Although she was reluctant at first to request a fee for her services, since she was not quite certain of the family’s financial situation, and knowing that if pressed, she would gladly have provided the lessons without a dime in recompense, she worried about what Jacob, who was always concerned about the dollar, would have to say about her generosity. So she asked for fifteen dollars for the hour, and to her relief, Andrew appeared at the door, a ten and a five in hand, no questions asked.
At first, they had practiced the standards: Sonatina in G Anhang 5 by Beethoven and Schumann’s Wild Rider Opus 68, no. 8. And beneath fleet fingers, the old piano seemed to take on a new life under the boy’s affections. Listening to him play, she knew now that her mother was wrong about Esther’s skills as a child. At Sally’s suggestion that one of her children take up piano, which she considered a sign of culture and breeding, Esther had begun lessons when she was only eight. She took to the instrument easily and had an affinity for it, soon playing the classics. Her mother, especially, had delighted in this, learned the meaning of the word prodigy, and often used it when speaking of her daughter. But as she listened to the notes ascend now, saw the boy’s fingers fly adeptly over the keyboard, Esther knew that she had never been a prodigy. Andrew was. He was more than that. He was a genius.
After only the second lesson, though, she could tell that he was ready, having mastered most of what she had to teach, and so she asked him to show her the song. He glanced at her apprehensively, then brought out the paper from the pocket of his coat. Esther listened to the notes; then she played the tune, questioning him on some technical points, offering a few minor suggestions. As he removed his hands, finally, from the keyboard and placed them at his side, Esther, now sitting next to her protégé, took a deep breath. She did not know how to begin.
“Andrew, do you know how good this is? How good you are?”
She watched as a deep crimson blush crept up his cheeks. She could tell that he was thinking about how to respond to the compliment, averting his eyes, looking down into the blue shag carpet. She continued, “Look, I have been playing since I was a little girl, much younger than you, and I couldn’t even think how, where, to begin writing a piece like this. The song takes one away, how shall I say it, to a place of perfect peace, but at the same time, there is a deep sorrow that flows through it all. And when I hear it, when you play it, it gives me such a calm, happy feeling inside, and yet I am brought to tears.”
She waited until, finally, his eyes met hers. He was brilliant, yes, but he was just a boy.
“It wasn’t hard to write. I mean I was just fooling around down in the basement. I was playing Pong, and I was bored is all. And I wrote it.” He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
Andrew glanced at his watch, in a hurry to move on. She looked at his hands, reddened, trembling, and found his humility endearing. There were only a few minutes left before his father would drive up, honking the horn of his Pontiac Firebird.
“Andrew,” she said, “do you think—could you—write some more songs like these?”
The boy looked up, a smile, for the first time that afternoon, spreading across his face.
“Mrs. Stein,” he said, “I already have.”
The following week and the week after that, he presented her with more melodies, some childish ditties, others the beginnings of overtures. And while none exceeded the excellence of the first song, each one was impressive in its own right. With each tutorial, the time seemed to go more quickly, and Esther looked forward to their meetings almost as much as she enjoyed spending coveted weekends walking in the park or shopping in the department stores with Jacob. Besides his precocious talent, there was something about this young boy, a familiarity, a need that made her think that time spent with him was never nearly enough. She would have even forgiven the fee if as soon as he entered the foyer, he didn’t open his hand to reveal two crumpled bills as an offering.
As the meetings stretched into a month, Andrew grew more comfortable, nearly settled into his abilities, and so became more loquacious as a result. Like most boys his age, he confessed a love for video games and comic books, Batman being his favorite hero. He wasn’t much into sports, though, never felt like he was agile enough catching a ball or jumping up for a basket. Above all, he loved music.
One afternoon, during another of their sessions, Esther remembered something, and now that the boy’s natural reticence was slipping away and they had become something akin to friends, she felt that the time was right.