Allegro Appassionato

Family traditions were in vogue during the days of my youth, and despite my protestations I suffered the teenage embarrassment of having to take piano lessons with old Miss.

Chiddicle.

Dad called her an old frump, and she was just that. Well into her eighties, she had taught piano for generations of Moreleys.

No tears were shed when my Mom drew me aside and announced that the old dragon had `passed away’. I was overjoyed.
“Does that mean no more piano lessons?” I asked hopefully.

“Gracious no!” replied my Ma, much to my disappointment. “I have arranged for you to take lessons with Lycinda Grubchek, a poor Russian woman from behind the Iron Curtain, I hear she’s very good.”

I was stunned. What in the name of glory would my mates say when I announced I was taking piano lessons with a Russian Refugee from behind the iron curtain?

The day arrived for my first lesson with my new teacher. “Don’t forget to tell her all you’ve learned from Miss. Chiddicle,” shouted my Ma.

“I won’t,” I replied, slamming the front door almost off it`s hinges.

I was fourteen, a tall gangling youth with thoughts of becoming a soccer star as I knocked forcefully on Lycinda Grubchek`s front door.

It took a while for it to open, and I was about to leave when she eventually appeared.

“Ah!” beamed a gorgeous young woman. “You are Geoffrey… no?”

Struck dumb by her outstanding beauty, words failed me. No more than nineteen, Lycinda had long raven black hair , soft doe-like brown eyes, and a figure that would have put any film star to shame.

She also wore a cat-suit in black gossamer with large orange butterflies that clung to her youthful figure leaving nothing to the imagination. My head spun.

`Could this be my new piano teacher?’ I pondered, knowing with my luck, this was probably her youngest daughter.
“Er…. yes Ma`am,” I stammered.

“You will please to come in, no?” Her Russian accent was already music to my ears.

Opening the door wider, I brushed past her and was enveloped by a fragrance that made my head reel. In the far corner of the parlour stood an old upright Steinway piano complete with a long leather bound seat.

“Please to sit, you have music…no?” She asked.

I handed her my music case in a misty trance. “So Geoffrey, how long you play piano…yes?”

“Er..three years,” I stammered, while she sorted out the sheets of music.

“So…first please to excuse my English and two…I like you to play this one for start, iss Brahms, iss very beautiful.”

She sat beside me, legs touching from thigh to knee and her warmth so overpowering I found I could hardly breathe.
Hands poised above the keyboard, she immediately stopped me.

“No, no Geoffrey,” she reprimanded. “You must hold your hands like you hold a a…..a…..” Lycinda searched for the right word. “A woman’s breast, fingers rounded… …soft…caressing…”

I blushed crimson.

“There, you try again….no?”

In four minutes of lesson my heart was beating almost out of control. I began to play badly. Stumbling, and making some gross musical mistakes, I completed the work as best I could.

Lycinda’s pretty face lit up. “That was good, Geoffrey…very good,” she began. “Now I show you how to play from the heart.”

I moved over, and she began to play Brahms famous Lullaby. Eyes closed, she softly hummed the tune to herself while her fingers moved gracefully over the keyboard. I was entranced.

“Oh Miss Grubchik, that was…was….was so beautiful.”

Her next words floored me. “Please to call me Nikki, I haff second name, Nikola.”

All too soon, our half hour session came to an end.

As she closed the door behind me I knew for certain that I was hopelessly head over heels in love with my m usic teacher.
Drifting home on `cloud nine’, I went straight to my piano.

Hands ready, and hovering above the keyboard, I blushed, remembering only too well the shape they must make. I sighed, how was I going to get through the week without her?

My second music lesson found me half way down the street without my music case.

“You must be in love?” laughed my older sister handing it to me. How right she was.

“Nikki greeted me at the front door looking radiant. “Today, you learn to play piano with your heart.”
I was puzzled, “My heart?”

Nikki smiled, “Come sit, I show you how.”

She began to play Chopin`s Polonaise in A flat Major, a powerful piece that easily demonstrated the passion and fervour of the composer and his times.

Tears blinding her eyes, Nikki played on relentlessly, completely lost in the anguish and tragedy that the Polish composer cleverly conveyed.

With the final stirring cords of the crescendo, Nikki collapsed onto the keyboard. Her shoulders shaking with emotion, I made a feeble attempt to comfort her.

She turned, and with her arms around my neck, she sobbed for what seemed a long long time….I never wanted her to stop. After a few minutes she recovered. “This music is not good for me,” she confessed, “I just play for you from deep inside my heart.”

I was learning fast.

Each week I would select the music that I planned to play for my beloved. Through this I would unveil to her the inner secrets of my heart.

A glorious eighteen months went by before I realised something was very wrong. Our musical interludes waned and almost disappeared.

Nikki behaved strangely and even went away for several weeks. I was devastated.

One Tuesday afternoon I was greeted by a stranger at Nikki`s door. “Haven`t you heard?” she asked.
“Heard, heard what?”

“Nikki Grubchek died of leukaemia last Thursday, were you a pupil?”

I stood and howled on the doorstep, “Yes,’ I sobbed. “I was her pupil, my name is Geoffrey.”

She turned to go inside. “Geoffrey?” she exclaimed, “Nikki left you a note.”

I was handed an old looking envelope and inside were two pages of musical score……and it was
obvious that Nikki had composed the piece of music…..under lined right at the end she had written,
“Allegro Appassionato.

With the heart dear Geoffrey….with the heart.”