God of Piano - God of Piano chapter 103

“I was really scared. To the point where I couldn’t even concentrate on playing properly. . . . I felt that even if I did my best without being scared, I would never win.”

It was a contest that I entered because I thought I was good enough. At that age, I thought that just playing at this level was ‘enough’. But no. The moment the modifier ‘sufficiently’ is added to greatness, that greatness is already not greatness.

That day, Rowoon realized his limits,

He had no choice but to recognize that the stage was not a place for him.

“So, do you want to overcome that memory with this opportunity?”

“Tell me what are you doing?”

Rowoon smiled.

“You have to cover it. Bad memories turn into good memories.”

“······ Well, if you can cover it, you should cover it.”

Heather replied a little too late. Perhaps it was because it reminded me of the Chopin Competition Junior runner-up. To others, it might seem like a top-notch career that makes her stand out, but she once said that it feels like a shackle that binds her.

“I wish I could get over it. In many ways.”

“I will.”

Rowoon confidently replied.

“you can do it.”

Of course, two weeks may still be a short time to narrow the distance with Brahms. However, just because Rowoon hadn’t practiced Brahms for a while, it didn’t mean that he didn’t know much about Brahms. Rather, in many ways, he was also the performer I wanted to play the most. As Rowoon, he was a performer who had no choice but to recall his old stains whenever he thought of him, so the desire to make Brahms his own was always with him.

‘Enough time.’

Even if it’s a full moon, it’s a full moon that reminds me of a song I’ve already played. Even though I couldn’t remember it with my head, my hands remembered Brahms’s Schumann in detail.

It was amazing. Even though it was a song that hadn’t been played in years, his hands naturally moved and settled on the keyboard before his head could say anything.

‘Brahms.’

Variations on a Theme by Schumann.

A song dedicated to Robert Schumann’s wife, Clara Schumann, shortly after Robert Schumann attempted suicide due to schizophrenia and was confined to a mental hospital.

Considering the numerous rumors that there was a strange relationship between Brahms and Clara Schumann, this song could have felt even more strange in many ways.

‘Did you love her?’

While playing, Rowoon asked Brahms. It may have been too personal a question for one we hadn’t had a conversation with yet, but to understand Brahms, it was essential to point out his feelings for Clara Schumann.

That was Rowan’s idea. Brahms had a crush on Clara. Maybe the line has also been crossed. However, due to the eyes of the public, he could not take the final step. And like that, the two lived their lives maintaining that ambiguous relationship, neither lovers nor friends.

That was the guess most classic fans had, not just Rowoon. But Rowoon didn’t have to dwell on that speculation. If the playing score exceeds 50 points, Brahms’ life will immediately flow into him. Because he will feel the feelings he had for Clara directly.

And, it didn’t take as long as I thought to get there.

It was a song that had already been practiced enough to enter the competition once, and the dignity and blessings that had been attached during that time were with Rowoon. It was only natural that getting over 50 was not a job.

It was before evening came that day. Rowoon’s Walkman tells him [ Your playing score is 50 points. ] and told him that he had unlocked the composition log for the first variation.

And Rowoon connected directly to Brahms’ life without any hesitation.

“Johannes.”

The first thing that greeted Rowoon was the face of Schumann, who was lying on the bed in the hospital room and staring at him. Rowoon and Brahms quietly smiled.

“Yes, Master.”

“… you are getting older too. Wrinkles have increased on your face.”

Schumann’s fingertips caressed Brahms’ face. Brahms nodded slowly.

“Time is something no one can escape.”

“Still, I haven’t heard of you dating anyone.”

“······If I meet a good person, at that time, I will be able to tell the story.”

“If you permit me, as an older person, I will teach you a little wisdom of life.”

Schumann smiled.

“There are no good people. It just makes him better. meet anyone Until their ordinary feels special. Until you feel that your life is changing because of a woman who is nothing. Then maybe, at that time, your music will definitely be different from now. More… you will be alive and breathing.”

“yes. It should be.”

Brahms nodded meekly. Brahms was famous for being quite stubborn to juniors, but Brahms was also more respectful to senior musicians than anyone else. To be precise, it was so with respectable opponents. And Schumann was a legend and a god to Brahms, almost like Beethoven.

“But, yes. Right now, I’m thinking about who to choose for that ordinary person.”

“······Yes, I’m looking forward to that moment of choice.”

Schumann smiled quietly. When seeing such Schumann, Brahms was sometimes seized by a strange impulse. That is, to Schumann, he confessed his feelings for his wife and Clara. I wanted to see Schumann swear at him in a fit of rage. Then, rather, at that moment, Brahms felt like he was about to be freed from this weight weighing down his life.

But it was something I couldn’t bring myself to say. Especially for a teacher lying in a hospital bed. While Brahms was caught in a quiet silence, Schumann opened his mouth.

From noble mtl dot com

Every now and then, as if talking to Brahms, as if talking to oneself, as if having a conversation with someone invisible.

“Music is a story.”

“We are storytellers.”

“And to be good storytellers, we have to stuff a lot of stories into our lives.”

“Meeting people is absolutely necessary for him.”

“Oh, Clara. okay. Yes… She told me so many stories.”

“Thank you. I am grateful.”

“You should also meet. Johannes.”

“Someone who will tell you many stories.”

“A pair like that.”

Even if he was normal, the appearance of Schumann, who looked like a crazy person, was creepy in a way. But Brahms did not express himself. He just held Schumann’s hand tightly.

“I have a master.”

“······Yes, even if I want to meet a mate!”

Schumann groaned. And at that moment, perhaps surprised that I had just shouted, my eyes widened, and I muttered quietly.

“Oh, no. The sound is not good. yeah sorry sorry I’m sorry. Johannes.”

“The air in the hospital is filthy. You have no choice but to be sensitive.”

“Air… yes, hospitals, hospitals are the problem. Johannes. Can you get me out of this hospital? Now I don’t want to see the oat-smelling porridge here, nor the stained windowsills anymore. me, me…”

Schumann begged Brahms, then slowly lowered his voice. It was because he realized that even after he spoke, his plea would not be heard in the end. Watching Schumann slowly turn his head and close his eyes, Brahms stood up.

“I will see you again. teacher.”

Despite holding Schumann’s hand just before, Brahms felt that there was no warmth left in his hand. He looked back at Schumann one last time before leaving the door. Now Schumann was staring through the ceiling. As if it were his lifelong enemy.

Turn your head. He swallows a sigh and grabs the doorknob. It is a doorknob that feels surprisingly cold. Open the door, stick out your foot, and,

Rowoon woke up from the journal.

“…”

And he clenched his fists.

‘He’s a difficult person. Brahms.’

And that made me even more confident.

The success of this mission will depend on how much he understands Brahms.

＜ Two Hearts (1) ＞ End

＜ Two Hearts (2) ＞

Even with a composing journal, it was never easy to understand Brahms.

First of all, it was great that Brahms himself could not clearly define the emotions he felt. How can you know the feelings you don’t know, just because someone else knows them?

Rowoon replayed Brahms’ composing journal several times. And each time, I had no choice but to realize that Brahms’ emotions were very complex and twisted.

Respect and gratitude to Schumann. And his love for Clara has grown to that extent. His upright disposition, which he couldn’t bear to betray his teacher, and the sense of guilt he had in his heart nonetheless.

Clara was everything to Brahms. She made him happy, he made him despair, he made him smile, she made him cry.

‘What kind of feeling is it? that is.’

If Rowoon had feelings similar to him, it would only be about his mother.

However, although they were similar in size, they were completely different in shape and color. To truly understand Brahms, Rowoon had to be able to understand the concept of love. And it was something incomprehensible to Rowoon that he still couldn’t fully understand.

‘Well, if it was that obvious, so many artists couldn’t have been obsessed with love.’

Heather said:

“How do you know love?”

It was a bit of an awkward conversation. Rowoon frowned.

“So you know?”

“I know.”

“… Whom did you love so much?”

“What do you know?”

Heather clicked her tongue and shook her head. Rowoon looked at her in amazement, then sighed and looked at the sheet music again.

not worth caring about That was the thought. But Heather wouldn’t let Rowoon get on his nerves. She put her face on Rowoon’s shoulder and read the handwriting tightly packed in the sheet music.

“But how on earth do you always write so many things every time you see a song? At this point, aren’t you doing this on purpose?”

“What do you know?”

Rowoon returned what Heather had said. Heather puffed out her cheeks as if they were horny, then read Rowoon’s handwriting again.

“[In this section where the octave drops, the movement has to be rapid, like a waterfall. Otherwise…] Oh, what is it? Why are you covering it when you read it?”

“······Stop watching. I didn’t write it for you to read.”

“No, but your writing style is very unique? It’s not like you wrote it, but it seems like you’re writing something someone told you.”

“that’s right. Brahms told me.”