//------------------------------// // Chapter one: Torn // Story: Octavia’s Story // by Elkia Deerling //------------------------------// The five-page piece ended with a low D. There was a fermata on it as well, so I let it vibrate through the room for as long as my bow allowed. The sound echoed through the whole room in a graceful vibrato. It didn’t say so on the sheet music, but I did it anyway. It also didn’t say I should have played it forte. That too, was my own interpretation. When finally my bow came to an end, I watched the ponies in the room. Fortissimo was silent, trembling, as if the note had disturbed him greatly. His shifty eyes went from the paper to me to my parents to his cello case, perhaps wondering if our lesson had finished. Was he glad it was over? Did I not play beautifully? I did my best! ‘Honestly, I’d say the last note was a bit much,’ Father said. Mother sniffed. ‘Indeed. That couldn’t be right. Was it, Monsieur Fortissimo?’ My shoulders slumped. Now I started trembling a bit as well. I had promised myself not to. Yet I did. ‘It was… not what the sheet music said, no.’ Fortissimo took off his glasses and blinked hard. ‘It was her own interpretation.’ ‘Then I know enough.’ Father gave me that signature gaze of his—the one that could make the greatest villain in Equestria envious. ‘As long as my daughter does not play as… freely and frivolously as she did just then, all should be fine for her performance tonight.’ He was silent, as if he were done talking. I knew he wasn’t. I kept silent as well. ‘Did you hear me, Daughter?’ ‘I did, Father. I am terribly sorry.’ As I apologized, I almost let my bow drop to the ground from my weak hooves. Mother tapped with her crystal horseshoes on the ground. A graceful grey evening gown adorned her perfect figure. It seemed as if she were always ready for a formal event. ‘Une question, Monsieur Fortissimo: is her playing adequate?’ Just the barest hint of a smile tugged at Fortissimo’s lips. He almost winced with the effort of concealing it. I could know, because I had seen that expression often enough. ‘She played absolutely—’ My parents frowned simultaneously. But Fortissimo checked himself—just in time! ‘Adequate. Absolutely adequate.’ He wanted to sigh, but withheld himself once more. ‘She will perform as you want her to perform and as the conductor expects her to perform.’ ‘It pleases me to hear that,’ Father said, accompanied by a, ‘Très bon’ from mother. None of them smiled or even made a small nod. Not that I was expecting either of those gestures from them. But still… ‘And how is her theory?’ Father informed after a moment. ‘Did you teach her from my own old theory book?’ Just thinking about that old piece of parchment from before the paleo-pony period made me want to gag. Yet, I followed Fortissimo’s example, and controlled my instinctive reaction. Fortissimo nodded. ‘We work on it every lesson, and she assured me she studies hard when I am not here as well.’ Father snorted. ‘Of course she does. I made sure of that.’ ‘That is… splendid!’ This time, Fortissimo almost gave himself away. ‘And I take it you work on theory for at least one hour per lesson?’ ‘That is what we agreed on.’ ‘Good. “If you understand how music theory works, you understand how success works.” That is what my old teacher used to say. He could not be more right.’ ‘Right as rain, Mister Melody.’ Mother leaned in and scrutinized poor Fortissimo, going as far as to pull her glasses to the tip of her nose with a tingle of unicorn magic. ‘Do you test her regularly?’ ‘Of course,’ Fortissimo said. ‘Hmm? When she least expects it?’ ‘Naturally, Missus Melody.’ She let out a small, half-chuckle, sounding almost like a cough. ‘Ah, that is what we wanted.’ There was a small silence. Father took a spotless, pearl-white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket, waved it around to unfold it, and dabbed his forehead. ‘My oh, my, it is so warm in here.’ ‘That is because of all the hard work we have done,’ Fortissimo said. Exactly where he got the nerve to make a joke like that right in front of Father and Mother, I couldn’t possibly guess back then and I still cannot guess today. I swallowed. My eyes flashed from my parents to my music teacher. I waited, tail between my legs. I could hear Father’s teeth grind together. He cleared his throat. ‘We are once more satisfied with your service, Fortissimo,’ he said, although his tone suggested very different “words of praise.” ‘Oui, indeed we are,’ said mother, who looked as uncomfortable as a bassoonist on a solo stage. Luckily, Father proved to be merciful today. ‘You may go, Fortissimo.’ His voice was icy cold. He didn’t need to be told twice! Immediately the music teacher collected his sheet music, crinkling and folding the pages in panic, dropping some of them, scooping them up and jamming them in his cello case somewhere. I too, carefully put my cello on the stand and moved over to help. Father cleared his throat again, extra distinctly this time, which was my cue to cease my kindness. I looked at him; he looked at me. I knew enough. Suddenly, Mother said, ‘Sacrebleu! The atmosphere is simply dreadful in here.’ And to illustrate her point, she waved an ornate silk fan. ‘You are right, darling.’ Father broke eye contact with me, a relief beyond description. He tucked the handkerchief in a pocket. ‘Shall we get something to drink? We still have that excellent Chardonnay in the basement.’ Mother nodded approvingly. ‘One good glass before we go to the Canterlot Music Hall sounds simply magnifique! Yes, they have beautiful music, but poor taste in wine, unfortunately.’ ‘I couldn’t agree more, my darling.’ When Mother offered her hoof, Father took it. Together they walked out of the practice room and closed the door behind them. As soon as the door clicked shut, Fortissimo ceased his panicky packing. He literally froze, closed his eyes, and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. I could see his whole body relax as if he could finally put down the solid stone cello he was carrying up Mount Everhoof. As he stood up, he stretched his back in all directions, then walked towards me. A broad smile adorned his clean-shaven chin. I knew what that meant. Together we counted. ‘With a one, and a two, and a you-know-what-to-do!’ The clap of our high hoof made my ears ring for a bit. But it was a great feeling. I hadn’t felt that way since the last cello lesson, a week ago. ‘You were absolutely fan-tas-tic, Octy!’ Fortissimo called. I couldn’t help myself and blushed. I did so every time he complimented me. ‘Thank you, Forty. You were good too.’ ‘Well, that is what one might expect from me after so many years of playing,’ Fortissimo said with a chuckle. Of course I giggled along, still a bit tense, although I knew there was nopony in the room but he and I. ‘I did my best.’ ‘Indeed you did. I just wish you would loosen up a bit. I mean, you play exactly what the sheet music says, but I always hear some… tension in your playing.’ For a moment, my gaze went to the ground. ‘I know. I should play with more expression. I can’t help it.’ Fortissimo lay a hoof on my shoulder. ‘I know you can’t help it.’ ‘But… you are nervous too. I saw it just a moment ago. I see it every time.’ My eyes met his sorrowful frown. Another sigh. ‘You are absolutely right, Octy. Playing under a watchful gaze is always… difficult and challenging.’ ‘Yes…’ I felt the urge to sigh as well. ‘But… that is why I have so much admiration for you, my little Octy, because you always play loud and clear.’ I giggled again. ‘Yes, you just heard how much I like to play loud.’ All the stress, nervousness, and cramped-up emotions burst forward in a duet of laughter. I staggered backwards and almost knocked over my cello stand. Fortissimo’s glasses trembled on the tip of his nose, then fell to the ground. Yet he did not notice it. His hind leg came dangerously close to them, and I could already imagine the cracking sound in my mind. I shot forwards but couldn’t stop myself in time. Next thing I knew, I had tacked my music teacher to the ground and lay on top of him. A silence. Flabbergasted faces. Then more chuckles. ‘You saved my life, Octy.’ ‘No, just your glasses, silly.’ I took a moment to look deep in Fortissimo’s brown eyes. I saw a flicker which I still remember. He grinned but the flicker remained. ‘You’re still nervous?’ Fortissimo scrambled up as I stepped back on the carpet. ‘A little,’ he said after bending down and placing his wire-rim glasses back on his muzzle. ‘I saw it.’ ‘You saw it right.’ ‘Why?’ ‘I’m so glad you have an eye for detail, and, more importantly, an innate ability to read other ponies and desperate music teachers,’ Fortissimo said with a wry smile. ‘Desperate? Why?’ He turned towards his cello and proceeded to place it in its case. ‘Oh… grownup matters. Nothing that would interest you.’ ‘But father always tells you to treat me as an adult. I’m sure I will understand.’ Actually, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this, yet my pity went to him, especially after seeing those eyes. ‘It’s nothing, really.’ He was already tucking away his bow. ‘If I can help you in any way, I will.’ Fortissimo froze again. Slowly he turned around. ‘It’s just that teaching you… wears me down in a way.’ Pure bafflement made my eyes grow. ‘But… don’t you like our practice sessions? Our duets? Don’t you like… me?’ A loud gasp. ‘What?! No, of course not! That was absolutely not what I meant!’ ‘Then what did you mean?’ He crouched down so our eyes were level, and scratched the back of his head, ruining his neatly-styled mane. ‘It’s just that… How can I say this nicely…? The relationship between you and your parents is… impacting me heavily.’ I nodded slowly. ‘I think I understand.’ ‘But not everything,’ Fortissimo said. ‘My parents were very different from yours. They supported me and my playing in every way. They bought me a cello from what little money they had. They always gave me compliments and got me the friendliest teacher there was.’ I had never heard something that incredible, and couldn’t possibly imagine a childhood like that. Somehow, it frightened me. ‘The contrast between my childhood and yours is just…’ Fortissimo threw his hooves in the air. ‘It pains and drains me beyond measure.’ ‘Then maybe I should come with you?’ I said. A small tear blinked in the corner of his eye, although he wore a gentle smile upon his face. Quickly he wiped the tear away, probably knowing I had seen it nonetheless. ‘I wish that were possible, my little Octy, I wish it were.’ The bang of the swinging door made the windows tremble. Both Father and Mother stormed into the room like a stampeding herd of bulls. ‘I THINK I HAVE HEARD QUITE ENOUGH!’ Driven by a flight instinct, Fortissimo jumped backwards, tripped over his cello, and fell down. He hadn’t closed the lid of the case yet. The cello made a heartbreaking, creaking sound as the wood splintered beneath the weight of Fortissimo’s hooves. ‘I could not believe my own ears,’ Mother said, turning up her nose as if I had just played out of tune. ‘Y-y-you have been l-l-listening?’ Fortissimo’s voice was trembling. Never before had I heard him stutter. The suddenness of it all must have shattered all the nerves in his body. ‘And I am GLAD I have,’ Father roared. ‘My sixth sense told me to keep an ear to the door.’ He stomped forwards, advancing on the shaking music teacher. I wanted to protect him but stood nailed to the gold-lined carpet. ‘I-I-I don’t know what you heard, good Mister Melody, but you should know that I meant no d-d-disrespect.’ Father stopped. His nose almost touched Fortissimo’s. A rain of spittle flew out of his mouth as he shouted. ‘NO DISRESPECT?! You have disrespected me in every way, Fortissimo. First you break the iron rule of NO compliments, and then you make an attempt to abduct my very own daughter!’ ‘M-m-mister Melody, please. That was not what I i-i-intended, and—’ ‘LIES!’ Mother shouted. ‘Yes, lies!’ Father snorted. ‘I can smell your lies and betrayal, Fortissimo. My sixth sense tells me so.’ Somehow I found a drop of courage in my heart. ‘No Father, he is speaking the—’ Just the sight of his blazing eyes was enough to silence me. For a moment he seemed unsure who to stare down. In the end he continued his rant on Fortissimo, whose tail looked as if it were going to shake loose. ‘Consider this the end of your lessons to my daughter. And the end of your reputation as well.’ His voice lowered to a hiss, but I could understand every word. ‘The details of your shameful and unprofessional behavior here will spread all through the Canterlot Musical Society. You will never find a music teaching job in this city, and I will do whatever I can to assure that any other music hall in any other city will shun you as well.’ Fortissimo’s brown face went white. ‘But… but—’ ‘It is a good thing you ruined your cello, because you will not need to play it ever again,’ Mother said, letting out a high-pitched giggle. ‘At least you can still use it as wood for the fire.’ His eyes looked from the broken instrument to the ground. Many tears now streamed down his cheeks. I couldn’t tell what had caused him to weep. Suddenly, Father turned around and walked towards the door. ‘You may leave, Fortissimo.’ Never before had I heard a voice more desperate, as Fortissimo kneeled down and folded his front hooves. ‘Oh, Mister Melody, accept my apology and offer me another chance! I am not a wealthy pony. I need this teaching job and I need my reputation. Surely you must understand and find forgiveness in your heart, as a great musical genius.’ I felt the urge to gag once again. Only this time it wasn’t funny. Father froze in the doorway. He stood close to Mother now. The two of them whispered. When Mother smiled, the scheming ended, and Father turned around. His eyes betrayed no understanding, let alone forgiveness. ‘Very well, I will forgive you.’ ‘R-r-really? Oh thank you, Mister Melo—’ ‘On ONE condition…’ ‘Anything!’ Fortissimo cried. ‘I will allow you to keep your reputation, IF you agree to teach my daughter free of charge for the rest of her life.’ His tone indicated that this was not an offer he could refuse. Fortissimo went silent. His breath was shakier than a novice’s bow. ‘If I were you, I would accept,’ Mother said. A thin smile was glued to her muzzle. ‘You have no other options, Monsieur Fortissimo.’ Upon seeing this frozen scene, I felt like bursting into tears myself. After a few more endless seconds, Fortissimo hung his head. ‘I agree to your terms.’ So it was done. After mentioning something about a contract, Father retreated with Mother close behind. I helped Fortissimo pack his things in total silence. After this tragedy I saw him three more times. We practiced in silence, the only sound coming from our cellos. Apparently he had found a replacement, but is sounded simply dreadful. Or perhaps he himself was playing badly. I could not tell. After the third lesson I never saw him again. ‘Gone with the wind,’ Mother said. ‘Good riddance,’ Father added. I just remained silent, thinking my own thoughts. Although I did not know where he was, one thing I knew for certain: I would never forget him.