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‘The dress for the Nikitin’s performance next week alone was
more than…’
‘Darling, calm down…’
‘No! Seven years of lessons withMiss Dernova, and the dresses for
concerts and the new sheet music and moving into the city, Mama...’
‘It’s from your father.’
That caused me pause, just as my mother had known it would.
Helen Kozlov is a kind woman, yes, but she is a crafty one too. She’s
viperous in her ability to strike people quickly with an argument,
knowing when to pull back and allow others to win, and foremost,
when to sink her fangs in and inject the venom.
‘He bought it for you years ago, just after Miss Dernova selected
you for the St Petersburg Conservatory. You were too small to use it
then, obviously.’ My mother’s voice was curt, direct as she finished
her small speech. I turned around and looked at the Guadagnini,
propped up with an A-frame stand in the corner of the living room.
The instrument was beautiful, handcrafted, delicate, and ancient. It
reminded me then of the old books they had sold years before; of the
architecture in the older parts of St Petersburg, the towering marble
and stone giants that encompassed plush theatres and halls.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘He’s not a part of our lives anymore Elise. I don’t want him to be.
This was his last gift, his goodbye. I wanted you to be old enough to
understand.’ She had replied, cool as anything. But I noted the
speed of her answer. She’d rehearsed this. She’d known exactly what
she was going to say. I made eye contact with my mother for a brief
moment before I nodded.
‘Okay. It’s… it’s beautiful Mama.’ I paused momentarily before
adding. ‘He must have really wanted to say goodbye.’
Then I turned and left, heading down the small hall into my
room. Even then my father was always a bit of a mystery in my life,
though not a complete one. I discovered his name – Henry – while
rifling through my mother’s boxes of old photos and dust years
earlier. I knew he lived in New York, I knew he was an artist. I’d
always been contented with knowing these few facts.
I remember turning on my bedroom light and being momentarily
blinded by a flash as the bulb blew.
-
Meeting Henry
12