Anya and I went to music school together. She was an excellent student, and I was kind of attracted to the top three. More precisely, an excellent student is not the right word. Anya was the best in our music. She played fantastically; she was the only one who was hired by the school principal, and everyone unanimously expected her to have a brilliant career as a pianist.
We were friends because of the music. My mother really encouraged this relationship because she believed that looking at Anya would attract me to her level. Well, Anina's family didn't mind, because, of course, I wasn't her competitor. In addition, it was convenient for everyone — we studied in the same class and at a secondary school.
Mom's calculation was partly correct. I really really admired Anya. And her talent also seemed to give me some new opportunities. Every time I watched her play at an academic concert, I felt like I started to see something extraordinary. It was always a special ritual, and everyone in the audience was waiting for it. Anya would go on stage, sit on a special skin-covered stool by the piano, slowly inhaled, her back straightened, her face became very focused, her hands in the long white sleeves, resembling swan necks (Anya always wore long-sleeved white shirts), froze above her keys for a moment, and suddenly came to life when they came into contact with them. And fast, incredibly fast and synchronously, they began to fly above the keys, extracting something magical, absolutely perfect from them, from which I always saw different things — glades with colorful flowers drenched in the sun, dragons covered in golden scales, ancient castles under dancing starfalls. At these moments, watching this inner movie, which was different every time, I forgot about everything in the world, attracted by a stream of pure happiness. I was getting better and kinder. And so are the others. All you had to do was look at our music director, who was always sitting in the front row. Huge, square, because of the giant black hairpiece on her head and her large, rude, stone-like features, her face looked like an impregnable rock with a big crow's nest at the top, always harsh on reprisal, which is why both children and parents were afraid of her, she suddenly closed her eyes and began to sway to Anina's music, smiling slightly. Many people in the audience smiled so much, as if Anina had given us all grace to play.
But I was the only one who knew what that grace cost Ana herself.
Because our parents encouraged our friendship, we spent a lot of time at Anya's house doing homework together and playing with dolls during breaks, which girls at 12 often can't give up. And it was at moments like these that I repeatedly witnessed how Anina's parents “stimulate her talent”. And it's not just musical — Anya was also an excellent student at school. Once we did our homework and were playing, Anina's mother came into the room. She had such a habit of appearing unnoticed and generally had an extremely invisible appearance, reminding me of a blot from an old Soviet cartoon that ran away from her notebook — an outline in a triangular dress with a ponytail on her head. But this time we didn't immediately notice her also because we were crawling across the floor, diligently putting the dolls to bed. And what happened next was all the worse because it happened all of a sudden.
— What is this? — Anina said to her mother in a low voice.
We turned around and only then did I realize that Anine was holding a school diary in her hands.
— What is it! Talk to me, you beast?!
The second time my mother had already screamed, and she didn't seem to expect an answer at all. Suddenly, she started punching Anya in the face with her diary. Anya only covered her face with her hands.
“What is it in there?” - before I knew it, my father came into the room. He took out his belt along the way. Everything that happened next was surprisingly quiet. While they were beating, Anya didn't make a sound; only her belt was whistling in the air, and I whined softly, huddled into a corner with fear, not daring to stand up for my friend—after all, they were her parents. It was only when they left the room that I decided to crawl up to Ana over the scattered dolls and their furniture. Sweaty with bitten lips, she shuddered softly in the corner. All hands except the hands were covered with red stripes from the belt. At that point, I understood why she always wears long sleeve shirts. And one more thing — why is she an excellent student. They beat Anya for her top four in math that night.
That academic concert took place in late spring. And he wasn't like the others. We usually played different pieces — who prepared what. It was also supposed to play one sketch by Cerny in parallel. It's all the same — for speed. We went out one by one and played — who was faster and who was slower, but, of course, everyone was waiting for Anya to come out. She should have played last. And now they announced her performance. Anya came out, as usual, sat on a chair, slowly inhaled, straightened her back, focused, raised her hands above the keys and started playing. Oh my god! At that time, she played more easily than ever before. It's not just a huge speed — it's cosmic! Her fingers ran across the keys as if they didn't exist at all—she seemed to just run her hands back and forth over the white grin of the piano, and the music came on its own. It was as if the hall had been blown away by a furious gust of wind, and even the director's harsh cliff had slid to one side! She herself, as always, sitting in the front row, did not smile softly this time, but grinned like a dashing commander who won a terrible battle in one fell swoop in five minutes.
When suddenly, in the middle of the sketch, I realized that something was wrong with Anya. It turned very red, then white as a wall, then stained. Nevertheless, she finished the sketch brilliantly. And, bowing to thunderous applause, as always, with dignity, she went to the hall and sat down next to me. It was only then that I noticed that her fingers were covered in blood.
— Anya! What is this?! Horrified, I reached out for her bloody hands. “You smashed your fingers against the keys, right?!
And suddenly, without taking her hands out of mine, she laughed. It's quiet and it's like happy.
No, no, she said. “Quite different.” Can you imagine, when I was playing, a huge mosquito sat on the back key. A fantastically huge mosquito! And figure it out, I'm playing, my hands are rushing there, and he's sitting there! And I understand he's sitting there!!! And I'm rushing and rushing at him with my hands!
As she talked, she laughed more and more, and through this growing gurgling laugh, I almost completely stopped understanding her.
— So what? What?! I shook her hands, which she had never taken away from me, making it seem to me that I was holding a bloody jewel in my hands that I had only been allowed to touch and hold, and she felt much, much better off without this burden.
— What?! Suddenly Anya started laughing completely hysterically and loudly. “Yes, I crushed this thing with my finger!” You see, I crushed this thing with one finger! And when I finished playing, I got dirty. It's his blood — it's not mine! Someone else's blood — who did he bite in the hall... Ha ha ha!
Throwing her head back, she began to laugh so much that she seemed to drown in that laugh. And when I realized that she was hysterical, I quickly took my friend out of the hall. We only came back to announce the winners. Of course, Anya won that contest. For this she was given a diploma and said a lot of admiring words...
It's been ten years since we met after high school. I came home from another city for a while. And when I got off the bus, I met Anya, who was rolling her stroller uphill. We stopped to chat. She talked about how she graduated from university, got married and gave birth. He is waiting for the maternity leave to end and wants to go to work.
— Where do you work? — I asked.
Yes, as a manager at the firm, Anya brushed it off.
— What about music? Didn't you go to music school? They all said...
Anya looked at me a little longer than before.
I don't play anymore, she said. “I crushed this thing.”
And suddenly she smiled at me with exactly the same quiet and happy smile as people in the audience often smiled when listening to her music. Quiet, peaceful and happy — like I've never smiled before.
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