God of Piano - God of Piano chapter 122

“Well, I think we can slowly adjust. But today, I guess not now. Let’s enjoy a little more. Our current situation isn’t that bad, is it? Rather… you know. If you bring up the topic of marriage, you might not be able to do this lesson anymore.”

It was as Julieta said. If her father knew that Beethoven was thinking of marrying Julieta, he would never have let them go.

“So, in order to be with me more, please put that aside. teacher. please. Will you?”

“…”

Beethoven is eccentric. People say so. But if you ask if it’s the same in front of his love, it wasn’t at all. People who have built high walls tend to hide the weak inside them, and so was Beethoven’s innocence.

“・・・・・Yes, it is.”

Julieta’s words have a point. Just because you move hastily doesn’t mean you can move forward unconditionally. Beethoven comforted himself like that. The second question was whether he believed in that comfort.

When the heart was stuffy, Beethoven went outside. Breathing in the night breeze, under the moonlight, I walked down the street that smelled like filth. The prostitutes who recognized him clung to his arms and sang his tunes in absurd rhymes, and Beethoven hurried on, shaking them off like flies.

The streets of Vienna were always cluttered like Beethoven’s mind. If you clean up only what needs to be cleaned, it will become a very pretty street, but filth piled up every day, and the number of human figures like filth only increased every day.

Things that are just beautiful if you look at them from a distance are ugly if you approach them and dip your feet in them.

In the square, in front of the fountain where the water did not flow, Beethoven would sometimes stand still. And he felt the sound of an embrace around him. Street painters screaming for portraits, drunkards laughing at such painters, prostitutes seeking money from drunkards, whispering voices, mothers covering their children’s eyes so they don’t see them, coins thrown into fountains. The sound of hitting this water.

Somewhere in that chaos, there was definitely a sound worth listening to. But before he could properly listen to what that sound was, countless other sounds flooded Beethoven’s consciousness. Then Beethoven would forget what he had heard and what he was supposed to hear.

A young master who represents the music world. When people look at Beethoven, they think everything is neatly organized inside him. All of the musical ideas that pop into his head will only have the right answer.

However, the deeper Beethoven’s music goes, the more things that may be correct for others become not correct for Beethoven. As such, Beethoven has to find another correct answer within the correct answer, and has to face countless wrong answers.

‘······Is it wrong today too?’

Inspiration is not something that comes so easily. Even more so when the mind is complicated like this. music and love. The two seemed very close, but at the same time, it was also surprisingly difficult to be together.

Beethoven raised his head. And I looked up at the sky. The moon was not visible. It’s probably hiding somewhere among the tall buildings. Where is it? What building is behind it? Considering the time…

‘ah.’

From noble mtl dot com

Beethoven groaned in the moment. A bronze statue caught his eye. It was a statue representing a naked man. However, it was not the man who caught Beethoven’s gaze, but the moonlight in the man’s eyes. Should I call it reflected moonlight?

The statue was chasing the moon that his eyes could not follow. Well, if it’s everyday, it’s a daily scene. However, the quality of an artist is originally to find beauty in everyday life,

Beethoven, at this moment, obviously found something.

Light, not sound, was presenting music to him. Beethoven stared blankly at the moonlight. Look and look and look, until the moon moves and the statue’s eyes lose their light, no, even after that.

And when he came to his senses, some messy kid was pulling his arm.

“······What?”

After asking such a question, Beethoven felt a little puzzled. I couldn’t hear his voice. And the little boy’s voice. He’s obviously opening his mouth, but no sound reaches his ears. uh? It was the moment when the fear of doing so tried to eat Beethoven.

“Mister, is that Beethoven?”

Suddenly the sound returned. Was it because I was so focused that I couldn’t even hear the sound for a while? Beethoven looked down at the little boy, frowning more to hide his embarrassment.

“okay. right. So what are you?”

“What is it? I’m Liberto! Uncle, I’ve heard a lot about you. My mother is a huge fan. If you’ll excuse me, can you give your mother a word of encouragement? You’re sick right now…”

“It is rude. I’m busy.”

Beethoven shook off the child’s hand. The musical ideas that had filled his head just a moment ago collapsed in an instant due to the momentary fear and interruption. Looking at the statue again with regret, the moonlight was no longer lingering on the statue, and his inspiration was the same. Beethoven glared at the youngster and said.

“go away. Don’t interrupt.”

Crazy Beethoven. There must be a reason for that name.

Leaving the child’s disappointed face behind, Beethoven returned home. On the way back, I tried to recall the inspiration by keeping my eyes open wherever the moonlight stood, but the inspiration that had already flowed did not return. Perhaps even if you sit in front of the piano like this, you will play something similar to the correct answer and eventually end up in bed in disappointment.

And the idea was right. Neither that day, nor the day after that, nor the day after that, Beethoven could not recapture the inspiration of that day. Why does the moon move? I could have brought his music if he hadn’t moved. No, at least without that kid.

And again, everyday life without change was repeated. Writing songs, walking the streets, hanging out with Giulietta. However, Beethoven could not find any inspiration in any part of his life.

“teacher.”

“……huh?”

“These days, the teacher seems to have gone somewhere else.”

“That’s my idea. Wherever you put it, isn’t it my heart?”

“When you are with me, you must be by my side.”

Julieta put on a slightly sullen expression. Beethoven looked at Giulietta lovingly for a moment, then hardened his expression as it was. I naturally thought that all of Giulietta’s expressions contained affection for him, but there were often moments when I wondered if all of that was just his illusion. It was right now.

And Julieta did not miss Beethoven’s children’s songs.

“Why do you look at me that way?”

“No, just······.”

“Just what?”

“Because you are unfamiliar.”

After I said it, I realized that it might have been a little mistake. But Julieta luckily didn’t make that a problem.

“It’s strange, of course. Everyone in the world is bound to be unfamiliar until the very end. They mistakenly think that they are familiar, that they know the other person a little bit, misunderstand it by themselves, and are disappointed.”

“…now you’re really trying to teach me?”

“I am not without lessons.”

“Yes, so am I mistaken that I know you too?”

“Whoops, what part do you think you’re mistaken about?”

Beethoven hesitated. But that hesitation was short-lived. He was a little tired and wanted to find some stability as soon as possible. Asking that was out of weakness.

“Is it true that you love me?”

Giulietta put on a shocked expression for a moment at those words. However, Beethoven couldn’t erase his heart doubting that it was her acting even while looking at that face. Julieta’s mouth opened, and she uttered something forcefully. However, Beethoven could not properly answer any of her words. In the end, Giulietta ran out of the lesson room with a very angry expression, but Beethoven did not catch on.

Of course, Beethoven wasn’t like that because he didn’t want to answer.

Just, for a moment, Beethoven couldn’t hear a word from Giulietta.

No sound was heard.

＜ Moonlight (3) ＞ End

＜ Moonlight (4) ＞

The world is turning against him.

Music, love, everything is leaving him.

Beethoven never cried. It’s not because I’m not sad. In the corner of his chest, there was clearly a terrifyingly thick layer of grief wriggling.

Why can’t his life be happy?

Why does the happiness that even those countless criminals take for granted flow like sand from Beethoven’s hands?

If you want to focus on those feelings, you can. But Beethoven knew it would destroy him. So he couldn’t cry. I shouldn’t have cried. I had to hope that all the problems would somehow be resolved.

But the earache only got worse day by day. It wasn’t just an earache. I don’t know if it was a mental illness or some other problem, but Beethoven grew weaker day by day. As my body dried up, my cheeks began to dent, and there were many times when even walking for a long time felt burdensome.

It was difficult to get along with people. I couldn’t help it. When talking with many people at the ballroom, Beethoven often did not even recognize the sound of the flute in their ears. Sometimes I couldn’t even hear their voices properly.

Beethoven tried desperately to hide him. As soon as people find out about his ear disease, stories about him will be going around all the ballrooms in Austria.

‘They said he was deaf.’

‘Oh, that Beethoven?’

‘Even the sky is indifferent.’

‘I know it’s kind of silly to say this, but if it were made into an opera, it would be a pretty beautiful tragedy.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe someone is already working on it?’

It was a terrifying conversation to imagine. Beethoven did not want to be the subject of tragedy nor the object of ridicule. So when people approached, I refused to talk. When many people wanted to gather, they left. And people talked

Crazy Beethoven.

How can you hate people so much?

If they knew how deep was the desire to interact with people inside Beethoven, would they still call him eccentric?

Ironically, Beethoven was a person who valued human virtue more than anyone else. I have achieved almost everything that a musician can achieve. The honor was sufficient, and the wealth, though a little lacking, was enough to put him on his lips.

And since nothing could make him completely happy, Beethoven felt more desperately than anyone else that virtue was bound to be the last answer.

However, Beethoven’s situation was difficult to give him character. Do I have to confess to people that I am deaf and uncomfortable talking in groups? And should I endure such a miserable life under their sympathetic gaze?

I promised myself that I would neither grieve nor despair. But Beethoven felt that he was slowly sinking into pessimism. It was such a day. Beethoven went out to the square as always, and then met the familiar little boy again.

“······What.”

“Uncle Beethoven. I really need to hear a word this time. say something to mom Then I think you’ll be really happy.”

“I’m tired. I can’t afford to care about anyone. So stop torturing me Stay with your mother, not with me.”

“······Time for that is running out.”

The little boy gritted his teeth and said. I felt like crying any minute, but I didn’t cry. Beethoven thought for a moment that such a little boy must resemble him.

“The doctor said there was nothing they could do. So, if you could say something… Cheer up, maybe that would be more helpful.”

“Just say anything. And tell me I did. Isn’t that okay?”

“That is a lie.”

the kid replied.

“I can’t save my mother with lies.”

Beethoven wanted to know what was important whether it was a lie or not, but still thought that the kid’s words were credible. It was because the kid’s attitude when he said that was so confident. Beethoven thought. And he answered quietly.

“to her······.”

Beethoven, who was about to say something, felt that he was at a loss for words. It was again. Again no sound was heard. The little boy, whose expression had brightened, wondering if he could finally convey Beethoven’s words, looked at Beethoven with a puzzled expression. And he kept saying something to Beethoven, but Beethoven couldn’t hear the kid.

“・・・・・Me, later. Talk to you later.”

I might have said it right. Beethoven hurriedly rose from his seat. Then I walked down the street where the sound had disappeared and returned home. The maid said something, but she didn’t answer. You’ll understand, being an eccentric Beethoven. But as soon as he stood at the door, Beethoven thought he knew what the maid was trying to say. Julieta was there.

“—————.”

“Julietta.”

“———————.”