Free Two-Part Inventions by Lynne Sharon Schwartz

pictures. One of Jesus Christ on a cross with a big hole in his side and blood coming out. It was really gross.”
    Three days later, in the late afternoon, Suzanne told her mother she was going to Paula’s house and rang Richard Penzer’s doorbell. He welcomed her as if they were old friends and he’d been expecting her. The bassoon was out of its case, lying on the couch, and a music stand was set up nearby.
    â€œDid you come to try out the piano? Go right ahead.” He waved her over. “I have some things to do in the kitchen.”
    He left her alone in the room with the pictures and the colored
lampshades and the bassoon, and she felt at home, as if this were a place that had been waiting for her, like a cottage in the woods in a fairy tale, and she was grateful that she’d finally found it.
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    With so many observers on the block, there was no way of keeping her visits to Richard a secret. Gerda scolded her as she had expected and wanted her to promise never to return to number 23. But Suzanne, who felt as excited as if she had discovered a magic kingdom right across the street, allayed her mother’s fears by repeating that he was a music teacher, he taught at Hunter College in the city, and no, he never touched her, only helped her with her lessons and played records for her and taught her things; and no, there were never any other people there.
    This last was not entirely true. A few times she had come upon a friend of his in the living room—from the doorway she could hear an opera on the phonograph, and she saw the man drinking something amber-colored out of a small glass. Richard had greeted her kindly but asked if she could come back the next day. And twice she had found him with two friends, playing music. One man was at the piano and the other played the violin; Richard was holding his bassoon when he opened the door. He invited her in to listen, but the first time she was shy and backed away. The second time she went in and sat on the couch while they played. She had never heard chamber music before; it was a revelation—had she been familiar with sex, it would have struck her as a new kind of caress. They were playing a Beethoven trio, Richard told her. He was playing the
part meant for a cello. She looked puzzled and so he explained what a cello was and said that another day he would teach her about all the instruments in the orchestra. Meanwhile she should simply listen to the way the three instruments played together, like tossing a ball back and forth, or, better still, as if they were having a conversation, asking questions and answering them, or sometimes saying the same thing in their different voices. When they were finished she sat dazzled by what she had heard.
    The pianist’s name was Arthur and the violinist was called Dan, though at first she was too shy to call them by name. Mostly she called grown-ups, her teachers and her parents’ friends, Mr. and Mrs., although she had gotten used to calling Richard by his name. When they were done they played a few parts over slowly to show her how they fit together, and then Arthur let her sit next to him on the piano bench and showed her the music. She even played a few simple measures with the violin and the bassoon, and afterward the three of them clapped. She flushed with pleasure and curtseyed as if she were on a real stage, making them all laugh. This was real, this was the reality she had been looking for. It existed—these men were proof—and she was a part of it.
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    About a year after she met Richard, Suzanne was summoned by her father to play for Aunt Faye and Uncle Simon, who had dropped in on a Sunday afternoon. They were her favorite aunt and uncle. Faye, her father’s sister, was a seamstress with a merry, lilting voice that sounded operatic, flitting rapidly up and down the scale. She was plump and chatty, as lively as her
brother was taciturn. Often she brought