I didn't accept the invitation for another nightcap in the bar. I stumbled to my room and let myself fall backwards onto the bed. It seemed like my room was slowly spinning around me. I woke up with a dry mouth. Carefully I slid off the bed and crawled to the bathroom. Back in bed, I stared at the ceiling and listened. Strange, it sounded like someone was playing the piano.

I got up and followed the music leading me over the terrace into the garden.  It was a clear night and the moonlight illuminated the garden in different shades of grey. The music was coming from the renovated shed at the end of the garden. It was a constantly repeating melody through which ran a tune. As if someone was telling a story in a quiet way without emotions, like a babbling river. In front of the shed I grabbed a chair with utmost concentration so as not to make any noise and put it in front of the door. I stood on the chair and looked through the window above the door. It was almost magical what I saw. Francesca was sitting behind a piano with her back to me. She had her long hair tied together in a ponytail. Through a large window she looked out on the valley and the hills beyond.  The moon shone into the room from above the hills.

She stopped playing. I tensed my leg muscles in case I had to quickly duck away. But she didn't turn around; she stared ahead, motionless. Slowly she moved her left hand over the keys and then her fingers slowly pressed keys. A rhythm emerged. The other hand now hovered over the keys as well, fingers pressing them with varying pace. This hand played a melancholy melody. The rest of her body did not move, she sat straight and stared at the moon. The melody she played sounded like a love song. She was playing for the moon.

My legs were getting tired. I got off the chair and put it back against the wall. I sat down on the chair, closed my eyes and enjoyed the song being played.

I heard birds chirping and opened my eyes. The garden had returned to its original colour. My lower back ached and my neck was stiff. Slowly I stood up, stretched and turned my head several times. I knocked on the door, no answer. I pushed the door open and looked at a piano without a pianist.

No thoughts on “Chapter 2 Francesca”

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