THE MUSICIAN

"You idiots, you blockheads!" shrieked Henry at the owner of a Polish diner on the outskirts of the city. She hoisted the massive cello case onto her back and, with complete composure, walked out into the street.

Henry had no idea where to go. The room she rented with four other girls brought nothing but thoughts of hanging herself. The conservatory was closed on Sundays, and because of her stubbornly introverted nature, she hadn’t made any friends in Warsaw.

The diner "Szybko i smaczne," which in Polish means "Quick and Tasty," was the fifth place she had been fired from with a scandal. Each time it happened for different reasons, but the gist was always the same: Henry was not suited for any “normal” profession. This was her personal and final conclusion. The only job she saw herself in was music. But Henry had never made a cent from music in her life because she was convinced there was no need to add more ugliness to a world already saturated with uniform, hideous pop music blaring from cafes and restaurants, wounding the ears of sensitive souls.

"Ugliness," in this case, was what she thought of her cello playing. Despite the fact that she had been playing since the age of 7, had repeatedly won music competitions, and had gotten into the Fryderyk Chopin Music Academy in Warsaw on her first try, she didn’t think her playing was worth attention. Henry had her own strict internal criteria by which she felt she should never even touch the instrument. Who set these standards and when was hard to say. There were no musicians in her family, so any sounds Henry produced on the cello while living with her parents were met with enthusiastic exclamations. Her father, at every opportunity, would proudly and succinctly say, "Our great cellist." Naturally, this infuriated Henry. Once, in the hope of ending the farce, she showed her parents a YouTube video of Jacqueline du Pré in a pink dress, playing a heart-wrenching Brahms concerto with Daniel Barenboim. She expected her parents to calm down after seeing it, but her expectations were not met. Her father, an electrician all his life, commented, "First of all, who dresses like that for a concert? And second, Henry, honestly, you play much more interestingly. This girl is kind of twitchy." Since then, Henry stopped discussing music with her parents and kept her performances secret.

Not having any ideas about her next destination, Henry decided to go to the park to feed the squirrels. She always did this in situations like today—unpleasant and dead-end ones. And since such situations happened often, there was always a small bag of walnuts in her purse.

Henry sat on the first bench she saw, carefully placed her cello beside her, pulled a pack of red Marlboros from her pocket, and took a long-awaited drag.

"This couldn’t get any worse," Henry thought. "If I don’t find a new job within a week, I’ll have to move out of my room, and without the room, I have no idea what I’ll do. I can’t stand another job like the previous five. I’ll have to go back to my parents."

That thought was unbearable. To leave her hometown, she had to save a small but enormous sum of money for someone without a job. A month before her departure, Henry, in secret, even worked as a dancer in a nightclub. Though she couldn’t dance at all, they hired her because she had a pretty face and could act charming in critical moments.

Henry saw a squirrel, reached into her bag for the walnuts, grabbed a handful, and stretched out her hand. The squirrel ran up, grabbed a nut, and scurried away.

Henry lit a second cigarette in a row and stared blankly ahead. She watched people passing by. Each person seemed to have a purpose, unlike her.

Her gaze stopped. Slowly walking through the park was a miserable trio: a hunched, lopsided old man carrying a worn-out, clearly reused heavy bag, a more upright but swollen-ankled grandmother in brown stockings that only elderly people wear, and in the middle, waddling from side to side and leaning on either the grandfather or the grandmother, was a short-haired girl in orthopedic shoes with Down syndrome. They walked, and it was clear the grandmother and grandfather were having an animated conversation, while the girl simply moved along, her gaze in a world slightly different from everyone else’s.

Seeing this trio, something stirred inside Henry. Although she felt awkward staring at strangers, she couldn’t look away. They approached.

"Forgive us, we need to catch our breath. May we sit here with you?" said the grandmother.

Henry nodded, silently moved the cello off the bench, and placed it beside her.

"Sorry to bother you. We won’t be long. It’s just one of those crazy days, I swear," the grandmother fretted.

"It's fine. You’re not bothering me. The day really isn’t great," Henry said quietly.

The old man collapsed first onto the bench, breathing heavily and visibly upset. Then the girl sat, followed by the grandmother. An awkward silence hung in the air.

"I just don’t get it, what kind of people are these? Now we have to run back and forth because their computer's broken?" the old man rasped, his voice rough, making it nearly impossible to understand him.

"A total mess. Might as well sleep on this bench so we don’t have to make that trip again," the grandmother said helplessly.

Judging by their appearance and group composition, Henry assumed they had tried to visit a clinic but didn’t manage to see the doctor.

"Uu! Uu!" the girl squealed when she saw the squirrel. "Oh, we’ve eaten all our snacks. We’ve got nothing left to give her now." "U! U! U!" the girl didn’t calm down, jumping up and down with excitement.

Henry pulled out her bag of walnuts and handed it to the girl.

"Fank you! Aaa! Uuu!" the girl rejoiced.

"But you must’ve wanted to feed the squirrels yourself. Now we’ve come along, kicked you off your bench, and taken your nuts," the grandmother continued to worry.

"I feed them every day. It’s fine," Henry said quietly, watching the girl ecstatically feeding the squirrel.

The walnuts ran out, and the squirrel ran off again.

"Let’s go," the grandfather said decisively and stood up.

"No, no, no, no!" the girl began to babble and stomped her feet.

"What now? You’re going to put on a concert here? Irma, come on, let’s not bother this poor girl anymore."

"No, no, no! Aaaaa!" Irma began to sob.

"Irma! Irma! Stop this nonsense immediately! God, I’m so tired of all of you!" the old man cried in despair.

"I’m staying here, here, here! I’m staying here!" Irma trembled with sobs.

Henry, unprepared to witness such a scene, froze in confusion. She couldn’t just leave; she had grown fond of this unfortunate trio. The nuts were gone, and communication was not her strong suit.

"How about I play for you?" Henry blurted out, surprising herself. She swiftly unpacked her cello and struck the strings before anyone in the trio could react, and Irma suddenly fell silent, focusing all her attention on Henry.

The sounds of the cello filled the park, passersby stopped, mesmerized by the strange scene of the four of them. Even the exhausted grandfather sat back down on the bench to listen. After a while, a small crowd gathered in the park. One man, who had been standing and listening for a long time, threw a few large bills into Henry's cello case before heading on his way.

"Music! Music! Mu-sic!" Irma clapped her hands joyfully.

Henry played the final chord. A hush fell over the park, followed by applause from the audience.

"Ha ha! Music! Beautiful music! Ha ha ha ha!" Irma cheered, jumping up and down.

Henry, as if she didn’t quite realize what had just happened, bowed to the audience and was about to leave. She had no idea how this could possibly continue.

"Music! Real music! You’re a real musician! Uuu!" Irma exclaimed, embracing Henry with all her might, forgetting about the exhausting journey, the clinics, and even the squirrels.

Lost in Irma’s embrace, Henry no longer cared what she would do next or where she would live. But she knew for sure that she would never return to her hometown or any stupid diners again.