Nocturnes_ Five Stories of Music and Nightfall - Kazuo Ishiguro [67]
He’d forgotten about her and was preparing to get back to his room for a couple of hours’ practice before his neighbour came in for lunch and turned on that radio, when suddenly there was the woman standing in front of him.
She was beaming broadly, everything in her manner suggesting they already knew each other. In fact it was only his natural shyness that stopped him greeting her. Then she placed a hand on his shoulder, as though he’d failed some test but was being forgiven anyway, and said:
“I was at your recital the other day. At San Lorenzo.”
“Thank you,” he replied, even as he realised how foolish this might sound. Then when the woman just went on beaming down at him, he said: “Oh yes, the San Lorenzo church. That’s correct. I did indeed give a recital there.”
The woman laughed, then suddenly seated herself in the chair in front of him. “You say that like you’ve had a whole string of engagements lately,” she said, a hint of mockery in her voice.
“If that is so, I’ve given you a misleading impression. The recital you attended was my only one in two months.”
“But you’re just starting out,” she said. “You’re doing fine to get any engagements at all. And that was a good crowd the other day.”
“A good crowd? There were only twenty-four people.”
“It was the afternoon. It was good for an afternoon recital.”
“I should not complain. Still, it wasn’t a good crowd. Tourists with nothing better to do.”
“Oh! You shouldn’t be so dismissive. After all, I was there. I was one of those tourists.” Then as he began to redden—for he hadn’t meant to give offence—she touched his arm and said with a smile: “You’re just starting out. Don’t worry about audience size. That’s not why you’re performing.”
“Oh? Then why am I performing if not for an audience?”
“That’s not what I said. What I’m saying to you is that at this stage in your career, twenty in the audience or two hundred, it doesn’t matter. Should I tell you why not? Because you’ve got it!”
“I have it?”
“You have it. Most definitely. You have … potential.”
He stifled a brusque laugh that came to his lips. He felt more reproach towards himself than for her, for he had expected her to say “genius” or at least “talent” and it immediately struck him how deluded he’d been to expect such a comment. But the woman was continuing:
“At this stage, what you’re doing is waiting for that one person to come and hear you. And that one person might just as easily be in a room like that one on Tuesday, in a crowd of just twenty people …”
“There were twenty-four, not including the organisers …”
“Twenty-four, whatever. What I’m saying is that numbers don’t matter right now. What matters is that one person.”
“You refer to the man from the recording company?”
“Recording? Oh no, no. That’ll take care of itself. No, I mean the person who’ll make you blossom. The person who’ll hear you and realise you’re not just another well-trained mediocrity. That even though you’re still in your chrysalis, with just a little help, you’ll emerge as a butterfly.”
“I see. By any chance, might you be this person?”
“Oh, come on! I can see you’re a proud young man. But it doesn’t look to me like you have so many mentors falling over themselves to get to you. At least not ones of my rank.”
It occurred to him then that he was in the midst of making a colossal blunder, and he considered the woman’s features carefully. She’d now removed her sunglasses, and he could see a face that was essentially gentle and kind,