answered my unspoken question, "I'm no good. If I were, all this wouldn't have happened. Papa would not have died. It's a punishment for me daring to try! I want to go back to our rustic and tranquil life." The awful words hit me like a pail of ice-cold water. How was he going to face the demands of directors who would peremptory insist he produce music with such a low confidence as his Arcehilles heel? The joy of the evening suddenly turned into ashes for me...