No Room For Macabre

I was sitting on the broken wooden chair. The room was dimly lit. Outside the sun has set and darkness was creeping in like the thick velvet curtains of theatres. I was used to it- the lack of light used to bother me too much, but now it’s just normal. It embraces me, just as how I am and that feeling is comforting.

It has been around half an hour since mother left. She made me dress up in a new stiff and crisp black suit and went inside the kitchen. Mother likes to buy suits for me, and every time she buys a new suit she tells me to wear it and play ‘Danse Macabre’, by Camille Saint Saens for her. When today she walked into my room with the suit, I knew I would be playing. I look down on my hands, my hands hurt and it wouldn’t be quite comforting to play the piano in this state, but I couldn’t say no to mother knowing the fact that denying would fetch worse consequences.

I had learned the piece when I was a tenth grader, but I could never perfectly play it. Undoubtedly, the piece is very difficult to play but I wanted to learn it since childhood because it was my mother’s favorite. I remember how mother used to shut herself in her room and would spin around in the darkness on her own with a wine glass in her hand while the song was being played on the gramophone.

Mother emerged from the kitchen with a half-filled glass of wine in her hand. I sat straight, keeping my gaze down and my hands folded on my lap. She smiled and stood in front of me. Caressing my cheek she said, “Will you play me my favourite song like always, darling? This time do not make a mistake, okay?” I smiled weakly and nodded. The pain in my fingers which I tried to push away started throbbing. Mother walked back and pulled a chair to sit in front of me, swirling the wine in her hand. My hands started trembling on my lap. My heart started throbbing against my chest as I tried to even my breathing and stand up on the cold damp floor. I drifted slowly to the piano and sat down on the stool. My hands were still trembling. I could feel the rapid beating of my heart. I must have spaced out palpitating. Mother’s deep voice broke me from my trance. “You know, darling, I do not have much patience. Start playing. Now.” She said and I knew what that voice meant. Without much ado, I lit the candle standing on the piano. I took out the yellowed sheet music from my pocket and placed it on the piano.

I placed my fingers on the piano and started to play adroitly over the ivory keys. I knew the chords; I had been practicing for almost a year now. I was hitting the correct keys. As I glanced at mother, I could see her swaying lightly to the tune, a smile on her lips. I remember how she used to be before my father died. We were all happy. She would sing to me from time to time and even take me out to play. I remember when I was around six years old how she always told me never to go to the basement. I could hear a noise fleeting up to my room from there and was always curious to see what was making that noise. It kind of used to sound like a wailing dog and I wanted to see that dog because I loved dogs and mother would never allow one in our home. Unable to keep my curiosity, I opened the door to the basement and tiptoed my way down the stairs. As I peeked around, I could nowhere see a puppy. Mother came storming down the stairs and yanked me out of the basement. She yelled at me. She had never yelled at me before at her voice turned so deep and weird that my body began to tremble as I looked up at her squarely and cried. I cried hard. She told me never to go into the basement again and gave me two cookies. Those made me feel better. I was feeling way better so I did not ask why papa tied on a chair in the basement was making noises like a wailing dog and why he had no hands. I didn’t see papa after that day. Later after some days, the boy next door told me that my papa was dead. I didn’t know what dead meant but when I knew I could put the pieces together.

My bruised fingertips were dancing over the keys. A finger slipped and the piano groaned. The smile wore off my mother’s face. Her gaze became cold. A chill ran down my spine. I focused on my now bloodied fingers as they kept wandering over the ivory keys. I missed it again. “Darling, you are not focusing.” She spoke sternly. I could feel the roughness in her voice slowly approaching to engulf me. I kept my eyes trained on the keys. I could feel the sweat trickling down my forehead and down my back and the throbbing of my own eyes. I missed another note.

“You are not even trying. Again!” she growled pacing behind me. “Your father would be ashamed of you.” My sight starts getting blurry. I shift my eyes from the yellow sheet music to the ivory keys, trying to hit the notes correctly. I skipped another note. “Faster. Again” She was roaring now as she banged the table beside the piano. I lost my ability to think. My mind was in disarray. I start playing even faster. My fingers practically ran over the piano. Scenes from the past began playing in my head – when I saw father crying in the basement, when mother tried to throw me down the stair when I found dead cats under her bed when she tried to poison my dinner and I ended up vomiting my entire dinner and sleeping hungry- I hit the wrong note and the piano groaned loudly echoing through the silent house. “Worthless” she clicked her tongue. Dropping her hands on both her sides she sighed loudly and marched into the kitchen.

I sat there, my head hanging low in shame. Tears started streaming down my cheeks uncontrollably. All I wanted was to be a good child for my mother. Now I just want to scream, scream for help, cry for someone to come and save me. I knew nobody would come, nobody would help me. They are too scared of her. I messed up, like every time but this time was worse. I knew what consequences are about to come. The wooden floor creaked loudly as mother returned from the kitchen. She closed the door behind her slowly, locking it. My eyes were focused on the ground. I felt her feet approaching me. She stopped in front. She lifted my chin with a finger to face her. “I thought you were worth more, but you have to prove me wrong every time. Why is it so, darling?” My breath hitched. She removed her hand and walked back to get her knife from the table. It was hard to play with three fingers. It’ll be harder with two.