Zhi rolled up his sleeves and got to work, making certain to steer clear of the second floor where his guests were resting. It was midday when Zhi sat the list aside and snuck into the music room.
The room was sparsely decorated. Just white walls, shelves upon shelves of records, CDs, and sheet music. At the center of the large room was a grand piano.
Zhi walked over to it as though it was an oasis, and he was moving across a desert. Playing had always been an escape for him. For his mother as well. They’d both always wound up here after one of his father’s rages. The man never came into the room. It was as though he were
the Wicked Witch of the West, and he wouldn’t breach the barrier of their oasis.
Zhi ran his fingers over the keys. He didn’t plan what he’d play. He never did. He simply let his fingers lead. He wasn’t surprised that the melody that came from him was the fugue he’d heard the other night aboard the cruise ship.
Only this time, there was no pulsing beat beneath it. Just the sound of the sharps and flats of the grand instrument. There had always been something about the repetition of the notes that calmed him. When the song circled back around and ended as it began, Zhi felt a sense of serenity wash over him, much like after his mother played in the aftermath of one of his father’s violent storms.
The silence as the last note died was a comfort. But he knew that he wasn’t alone. Knowing his mother was sound asleep, and that none of the staff ever intruded when either he or his mother played, Zhi knew it had to be one of his guests.
He looked up to find DJ Spin leaning against the door jamb. Her cell phone was held up in her hand, aimed at him. But he didn’t see a button to indicate that the video record function was engaged.
“What are you doing?" he asked.
"Sampling you,” she said as she walked in the room.
"Don't you need my permission?"
"No one own sounds." She smirked, never taking her eyes off her phone as she took a spot on the bench next to him.
"Music is copyrighted."
Now she glanced up at him. “Did you get Bach’s permission to play that song?"
Zhi leaned his elbow on top of the piano and turned his body to face her. “For someone who plays underground clubs, you certainly have a grasp of chamber music.”
“It’s music.” She shrugged. "It's all music. I don't believe in labeling sounds."
"Not even polka?” Zhi’s shoulders shuddered even as he spoke the offensive word.
"What have you got against polka?”
Instead of waiting for his response, she pushed a button on her phone. Before he could stop her, the heavy, high-winded beats began.
Zhi groaned like a child being told to eat his vegetables. He would prefer the most cruciferous of veggies to the torment of the Polish pandemonium. But then Spin’s hands went to the keys of the piano.
Her fingers glided over the blacks and whites perfectly executing the fugue he’d just finished. Somehow, she timed it to the beat of the polka. He watched her, enthralled, amazed, disbelieving what he was hearing. Until she stopped abruptly.
Zhi wanted to protest. Before he could, she turned to him and clapped her hands. She clapped once. And then twice more in half the time. She repeated the one-one-two clapping in succession. All while gazing expectantly at him.
It took him a second to realize she wanted him to clap his own hands to the beat. He did so, adding another layer of sound. Once he did, she returned to her playing.
Somehow, the three different strands of music blended into … something new. She was truly a translation genius if she could take polka, classical, and hand clapping and play them all together into harmony. He felt pulled in by the music notes swirling around them, pulling them into a melody all their own.
Her eyes shut as she played. A grin tugged at the corner of her lips. She looked like she was in heaven. She looked like an angel. She opened her eyes to catch him staring.
Suddenly, Zhi felt thirsty and hungry at the same time. When was the last time something sweet had passed his mouth? When was the last time he’d had his belly filled with a satisfying morsel?
His errant thoughts caused him to miss the beat. Her finger skipped a key, hitting the wrong note. They both jerked their hands down to their sides at the same time. There was an awkward moment of silence that stretched a second too long.
Finally, Spin rose. “Sounds like you need to get this thing tuned."
"Yeah," he said.
She nodded. Then without another word, she turned on her heel and headed out the room.