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Finale (Short)
My father used to say the show must go on.
It was through his concerts I learned the meaning of passion, dedication, and power of art.
He would enter such a state of ecstasy, I wondered if anything in the world could stop him from playing.
He always closed his eyes, as if trying to sharpen his other senses. His head would tilt back and forth, while his fingers swiftly danced on the piano's keys. It wouldn't matter if he was to be playing at home, or at one of his big shows. As long as the music went on, he seemed to be the happiest man alive.
On September 21th my dad held his finale.
I will never forget that day, when rumors of the German assault on Poland spread around town. People spoke of their tanks as if they were true machines of death, and some would leave town so quickly it looked as if they prepared for years. My mother was one of those people. My dad was not.
She decided to leave with Jino, my younger brother. I insisted on staying with my father, who convinced me to leave with mother, saying I should go and keep her safe and that he must stay at home. He explained his choice by saying that music plays louder when guns make such noise. I don't think I truly comprehended the meaning of his words, until today.
Today, the war has ended. Today, I learned of my father's death.
A friend of the family, Gabriel, has managed to find us. He told us how father asked him a favor prior to the Germans' arrival, one Gabriel found very strange. The request was to help him carry his beloved piano onto our old house's roof. Gabriel which owed my dad more than a favor, could not refuse, and so the two did as said. The piano stood proudly on the rooftop, exposed to the Polish sun, exposed to the town folks' sad eyes. My dad, as told us, went back into the house and did not come out, not until the first bullet echoed through the street houses. Gabriel saw my dad climb up to the roof, and sit down in front of the piano. Our friend described how he saw it through his window, and yelled at my dad, insisting he should go back inside. 'The show must go on, my dear friend' were his last words, but not his final note.
The first tank could be seen in the distance. My dad began playing.
In a short matter of time, the street was filled with a long train of forces, as German soldiers were entering houses, threatening to kill all who oppose. Nothing could be seen through the black smoke, and nothing could be heard through the tanks' roars, nothing other than my father's gentle sounds.
Gabriel yelled at him once more, 'Are you crazy? you will get shot!' he claims to have said, but my father ignored. As time passed, more survivors told me of that day, more that have witnessed my father's final show. They told us of how the Germans went up the roof and stood in front of him. They stood and listened to his playing, not saying one word. My dad began singing, and playing louder. I am sure it was his ecstatic state, I know it was.
A German officer pushed aside the soldiers and raised up his weapon. A bullet rocked the buildings, and the sounds had stopped. Gabriel imagined my father was gone, until the playing began once more. Another bullet was shot, and the music did not stop. No one knows exactly how long the playing had lasted, or how many bullets were needed to stop it, but one thing I do know. It takes an army to take down an artist.
Last edited by Alterego : 04-09-2008 at 09:42 PM.
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