The Paino a short story

Needs to be edited and rethought through and have stronger voice spring 05'



He had walked this path to her house countless times before. Knowing that this may be his last time, he walked a little slower and listened to all the sounds around him. He didn’t speak Chinese, but knew exactly what the shop owner was yelling at the little kids running in an out of the little shop, triggering the electronic alarm each time. He could hear the cars occasionally whizzing by, as if all of them had a pregnant woman giving birth in the back seat. There was a helicopter landing at the local hospital, maybe carrying someone whom had been hit by the speeding cars.
Thomas had lived his entire life in this neighborhood. It was an area of only 10 square blocks. But because of the housing projects it was filled to capacity about 80,000 people lived in this square mile of concrete. Considered a poor neighborhood it was rich with family traditions and friendly neighbors. Many of the people living here were grandchildren of the depression. This neighborhood once was a nice glamorous community but the state wanted a newer nicer community closer to downtown Manhattan. The buildings were sold and were turned into government housing, but those that grew up here wanted to stay. So they did. Thomas was one of these old-timers as the men in park called him.
As he walked through the park he was an easy man to spot out, a skinny man, well lanky may be better way to put it. He walked with his head hi, scanning back and forth at all the things going on in the park; kids running, jumping rope, and just listening to the tapping sounds that rhythmically guided him whenever he walked outside. He carried a briefcase in one hand and a long stick in the other. He cared for people and always had a story to tell.
Just then one of the old–timers yelled out, in a surprised voice as if he had just seen Thomas the day before.
“Thomas, has it been a month already”.
“Yes Herald, I can’t believe it myself,” replied Thomas.
Vincent one of the oldest men in the neighborhood asked,
“I’m still certain WWI was much tougher than Vietnam, you guys had all those gidgets and gadgets. When are were going to compare war stories again?”
With a grin Thomas replied carefully, “Well I don’t know about that, but maybe on my way back from Sarah’s”.
“Tell Sarah I said hello, and I’m still waiting to hear the masterpiece,” Herald shouted, as Thomas continued towards Sarah’s apartment.
He was named after St. Thomas. His mother loved the redeeming quality the saints of the early church had and especially St. Thomas. St. Thomas was the doctor of the Early catholic church (Angelicus Doctor) who supposedly, had healed all the royalty that were taken by the epidemic in the early 12th century. Thomas didn’t necessarily believe the stories, nor did he think that he was a doctor. He had although, always been proud of the fact that he healed his mother’s broken heart by being a good listener.
Listening was definitely his strong suit and his livelihood. As he came to the corner of Piperno St. and Magnus Ave. he stopped, and waited for the light to change. As Thomas stood there he could hear the piano from the fifth floor of the building across the street. He had told Sarah not to play with the window open, that the humidity might ruin the wood and stretch the strings out of tune. Apparently, she had been playing with the windows open everyday this month, because he could hear the out of tune notes. The B flat next to middle C and the A # to octaves above that were out of tune. The B flat had been out of tune twice already this year. As she played he cringed every time the out of tune notes were played. The “music” sounded like a choking goose fighting for air.
He opened the two large glass doors at the bottom of the complex and dreaded the thought of walking up the five flights of stairs ahead of him. When the building was first built it was built for young couples so the thought of an elevator escaped the designer. The tenants of the building loved Sarah’s piano playing, especially the old-timers. As he walked up the stairs he heard the out of tune piano and the echo of his wingtips in the stairwell. The old building seemed to dance to music she played, as it traveled through ever inch of the building. Fourteen steps down the hall on the left and it her door was on the right. The piano got louder now as he got closer to the old oak door. He knocked and waited. Again he knocked louder this time, still with no answer. This happened almost every time. So he pulled his black wingtips back and gave the door a couple of big kicks. When the piano stopped, “Finally” he said, humorously.
On the other side of the door, a woman with a red apron that read “The food shall set you free” stood up from the piano, sliding the seat along the hard wood floor. She was a woman in her mid 30’s who had smooth, fair, skin. Her hair was down today, just like all the other days that Thomas came over. She wore a light-blue sundress with pink and yellow flowers seemed to follow the curves of her legs, hips, and breasts. This was her favorite day of the month. Thomas could hear the television in the apartment across the hall and also the colloquy baby in the floor apartment below. As she giddily ran across the room, Thomas could hear the heels hurrying across the floor to let him in.
“Hello Thomas” she said, as she opened the door.
“Good afternoon Sarah, how is She,” referring to the baby Grand Steinway that sat under the bay window like an emblem of beauty, art and history. The piano had sat there for almost 70 years. Sarah’s grandfather bought it for her grandmother just after he got home from world war one. He said it was a token of her faithfulness to him, and to their country. He took all of the money he had saved in war bonds, and worked two jobs just to surprise her with it on her 23rd birthday. He spent what was then a fortune, thirty-five hundred dollars on the piano telling Sarah’s grandmother that it had to stay in the family. The piano was worth more than one hundred seventy-five thousand by now, making the piano worth almost as much as the small apartment it sat in. It took one crane and 6 full-grown men to pull it through the bay window. On the top quarter of the bay window was a stained-glass piece depicting an angel coming down out of Heaven with its wings spread open as if to protect the piano that it floated over. The angle was made of white and yellow glass while the background was made of shades of blue and green. When the sun shined just right it would cast a shadow of the angel on the piano.

The piano was made of African Cherry (Makore) was the African name for it.
With a reddish-brown tint the wood was quarter-sliced to highlight the patterns in the grain. The wood was shipped across the long journey from the high mountains in West Africa to London and then on to Hamburg where the first Steinway & Sons factory was located. After the piano was meticulously crafted and carefully built, It was shipped by cargo tanker to the United States, then moved by flatbed trailer to the New York dealer where Sarah’s grandfather paid cash for it.
As Thomas walked across the room to the piano that he had come to love, he said
“It sounds like the B flat next to middle C and the A# two octaves above that are out of tune.
“Thomas you have the ears of an angel,” She replied.
Sarah watched Thomas closely as he started touching the piano. So many times she wished Thomas would touch her this way-- the way he touched the piano. He seemed to almost ritualistically start at the top of the piano with the lid sliding both of his hands softly down the neck of the lid and slowly down the backside of the open lid. He would whisper to the piano like a woman whispering nursery rhymes to an infant on the verge of sleep. He caressed the pinblock. He ran his fingers down the triplet set of strings as he let out a deep breath as if just finishing a long session of lovemaking. As Sarah watched anxiously this one breath of his sent shivers through her entire body. She so desperately wanted to tell him of the love that she had for him and the way he made her feel. Thomas continued down the tresses of the still sitting beauty. He continued onward towards the pedals making sure they weren’t to loose or tight.
He asked Sarah, “Have the pedals been giving you any problems this month?”
As if awaking from a dream, “Um no, no they haven’t, Is there a problem with them?”
“I was just wondering, them seem a little tight but it may be due to the weather change,” Thomas said, standing up and walking toward Sarah.
“I made tuna fish sandwiches,” She said, as she went into the kitchen to grab the plate of fresh sandwiches.
“My favorite, you are to kind Miss Daniels,” as he sat on the old Victorian sofa.
She relied quickly in an annoyed but loving voice, “I’ve told you a hundred times Thomas, not to call me that. It makes me feel old.”
“I’m sorry Sarah, but you are a Miss though,” stating the fact that she hadn’t been married yet.
Laughing out loud Sarah replied emphatically, “I know, but you don’t need to remind me of the fact that I can’t trick a man into marrying me!”
“Please, you have never tried to trick me,” he said flirtingly.
“Thomas, I’ve tried many times, maybe you’re just to blind to see.
They both started laughed extremely loud and began to eat the sandwiches she set on the coffee table.
Over twelve years ago Thomas was diagnosed with a rare degenerative disorder called Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease. There only 139 cases reported in the United States the year Thomas was diagnosed with the disease. Sarah thought it was a problem that had occurred at birth. She did not know the seriousness of the disease or even worse that he had the disease. Gradually the disease had moved into his brain and he was starting to loose control of his muscle throughout his body. He was no longer able to play chess in the park with Herald and Vincent, or play with the kids on the soccer field. He saved all his energy and attention for his monthly visits to Sarah’s house. Here he could devout all of that energy to the task of tuning her piano and making it sound as beautiful as possible.
She would sit on the piano bench and press the keys that he asked her to. Standing directly next to her reaching into the frame he would tune the piano by ear. As they stood next to each other, occasionally brushing their hands together, both of the their thoughts were on other things, more beautiful sensual things; such as love and lovemaking.
Often Sarah would ask “Thomas how do you know if it is tune?”
“Because it matches the music in my head,” he would always reply.
“Well what music is that,” She asked.
“Why it is your unfinished masterpiece, Miss Daniels,” as he smirked knowing the annoyance of the sentence.
“Well Thomas, you are in for a treat today, it is finished.”
“Really,” he said, like a boy on Christmas morning. “The piano is almost in tune, will you play it for me?”
“Yes,” she said. “I hoped you would be my first audience.”
He packed his briefcase with wax, cranks, and other tools for tuning the piano. She hurried into the kitchen to grab one of the dining room chairs for him to sit on. She sat the chair next to the piano under the bay window with the stained glass angel hovering over the three of them.
“Thomas,” she said. “I want you to know that you are the inspiration for this piece, these are the things that I’ve always wanted to say, but didn’t know how to tell you other than music.
As she begins to play the 80-year-old piano, it seemed to come alive with all the things that force love through the barrier of weakness. Sarah had played hundreds of pieces before but Thomas was not the inspiration of any of those. As she played, Thomas wept. He felt a rush of compassion and knew the secret desires of her heart. He too loved her. He could almost feel the love coming out of the piano like steam from a boiling pot of water. He then thought of the disease and whether or not he should tell her. She was crying and it seemed that every tear was soaking up by the piano.
Over the next 50 years it soaked up many of Sarah’s tears,
“Miss Daniels,” the young piano student asked, “Does he have a name?” pointing to the angel in the stained glass window.
“Yes Elizabeth, he does. His name is St. Thomas.”
Confused the little girl relied, “Why is that?”
“He watches over me and the piano to make sure that neither of us ever go out of tune.”