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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 70 | volume XIII | January-February, 2010



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 70January-February, 2010
Prose

The Pianist's Touch

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p. 1
Mirt Komel

The storm was coming, you could feel it in the air, which was all pervaded by its presence, electrified and heavy didn't give anyone to raise their heads, except for Glen Gold, who walked the sidewalk observing the passing by clouds how they wandered on the sky while blindly avoiding the passersby in a fast step through the crowded street.
    He urged to go to the New York Concert Hall to catch a concert, where they had to perform The Brandenburg concert of his beloved Bach. Even thought he had the feeling of being late, he arrived quite before time to the concert hall, so that he could stop and calmly smoke a cigarette before entering the crowded lobby, full of people, mainly elder ones. He never understood why those, who were frequent concertgoers, for which one needs a fine ear, were mostly elder people, which are mostly half-deaf and so to speak with an ear already in the grave. He smoked in front of the Hall watching all the grotesque charade walking by, a serial of gentlemen dressed in monotonous evening blackness and covered with boring grey overcoats, a ashen-haired old lady with a gaudy-red comb, which with the same style make-up looked like an aged prostitute, a fat, loathsome lady with a to big one-piece of a robe which on her looked like a reckless white sheet, accompanied by a smaller, bold, opulent gentleman, another one, which discerned from the sameness of the other by an one-hundred years to old swallowtail, but even more because accompanied with a hundred years to young woman, dressed in a very short skirt an a deep neckline, and more and more of the same “good old society”, for which he thought, that the only good reason they existed was, that with their full pockets they made possible events such as this one. In a way he respected their deaf support to the music, a support of someone, who cannot fully enjoy what he loves but nonetheless persists in doing so, this was to him, aside of being grotesque, some kind of noble tragic quality of the rather deaf in the concerts
    Still, he hated high society social events in general, and this kind especially, mainly because of the expensive evening costumes and presumptuousness with which they were worn: as if a good-looking dress helps listening and understanding music better! Regardless, the same Glen tended






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