The tall elderly
gentleman walked into the living room surveying its furnishings, eyes alighting
on the reason he was here. There was
instant recognition and approval as he walked over to the piano and touched the
fine wood cabinet. He placed his black
leather case on the floor and sat down on the bench. His long fingers stroked
the keys lovingly. With theatrical gestures he turned to the piano keys, lifted
his arms gracefully with elbows bent, wrists arched and fingers held just above
the keys. He paused as if he were
choosing the right moment before beginning. He elevated his chin and then
lowered it leaning into the piano as he struck a single chord. Then, as though
he were performing for an unseen audience he inhaled dramatically and began
playing. My mother stood by and listened
appreciatively as his fingers moved deftly across the keys executing progressions
that evoked images of a concert pianist.
I recognized bits and pieces from a piano sonata from a record my
parents played. I was in awe of the
man's ability. He stopped playing and
turned to my mother. They spoke quietly and then he reached for his bag. My mother stepped back and regarded him a
moment then quietly left the room. I
remained peering behind the door, my vantage point hidden from his view. My mother whispered to me that I must be
silent so as not to disturb. I was a shy
and curious child. I would remain to
observe what was happening without being seen. Even at that young age I knew
that I was
witnessing something unique, maybe
magical. I should remain a silent
witness to the process. I watched as he
extracted his tools. One metal object
was particularly interesting. It was smooth and two-pronged. I had never seen anything resembling it.
There were other things too: a small hammer and some red felt strips. He opened the top of the piano revealing the
strings and felt hammers. He bent over
and began his work. I couldn't see what
he was doing and though I wanted to move closer I stayed where I was, hidden.
The man reached
over, lifted the two pronged fork and tapped it. There was a vibration that caused a
tone. I learned later that it was a
tuning fork. He cocked his head and
concentrated on the tone. Once again he
bent over the internal parts of the piano moving quickly and expertly. He played a single note and listened
carefully. He made adjustments and moved
on. He played notes over and over not
satisfied until he heard what I could not hear.
His practiced ears caught the subtleties. I was mesmerized by his training...his
ability to hear the slightest variation in tone. When he was finished he took a deep
breath. It was as though he had not
breathed the entire time for fear that he would interrupt his work or inhibit
his perception. He put down his tools, sat
back down on the bench playing arpeggios, then a quick classical offering that
made me want to applaud his prowess.
The man stood up,
put his tools back in the black case and gave a satisfied smile. He looked over at me as if he had known I had
been there the whole time. He winked at
me surprising me with his acknowledgement.
I was embarrassed and blushed deeply.
My mother came up behind me and told the man my name. She told him that one day she
would teach me to
play the piano but I was still too young.
He nodded approvingly. Then my
mother paid the man and showed him to the door.
Our piano was tuned. I had not
even noticed that it had needed tuning.
I asked my mother about it later.
She told me that even though we might not be aware that the piano was
out of tune the piano tuner had come to perform a 'fine tuning'. I asked her about the tuning fork and she
told me how it worked. I thought that it
was something very special. For weeks I
imagined owning a tuning fork and using it to observe the slight variations of
sounds.
This is how I would
later view my actions in life. I would
do something and then observe the effects.
I would sometimes have to modify--to 'tune' my behavior, reaction, mood,
or emotion. It was my imaginary tuning fork that provided the guidance to tune
the strings of my life--the stings that held the days and years together with the
vibration and acceptable variations that made beautiful music and provided a
harmonious environment.
No comments:
Post a Comment