PIANOFORTE
“Mum.”
“Yes, my dear?”
“I want to move to Paris.”
To this she sighed. “I don’t believe you’d want to.”
“I would very much like to,” the child replied with dignity.
The mother swiveled to face her, though she was neither agitated or alarmed at this proclamation. Instead she regarded the child with innocence—“My dear, Paris is a war zone. You shouldn’t fancy such a place,”—and she set down a plate of pastries in front of the child, warning that they were still hot. The girl saw through the distraction and did not relent.
“When will it return?” she demanded, as if a precious gemstone had been taken from her.
The mother sighed again. She always sighed, and it aged her immature beauty when she did. “I don’t know if it shall ever return, honey.”
“I hardly think it should go on forever.” The girl’s voice returned to placity.
“Perhaps not,” the mother agreed as she attended the table. Setting aside two cups, she poured until they were three-quarters full, then handed one to the child. “But whether or not there is anything left is a different story altogether. This place you yearn for may be gone.”
“Anything else would be better than this wretched, gloomy residence.”
“Dear!” the mother exclaimed. Her face exploded with vigor, but her cup expelled not a single drop. “I should not think you will find their uncouth society more desirable than ours!”
“Certainly the enemy must be barbaric,” the girl calmly agreed. The mother seemed taken aback by the sudden assent, but recovered swiftly. There was no doubt she was well acquainted to this.
“Marie my dear,” the mother turned to the wiser. “Please explain to your sister why she mustn’t move to Paris.”
“I have, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Wouldn’t listen! Why, I have no choice but to listen! It is you who doesn’t listen!”
“I do listen. You know very well I do. But not every statement warrants a response.”
“How different is such a manner different from mine?!” Her language was quite disorganized at this point.
“The difference is in the contemplation.”
“The smarts she has!” the girl exclaimed. “And that puts you above me?!”
“I will not say it does not. But it teachable, if you are willing to learn.”
“Oh posh! She does believe she is superior!” and said no more. Marie neither confirm nor deny her proclamation.
The mother did not speak during this exchange. She simply watched her child with sad perplexity, unable to say no more. Even after the atmosphere did die down, and the two of them sat there quietly, she had no aspiration to speak again; instead, she found herself staring out through the foggy windows, lost in thought.
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