Free Strange Sweet Song by Adi Rule Page B

did you choose?”
    “Crows.” The other students snort and murmur.
    Mrs. Bigelow frowns. “Crows aren’t exactly songbirds.”
    “Awwww! Rrraaaaw!” the crows outside hiss. Sing answered impulsively, to get a rise out of Mrs. Bigelow, but now she wonders, What are they saying? “I’d like a mate”? “I’m in danger”? Or just, “I’m here”? She says, “I’d like crows, if it’s all right with you.”
    Mrs. Bigelow keeps frowning but says, “Okay. Crows it is.”
    She says the word crows as if it is strange, out of place. As if it doesn’t belong. As if it isn’t worthy of belonging.

 
    Nineteen
     
    B EETHOVEN’S PATHÉTIQUE SONATA IS ONE of the most popular pieces in the world. George didn’t know how many times he had heard it. Hundreds? Thousands? He played it and taught it and studied it. And while the Pathétique would always be exquisite, there were other pieces, other composers, other sounds. George moved on, as one does.
    I’ve learned some Beethoven, Nathan said. Now, in St. Augustine’s bright hall at this ungodly hour on a Saturday, George sat and listened to the Pathétique again.
    During lessons, Nathan was attentive and quiet, absorbing theory and history as quickly as his muscles learned to meet the strange new demands he was making of them. And when George played, Nathan watched his fingers with a savage hunger.
    George knew his student’s ear was extraordinary and that his technical precision was already becoming masterful.
    But now, as Nathan played the first movement of the Pathétique, the ebb and flow of his raw being lent a sweetness and urgency to the music that stirred something in George he had forgotten was there.
    He could not imagine Beethoven himself playing it better.
    From his usual place next to him on the bench, George watched the young man’s long fingers, the curve of his wide shoulders, the exhilaration on his handsome face.
    George’s face, next to Nathan’s in the reflection on the shiny music rack, looked almost like a poor copy, a homely older brother. Droopy curves instead of delicate lines, pockmarks instead of liquid smoothness. But when Nathan’s reflected eyes caught George’s, their gaze was nothing but warmth. George allowed himself to indulge in those eyes for just a moment as the last chord rang.
    “Wonderful!” A shrill voice cut through the piano’s reverberations.
    George leapt to his feet. “Betty! I didn’t hear you come in.”
    Nathan stood, smiling politely. “Professor Hardy, what a pleasant surprise.”
    The professor leaned against the doorway, hip cocked. “The pleasant surprise was all mine, my dear. George, I was beginning to think your protégé was just a pretty face. But it seems he plays after all, and damn well. Isn’t that something?” She flashed a red-lipsticked smile. Nathan blushed.
    “Of course Nathan plays well.” George pulled the fallboard over the keys with a thunk.
    “But you’re not a pianist, George, not really,” Professor Hardy said. “Nathan is beyond you. He needs a new teacher. New opportunities.” She approached, the click of her heels echoing. “I wouldn’t mind taking him on myself.”
    “That’s very nice of you,” Nathan said.
    “Come see me if you’re interested.” The professor smiled, and George watched Nathan’s eyes following her as she walked away.
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” George said.
    Nathan’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “Why not?”
    “Have I ever steered you wrong?” George’s voice now held a strange roughness. “Don’t you trust me?”
    Nathan patted George’s shoulder and laughed. “Don’t worry, George, for goodness’ sake! I’m not going to leave you for Professor Hardy. Forget it, all right? You know best, I’m sure. Shall we have lunch?”
    George exhaled. “Yes. That’s an excellent idea.”

 
    Twenty
     
    S ING, MARTA, AND JENNY eat lunch at a picnic table next to the wooden fence separating the campus from the piney woods