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Authors: Marie Mutsuki Mockett
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that this would be a surprise. Uchihara-sensei would not be pleased that I had made a program switch, but my strategy was simply to play so well that Uchihara-sensei would have no choice but to allow me to work on more Rachmaninoff next semester. When I finished playing, I stood up to take a bow. No one clapped as they had after the Bach. The room was silent, girls glancing at each other, unsure of what to do.
I strode from one end of the stage to the other, bowing the way my mother had trained me. Still silence. Then I began to worry. Even if what I had done was unexpected, the audience should have been moved. Just a little. I searched for Shinobu and found her sitting in the middle, as shehad promised she would be. I smiled at her and she flinched. I continued to smile, willing her to lift her hands, and finally she began to clap, the sole person in the room to do so. A moment later, Taki joined in, and then the room filled with the warm, appreciative applause I had expected. I smiled, triumphantly, and exited the stage where Uchihara-sensei was waiting for me in the wings.
“I’m sorry,” I began, “it’s just that I wanted you to know that I could …”
“Sloppy,” she declared, before rattling off like an old crab.
I rolled my eyes. Of course I had done something rather unusual, but I certainly hadn’t been sloppy. Eventually, the old woman would see this.
By the time I had gathered my things and made my way down into the audience area where Shinobu and Taki were waiting, most everyone else had left the auditorium, though I could still hear the excited rumble of gossiping voices tumbling down the stairs.
“I wish,” Shinobu sighed, “that you had told me what you were going to do. I would have advised you to use the Rachmaninoff as an encore. Satomi, what if you aren’t invited back next semester?”
“Of course I’ll be invited back,” I scoffed.
“They could fail you.”
“But I didn’t fail,” I said. “The truth is the truth.”
We began to wend our way toward the exit. “You know I admire your spirit.” Shinobu shook her head. “I understand it, really. But now you’ve made Uchihara-sensei look bad. The other teachers will say that she cannot control you.” Shinobu began then to detail a plan for how I was to extricate myself from the very grave situation that I was in. Her ideas involved writing letters and appealing to different teachers in the music department and much bowing, which she herself would coach me to do correctly. But I only half listened, for something had caught my eye. Rising out of one of the auditorium seats like a ghostly wisp of fog now materializing into human form was an older woman wearing a black felt cloche fitted close around her temples. I stopped walking. The woman was staring at me, and though I could not place where I might have met her, there was something familiar about her bearing.
She smiled, a slow, liquid expression that spread from her lips to her eyes and gave them warmth. I smiled back.
“They say that you are very daring,” the lady said. Her voice, thoughnotched with age, was confident and rich. It was a voice that had spoken of many things and without much fear through the years.
“Thank you.”
“They say that what you have done is problematic.”
I saw that she had a cane and as she began to shuffle at a slow but determined pace, I moved to help her. It hurt me to see someone who carried such an air of dignity about her moving with so much difficulty. But Shinobu gripped my wrist and kept me in place.
The older woman said, “The best students always know when they need a new teacher. And they also know when they no longer need any teacher at all.” She pulled a small piece of paper out of her coat pocket with her free hand. “Call if you like.” She smiled one more time, then bent her head to focus on her steps. We heard her slowly shuffling along and, out of respect for her age, waited for the sound to fade away before we
I strode from one end of the stage to the other, bowing the way my mother had trained me. Still silence. Then I began to worry. Even if what I had done was unexpected, the audience should have been moved. Just a little. I searched for Shinobu and found her sitting in the middle, as shehad promised she would be. I smiled at her and she flinched. I continued to smile, willing her to lift her hands, and finally she began to clap, the sole person in the room to do so. A moment later, Taki joined in, and then the room filled with the warm, appreciative applause I had expected. I smiled, triumphantly, and exited the stage where Uchihara-sensei was waiting for me in the wings.
“I’m sorry,” I began, “it’s just that I wanted you to know that I could …”
“Sloppy,” she declared, before rattling off like an old crab.
I rolled my eyes. Of course I had done something rather unusual, but I certainly hadn’t been sloppy. Eventually, the old woman would see this.
By the time I had gathered my things and made my way down into the audience area where Shinobu and Taki were waiting, most everyone else had left the auditorium, though I could still hear the excited rumble of gossiping voices tumbling down the stairs.
“I wish,” Shinobu sighed, “that you had told me what you were going to do. I would have advised you to use the Rachmaninoff as an encore. Satomi, what if you aren’t invited back next semester?”
“Of course I’ll be invited back,” I scoffed.
“They could fail you.”
“But I didn’t fail,” I said. “The truth is the truth.”
We began to wend our way toward the exit. “You know I admire your spirit.” Shinobu shook her head. “I understand it, really. But now you’ve made Uchihara-sensei look bad. The other teachers will say that she cannot control you.” Shinobu began then to detail a plan for how I was to extricate myself from the very grave situation that I was in. Her ideas involved writing letters and appealing to different teachers in the music department and much bowing, which she herself would coach me to do correctly. But I only half listened, for something had caught my eye. Rising out of one of the auditorium seats like a ghostly wisp of fog now materializing into human form was an older woman wearing a black felt cloche fitted close around her temples. I stopped walking. The woman was staring at me, and though I could not place where I might have met her, there was something familiar about her bearing.
She smiled, a slow, liquid expression that spread from her lips to her eyes and gave them warmth. I smiled back.
“They say that you are very daring,” the lady said. Her voice, thoughnotched with age, was confident and rich. It was a voice that had spoken of many things and without much fear through the years.
“Thank you.”
“They say that what you have done is problematic.”
I saw that she had a cane and as she began to shuffle at a slow but determined pace, I moved to help her. It hurt me to see someone who carried such an air of dignity about her moving with so much difficulty. But Shinobu gripped my wrist and kept me in place.
The older woman said, “The best students always know when they need a new teacher. And they also know when they no longer need any teacher at all.” She pulled a small piece of paper out of her coat pocket with her free hand. “Call if you like.” She smiled one more time, then bent her head to focus on her steps. We heard her slowly shuffling along and, out of respect for her age, waited for the sound to fade away before we
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