Till we meet again

“So, Roger, tell us more about yourself.” The music director asked. His needle-gaze fixated on Roger’s eyes without moving a muscle, almost like a statue. Roger began tapping his index finger against his thigh. Small droplets of sweat gathered in his front and upper-lip, as he fetched for some answer to the interviewer’s question. But that type of question - how is one supposed to answer?

“I am a father of two children... well, one child actually,” Roger corrected himself.

“So, is it one or two children?”

“I..., I, I only have one child, a son, Sir.”

“I see.” The interviewer said looking vehemently at his clock “So why don’t you show us what you have, Mr. Roger.”

Roger pulled himself up and went straight up to the piano standing next to the director’s desk. He sat in the middle of the piano bench, fidgeting his legs under the keys and slightly moving his torso around to find the best and most comfortable position to play.

“Are you ready Mr. Roger? We’re waiting for you.” To this, Roger nodded his head once and heaved a long trembling sigh.

He put his hands over the piano keys; fingers spread open, hovering between the C and the D-flat. Roger kept his sight on the music sheet without being able to make out the black blotches strewn across the empty white pages. Faint giggles rebounded through the sound board which made Roger’s eyes well up in a thick glossy lens of tears.

“Is there something wrong with the piano Mr. Roger? Have you never played Mozart?” Said the director “Listen, we don’t have all day. Many professional teachers are waiting outside for this position, and...”

“It’s ok, It’s just that... These last months have been very difficult for me and I stopped teaching piano ever since my daughter... Well, that doesn’t really matter. But, I am alright now, I assure you, let me start again.”

The director sighed “Go on then.”

A gulp of saliva passed noisily down Roger’s throat and his fingers fell lightly on the keys, pressing gently and smoothly without any sound break, increasing the speed and slowing it down, playing with scales higher up the right-hand keys. His eyelids were forcefully shut, and two vertical creases were drawn between his eyebrows.

This time Roger gazed fixedly at the music sheet in front of him and began swaying his hands across the long line of keys without lowering his eyes, not even once. Transfixed by the black notes on the paper. His right hand stood in the middle as he began shifting his left arm from right to left, and left to right; going from lento to andante, then sped up to allegretto. Thin dark hair flopping up and down with growing tension in his neck.

The music director closed his eyes with delicacy to better savour the swirling rhythm of the cords. His swaying hands hovering around his body with voluntary movements in front an imaginary orchestra, punctuated by occasional jolts and turns of his possessed head.

It was not too long before Roger heard giggles coming back, but this time louder and clearer, they were coming out of the piano as part of the melody. The more intensely he played the louder the giggles became, so he began to bang away until he could hear the giggles closer and closer. The piano notes began to frolic in non-sequential ways. Breaking the space between his hands, breaking the focus from his eyes, breaking the tempo all together. Shiny tears were growing from the corner of his red-shot eyes. Veins popping through his forehead; red ears fuming with heat and itchiness. A bang to the right, another bang on the left. The keys of the piano were played, then banged, and slammed!

The director woke up from his orchestral dream. “Stop, stop, stop! What was that horrendous Rubato? Do you want to be a music teacher or not?” The director said, inching closer to the pianist for no word came out of Roger’s mouth. “What’s the matter with you? Are you crying? Do you think this institution is a joke? Am I a joke to you? Am I a...”

“Sorry, sir. I keep hearing this giggles ”

“What giggles are you talking about?”

“Her giggles, Sir, they appeared when I was playing. Didn’t you hear?” His tearful eyes

attempted to refocus on the director.

“I could only hear the janitor upstairs moving the furniture with better rhythm than you, that’s what I heard.” The director shuffled the papers on his desk “Now if you want to play games, I suggest you leave my office, I’ve seen enough of you.”

“Sir, give me one more chance, please. I will show you.” Roger turned on his axis back toward the piano. The director gave him a distasteful look and sat back down on his chair, looking furiously at his watch again.

Roger proceeded with gentle hand motions. The piano began to sing in cords that were never heard before. Spotlights beaming out from the heart of the piano, beating and becoming alive at each melodic touch. His hands dancing with the piano through the waltz, as though they were long time friends. Then again, a giggle came out. Roger tried to look around to see where the giggle came from as he kept playing the piano in a mindless way. Roger stuck out his attentive ear in the air. Giggles began to rebound from inside the piano—Funny giggles, happy giggles, melancholic giggles, mournful giggles, child-like giggles. Roger’s hot tears fell one by one, seeping through the smiling toothy keys of the piano. The piano’s giggles were slowly turning into a joyous voice, a young girl’s voice. That little girl who made him smile in the most mundane mornings. She would always be excited to go to school with her dog toy tucked under her arm—she called it Biscuit, and she took care of it like a real dog; she used to feed it with cheerios. But nothing compares to those weekend afternoons when Roger would play the piano in the living room as his daughter, dressed like a princess, painted with watercolours—simple things; like happy faces or clouds. After painting she liked to sit next to his father and see his fingers move swiftly across the piano keys—which always ended up in their favourite song.

Now they were there again, breathing next to each other in the same position, mumbling the same tune in perfect unison. Roger kept waltzing with the piano keys. The room became full of million notes, notes that one could not hear coming out from an ordinary piano, notes that broke all the laws of music. Roger turned his head to the right, lowering his eyes to see the fresh and shimmering face of Maria. She looked just the same since he last saw her. Her twinkling blue eyes full of curiosity, her flaming red hair falling disorderly down her frivolous dress of princess—full of flying ruffles wrapped around her arms and hips. They began to sing together, in the same way they did before.

“I like to sing when I look up

Into the cloudy London sky

Just pour some tea into my cup

As fairies teach us how to fly

Because together you and I

We’ll make...”

“Maria!” Roger whispered in euphoria with a painfully delighted facial expression.

“Maria? Who are you talking to? Stop that darn piano now I say!” The director said, but given to the little effect that his orders had on Roger, he walked up to him with fierce eyes “Okay the show is over Mr Roger!”

“Maria keep singing, show him your voice, my pretty girl, sing!” Roger began to shout “Maria, Maria!”. Then he turned to look at the director while still playing “Open your eyes! she’s right here next to me, Don’t you see her?”

“Are you out of your mind? Get out of my classroom!”

Roger got up from the piano bench with his body shaking “Maria! don’t go, Maria!” His face began to twitch with sudden jerks of the mouth “Don’t take me away from her! Let me see her again, that’s my daughter!” Roger said in wobbly croaks. Roger’s vision fogged up, his hands clenched, his jaw tensed up. His whole body began to jitter—each breath shorter and shorter. Strings of sweat falling from his temples. Scared that Roger might hit him in his outburst, the director began to inch away in small steps.

“Okay, let’s try to breathe, let’s calm down.” The director tried to choose his words carefully to protect himself from Roger’s unpredictable movements.

“Maria! I’ll go find you. We will meet again! I promise! I promise...” Roger’s eyes were closing and his head began to hang loosely. The director was making his way out when he saw Roger collapse on the floor.

“Please someone call a doctor or an ambulance, hurry!”

Roger woke up sweating from a nightmare, or perhaps it was a nightmare that he woke up into, for he had realised he was no longer at home. Walls were grey, windows foggy, ceilings low, and he was not the only person in the room. Two long rows of white beds were positioned at opposite ends, leaving an empty pathway between the rows. Busy women dressed in white walked past from one bed to the other, sometimes there were five of them around just one bed. There were mystic shrieks, echoing cackles and painful yowls. One of the nurses looked at Roger who was attempting to get up from bed. She strode up to him in a hurry and with gentle hushes she attempted to put him back down in his bed sheets. Roger refrained from this and strained his muscles “What am I doing here? Is this a hospital?”.

“It’s alright Sir, you are in good hands now. There’s nothing to worry about.” The nurse tried to reassure him.

“But what’s this place? Where am I?”

“Calm down Sir, you are at Bethlem’s mental institution. There is nothing to worry about, we'll take care of you.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of. I want to go back home, and I want to see my daughter!” Roger’s face contracted at the thought of Maria. “You. You took me away from my daughter! Where is she? I won’t lose her again.” Roger stood up from his bed with all the might he had left and began to stride barefoot on the squeaking wooden floor towards the exit, dodging the nurses blocking his way.

“This must be a big misunderstanding!” Roger began to raise his voice “I’m sure someone will come for me soon, you’ll see! I have two children, oh and I have a wife too!” Roger was shaking the nurses’ hands off his shoulders. “Let me go!” His yowl drowned out all noises in the room, including the cackles.

One of the nurses made a signal to the doorkeeper standing by the exit. “Take him to the electroshock room.” The nurse told him in a monotonous tone. Roger had never seen nor heard a woman going suddenly from being dearly kind to such hostility and lack of humanity in his whole life. His heart began to raise as he was being ushered out of the room and into the hallway.

“Down to the electroshock room.” Informed the doorkeeper to the nurses who were carrying Mr Roger.

As Roger was being hauled along the corridor, a violent knock at the entrance distracted the attention of the doorkeeper and went straight to answer the door. In came a distressed woman looking for his husband.

“My name’s Janet, I’m looking for my husband, Roger, I’ve been told he was sent to this institution.” Janet was panting.

“But, see, right now they are a little busy with him ma’am, why don’t you come another day.” Said the doorman listlessly and with blatant indifference.

“No, I won’t wait! That's my husband right there! What are you doing to him?” Janet’s voice rebounded through the main corridor.

“Janet?” Roger was able to hear his wife at the entry door. “Janet, I'm here!”

“Roger!” Janet ran towards her husband’s voice. She saw him squirming, grappling against five strong nurses. “Let him go! Where are you taking him?” Janet's voice broke.

“Your husband keeps imagining a child, he says it’s her daughter, Maria.” Explained one of the nurses “Do you have a daughter named Maria Miss?”

Janet’s face fell crumbling into a collection of memories, hands cupped over her mouth. She became speechless.

“Miss, please answer my question.” The nurse insisted.

“She was,” Janet struggled to finish her sentence. “But now, not any more… She’s dead.” The last words came so soft that the nurse could barely hear them.

“No more words, take him down ladies.” Ordered the nurse to her comrades.

“Wait!” Janet let out a deadly scream when she realised that three nurses were now grabbing her by the arms and holding her back toward the exit. Janet sprang into a wavering voice, singing:

“I like to sing when I look up

Into the cloudy London sky

Just pour some tea into my cup.”

“Janet! Don’t go.”

“Take him down!”

“As fairies teach us how to fly

Because together you and I

We’ll make the world a better place.”

“Keep walking Mr Roger!”

“Maria, keep your mother safe.”

“In my embrace I can see her too!”

“I won’t forget your face. My sweet Maria”

“Miss Roger you can’t be here!”

“I’ll come back for you!”

“Till we meet again.”