Ricardovich Alexandrov
Braunsimov was rather a jittery man at heart when he was younger. Some
psychologist might conclude that he suffered a deficit-attention disorder made
him insecure all the time, even rarely dare to look straight in his talking
partner's eye. His mother died when he was two, and somehow his father, Dmitri
Mikhailov, was trembled so bad he kind of forgot who he really was. He never
looked straight into his son's eyes. Up until Ricardovich turned 12, his father
rarely spoke to him... and Ricardovich could not understand but to swallow it
uneasily to his throat to believe that his father remained an arrogant man in
front of him.
Ricardovich was tutored
privately at home. He was never too brilliant at anything; no matter that how
Petrov, his mathematics tutor was one of the best algebraists in Russian
history, something just blocked Ricardovich's mind to comprehend the materials
he learnt. And it just did not happen in math; he could not excel in everything
from Russian literature, geography, history, government... he just hated
academic lives so much. The only thing he could bear was music. He had been
good in it, being able to master the Hungarian Rhapsody when he was 12.
He always had been happy
to play with piano. Every maid and Kruschev the old gardener praised him a lot
and seldom did they continue their work when the Young Master played his
fingers down the grand piano in the Main Hall inside the manor. For a moment
could Ricardovich smiled at himself to listen to his own playing and felt that
he worthed something.
Music is the only thing
made him dare to stand before his father about his capability.
No matter how his father
ignored him, as usual, of him and his talent and his everything.
One day when he was
nine, the Grand Piano in the manor's Main Hall broke one of its strings. The
bored little Young Master Ricardovich was waiting and waiting for the repairer
to fix it so he could continue playing, but it took some time... so he strolled
along the alley of the third floor where it was deserted because the maids were
busy cleaning in the lower storeys.
He leaned himself before
the small window balcony at the end of the alley, quietly humming Beethoven's
Moonlight Sonata. It always felt night at heart, and the light only came from
the generosity of the moon... the music, the only thing he excelled of. He
missed his father. He never knew his mother, but Father would never disignore
him no matter how good he played the piano.
He casted his gaze
around the scenery of the alley behind him. Something looked really strange...
but what did? The tapestry on the wall on his right side was silently glued as
usual, as well as the reddish empty brick wall on his left side. The empty
brick wall, strangely, was different in colours... he just realized it now.
Well, he did rarely observe this floor, though...
There were five rows of
milder red colour along the left wall.
And inside the rows,
there were even subtler periodic pattern of colours... our Little Young Master
became quite intrigued to figure it out. His head was only full of pattern of
music, if there were any, so he didn't really expect to be able to see some
meaning behind the pattern. Gosh, he could barely able to see pattern in simple
maths... how could he expect to derive something special of some subtle pattern
on the wall he barely see?
So funny how five rows
reminded him of five rows in alphabetic music notes(he was quite fluent at it,
too)... na na na na na... he could remembered the sequence of the first verses
of moonlight sonata... it should be here, here, here... as his hand traced down
the rows of different colours
... to be surprised that
every finger-tap he made on the different-coloured rows touched his hand upon
the subtler colours of the pattern! His heart chilled... how could this happen?
But he started to feel
excited. I found something here! The pattern sings Moonlight Sonata the first
verses in alphabetical music notes! He anxiously tapped on every following
sequences until the end of the wall...
and the wall slid
opened!
Anxious but excited, the
Young Master stepped inside the medium sized, high-ceiled room where he saw a
painting of a very beautiful, strong young lady with a balalaika in her hand.
He was strucked at heart by her beauty... it was as though he met his long-lost
first love.
But what distracted him
from the painting was a gigantic black, Grand Piano slightly covered by dust at
the bottom of the painting. He was really happy. Not only was he able to find
this secret room all by himself, he also acquires his new friend! Gosh... and
this piano is the Boesendorfer Concerto Grand Piano, one that he always wanted!
Doesn't any maid and servant here know about this room whatsoever?
He opened the grid and
started playing Moonlight Sonata...
Suddenly, his Father
appeared behind him with a loud noise.
Ricardovich turned his
head around, so anxious that for the first time their eyes met, what the little
boy saw was an outraged, furious man he hardly believed it was his Father. The
man who should have been loving him all this time...
You tedious prick! the
grown up man roared, and slapped Ricardovich so hard on his face.
The maids and servants
hurrily ran along to the thunderstrucked Young Master, who sadly wailed before
Dmitri Mikhailov.
The Father who should
have loved his son.
