- You see, in every step, in every word there should be music ...
- Someone gets everything while other gets nothing! ..
- No, it does not go this way... It is unfair to judge from the outside. You can't see the music with your eyes. What it seems is not what it really is...
It was May, and cold and solemnity reigned in the corridors of the old building. At the open window stood a girl with flowers in her arms and a woman in a knitted sweater, casually thrown over her shoulders, with a folder of notes under her arm. And then there was music. The violin was singing. It was singing in such way that the girl was afraid to sigh or cry, and only fiddled with the flowers, their red petals trembled like in a fever.
- You could play the same way.
- Me? - the girl was surprised.
- Yes, you. Don't make a surprised face! Don't ask for compliments.
Then they clapped for a long time, and the young violinist bowed to the audience.
The girl entered the hall and handed her flowers.
July. All windows are open. The hall is full of adults, children, smart teachers... whispers, smiles, movements. Everyone is looking at the stage where the girl is standing. She has a violin in her hands. Her hands are trembling. There is no blood in the tense face.
The same woman is sitting at the piano, only now she is not wearing a thick jacket, but a white blouse and a black skirt up to her feet. The girl looked at her accompanist, the waman nodded. The bow rested on the strings. AND…
The crowded hall held its breath.
The walls swung unsteadily in front of the eyes and floated, observing the size and rhythm. So they get to the land of dreams ...
... nasty fingers stick to the 'neck', the bow squeaks...
The heart felt sweet and a little painful to beat in this rhythm - tender, viscous, enchanting. The wave came again - joy! would not choke...
Ah, this heart! Well, that it pounds so much - I can't hear anything! Wooden suction cups, not fingers. What are they doing!
...Somewhere high above the heads, ringing strings floated in a pink mist. Again the fearless Orpheus tried to save his Eurydice, and again...
...monstrous, inept vibration! Now this difficult passage is a crescendo, well! and then the transition from the first to the seventh position - just to hold out... Lord, Lord, help me!..
A song of unearthly love was sung. Song of songs. And again the rapture rises - the tide, spring ... a new wave ... and again he could not resist. And so…
.... the last note. Hold it, just hold it, don't sip, please, a little more. Oh, why am I shaking like that?!
Goodbye! Goodbye forever, heavenly melody, and you, Orpheus, and you, O Eurydice! ..
July? Full hall? All windows are open. Where is Orpheus? Where is Eurydice? A flurry of applause. Where is the pink girl with a bloodless face?
She ran through wet gardens and meadow to the cliff. Someone's "angry dog" barked loudly. The screams of the accompanist and the teacher came from behind, but soon faded away - she ran quickly, very quickly - without looking back, without stopping, in her new shiny pink dress, tightly gripping the bow and violin in her hands. Frightened, a small frog rushed to the side from the path.
Here is the cliff.
She looked down at the gray stones, where a narrow stream was silvering sparingly. She raised her head. The sky was blue, with occasional white streaks. The opposite slope, bathed in sun, was violently green.
But her heart was breaking with inexpressible torment - shame, shame, weakness. To play so badly!
Now, under this magnificent sky, I am an ugly duckling, the ugliest and most despicable! I am a mediocrity, I can’t do anything, I can’t make a single normal, healthy sound!
She looked down at the gray stones again. It seemed so simple...
Are you serious? To leave in thei way?...
With a slow sweeping gesture, she lifted the violin over her shoulder, closed her eyes, and began to play.
And only the dome of the sky overhead.
And only a riot of greenery around and under your feet.
And only silver strings...
The violin breathed in time with her breathing, and the surface of its skin, darkened with time, was warm and radiated music - by itself. The bow clung to the strings, caressing them freely, without pain or strain, the soul moved into the fingers, which now were her soul, for a moment hardened into flesh.
The last sound flinched, soared and merged with the silence.
She sighed freely, opening her eyes.
- Bravo! Bravo!!
The random spectators shouted on the other bank and clapped, and smiled, and threw wildflowers, which fell in a soundless colored rain to the bottom of the cliff.
The girl waved her bow at them, bowed and slowly walked back, away from the cliff.
She walked and smiled, because music lived in her, and everyone who wanted may hear it.
- You mean life is fair to you?
- The justice of life is a complex concept... and I haven't lived mine yet.
- Don't confuse me in words. People have long defined what is good and what is bad, and it is not for you and me to change that. Or do you think that this doesn't not apply to you? Do you consider yourself better than others?
- No, I don't. It's just that every heart has its own music.
ïî-ðóññêè http://proza.ru/2017/03/26/1344