A Night to Remember

It was a soiree like many others. Although formal dress was prevalent, some of those present were dressed kind of bohemian smart. In the background of the large room was a table, laden with snacks and exotic tidbits and a large array of bottles of wines and spirits.
Centre-stage was a large Bechstein Grand. It was almost too large but somehow served to set the stage for the evening perfectly. This impression was augmented by a number of shaped candles holding wine bottles packed with a thick layer of wax collected over many nights of candle burning.
The candles made one think of those poets that once gathered by candlelight in cellars in Bohemia. Here in the room, the dancing flames cast patterns on the walls and on the faces present.
The atmosphere was highly charged and there was an almost tangible expectation in the air. The buzz of lively conversation the bursts of laughter that filled the air seemed to be a prelude of some kind..
It was as if each person present had come to the gathering half expecting a moment of some importance to occur. One that would live on in their memories. They had no idea whether it would be a special glance, a touch of a hand, a whisper or merely an emotional high reached after a third glass of rare champagne.

An attractive woman sat in the middle of the longest sofa in the room. She was youngish and had her long hair done conservatively up above her head thereby exposing a long elegant neck. She wore a blouse and skirt ensemble with wine red, mauve and purple colours.
She responded quietly to the conversations, ripostes and laughter on either side of her and there was even a suggestion of reserve in her bearing. A keen observer might have detected signs of what he would think of as uncertainty. Had he been not only an observer but also a student of life, he may have discovered something deeper. A remoteness that made her appear to be on the other side of a glass pane.

For a while, there had been some persistent calls for someone in the audience to step forward and play the magnificent piano. When she could no longer resist the persuasive invitations, a young blonde girl walked up to the piano rather shyly and began to play an etude by Chopin. When her recital ended and everyone applauded, she bowed and went back to her seat.

After another round of drinks, two women walked up to the piano. While the older woman stood next to it, she smiled at the audience as the younger one sat down and began to play some opening bars, A number of well known French chansons about lost loves and past mistakes were sung with some pathos..

Throughout it all, the young woman sat quietly on the sofa. Although she appeared to be listening it was as if she was not in the room.

Then there was movement in the audience. Soon all eyes were on a man in a black polo necked jersey and well worn khaki jeans who had begun to walk up to the piano. When he sat down and stared at the keys, he seemed oblivious of all the whispering, the nudges and the raised eye brows behind him. It was as if he did not hear one of the audience call out to him.
“Welcome my friend. Yes, welcome…but who are you? You’re new here aren’t you?”

His question was ignored. The only answer that he received were the notes that he heard and as they were plated, all conversation stopped.
The pianist did not play one of those well known melodies that everyone knew. The music was of today but also of another time. It came from their neighbourhood but also from another far off land. It was compelling and haunting yet filled the room with an exuberant joy.
Soon the audience began to feel more and more deeply involved. It was strange but they sensed instinctively that many of the chords were incomplete. These chords had one or two notes missing and some felt a compulsive desire to rush forward to play those missing notes in order to achieve a kind of neat and satisfying completion.

Because all eyes were fixed on the player, no one noticed the young woman in the mauve ensemble rise and walk away to an empty chair near a wall. Once seated, she removed a comb or two from her hair and allowed it to fall down loosely over her shoulders. As she did so she kept her eyes fixed on the player as if she was seeing a vision.
She watched as he stood up and walked around the piano with his hands held high while he occasionally gave a slight bow to the audience.

There is walking and walking. There is a way that a true dancer walks. Not how Gene Kelly or Michael Jackson but as a dancer of the earth would. As a dancer who had never been to a dancing school. As would a dancer from the sands of Cordoba or Babylon. As would a man approaching a gypsy princess to ask her to dance.
Such a dancer would walk with the grace of a biblical prince and the inborn power of a panther. As he walked, he attracted as much attention as he did while playing. Suddenly he turned away from the crowd and walked towards where the young girl was sitting alone on a chair.

With a faint smile, he reached out his hands on each side of her and then lifted his jacket from where it had been hanging behind her on the back of her chair. While keeping his eyes on her, he put on his jacket, turned and walked out of the room.
He left behind a stunned silence. Everyone knew that the soiree was over but no one wanted to move. They all knew that something significant had happened and all felt that the evening deserved some sort of closure. Something to match the excitement still in the air.
Perhaps because of this, a ripple of excitement ran through the audience when the young girl rose to her feet.

She looked around and then began loosening the top buttons of her blouse and the lower buttons of her skirt. Then she walked over to where the piano man had stood after he had finished playing. With a complete disregard of the audience, she began to dance.
She took several strides and spun around with her hands held high above her head. She flung her right hand up and arched her back. As she leant back, her skirt fell away slightly to briefly expose a shapely leg. She strutted forward with a toe-heel tap movement before turning around and around as she slowly lowered herself to the floor.

She remained on the floor for a while and then rose athletically to her feet, pulled a sleeve back onto her shoulder and then walked back to her chair. There she put on her jacket, brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead and began to speak to the audience. Her voice was soft but vibrant.

“I’d like you all to know this. Something happened in this room tonight. Something that has changed my life forever. I have found a release. Chains have fallen away. I have finally discovered myself. I want to thank you all…and the piano man. He showed me another world and invited me to it. Goodnight.”

As she left the room, there was a silence. It was as if everyone knew that somewhere, the gods were smiling.
It had become a night to remember.

Fred Hose qualified as an M Sc (Eng) and rose from apprentice to senior executive in a large commercial organisaton. He spent a few years in Germany as an exchange student. Here, as a sportsman, and later as a business negotiator and dealmaker, he visited many countries on five continents.

After a spiritual wake up call, he turned to writing. Fortunately, he was able to draw on unique experiences and richness of life obtained during his wide travels as a sportsman and businessman. During these visits, he met and stayed with people of many cultures.

In his works he portrays his spirituality, his fanciful imagination and often his whimsical sense of humour.

He can be contacted at fredhose@mweb.co.za