Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [71]
Veda rattled through this piece like a human pianola, while Mr. Hannen alternately screwed up his face as though he were in great pain, and stared hard at her. When silence mercifully stole into the room, he walked over to the shelves again, got out a violin case, set it beside Mildred, opened it, and began to resin the bow. "Let's try the accompanying. What's your name again?"
"Miss Pierce."
"Ah—?"
"Veda."
"Have you ever accompanied, Veda?"
"Just a little."
"Just a little, what?"
"—I beg your pardon?"
"I might warn you, Veda, that with young pupils I mix quite a general instruction, in with the musical. Now if you don't want a clip on the ear, you'll call me sir."
"Yes sir."
Mildred wanted to kick up her heels and laugh at a Veda who was suddenly meek and humble. However, she affected not to be listening, and fingered the silk of Mr. Hannen's violin cover as though it was the most interesting piece of sewing she had ever seen. He picked up the violin now, and turned to Veda. "This isn't my instrument, but there must be something for you to accompany, so it'll have to do. Sound your A."
Veda tapped a note, he tuned the violin, and set a piece of music on the piano. "All right—a little briskly. 'Don't drag it."
Veda looked blankly at the music. "Why—you've given me the violin part."
"—?"
"Sir."
"Ah, so I have."
He looked on the shelves for a moment, then shook his head. "Well, the piano part's around somewhere, but I don't seem to see it at the moment. All right, keep the violin part in front of you and give me a little accompaniment of your own. Let's see—you have four measures before I come in. Count the last one aloud."
"Sir, I wouldn't even know how to—"
"Begin."
After a desperate look at the music, Veda played a long, faltering figure that ended somewhere up in the tinkle notes. Then, thumping a heavy bass, 'she counted: "One, two, three, four and—"
Even Mildred could detect that the 'violin was certainly not Mr. Hannen's instrument. But Veda kept up her bass, and when he stopped, she repeated the long figure, thumped her bass, counted, and he came in again. This went on for a short time, but little by little, Mildred thought, it was getting smoother. Once, when Mr. Hannen stopped, Veda omitted the long figure. In its place, she repeated the last part of the air he had been playing, so that when he came in again it joined up quite neatly. When they finished, Mr. Hannen put the violin away and resumed staring at Veda. Then: "Where did you study harmony?"
"I never studied harmony, sir."
"H'm."
He walked around a few moments, said "Well" in a reflective way, and began to talk. "The technique is simply God-awful. You have a tone like a xylophone that fell in love with a hand organ, but that may respond to-whatever we do about it. And the conceit is almost beyond belief. That certainly will respond. It's responded a little already, hasn't it?"
"Yes sir."
"But—play that bit in the Rachmaninoff again, the way you said you always wanted to play it."
Rather weakly, Veda obeyed. He was beside her on the bench now, and dropped his big paw on the keys as he played after her. A tingle went through Mildred at the way it seemed to reach down into the vitals of the piano, and find sounds that were rich, dark, and exciting. She noted that it no longer seemed hairy and thick, but became a thing of infinite grace. He studied the keys a moment, then said: "And suppose you did play it that way. You'd be in a little trouble, don't you think?" He played another chord or two. "Where would you go from there?"
Veda played a few more chords, and he carefully played them after her. Then he nodded. "Yes, it could have been written that way. I really think Mr. Rachmaninoff's way is better—I find a slight touch of banality in yours, don't you?"
"What's banality, sir?"
"I mean it sounds corny. Cheap. It's got that old Poet and Peasant smell to it. Play it an octave higher and put a couple of trills in it, it would be Listen to the Mocking Bird almost