Giuliani

Giuliani

The café was busier than usual, the small bell dangling from the inside of the door bouncing its merry ring every time the door was opened or closed as the bottom corner stuck momentarily against the jamb. Despite the temperature of the air outside with the brisk wind, and the regularity of the door being used, the coldness failed to reach those inside; the steam from the San Remo espresso machine and the general warmth of the excited customers being enough. It was the day before Christmas.

Johann felt the dull pain in his calf again. Shifting his weight forwards onto his elbows and straightening his back once more, he pondered the parlous state of his L3-L4 disc. Low grade isthmic spondylolisthesis, they’d said. Generous amounts of physiotherapy over the years had helped a little but the pain never really went away. The coffee was good though – Guiliano knew how to make coffee and his pain au chocolat was just perfect.

That morning’s lessons had been a trial. None of his pupils were really interested in being there – the children were dreaming of the night ahead when Santa would come and the adults were worried over last minute preparations, travel arrangements and the like. The only student that had shown any real excitement about his lesson was the fifteen year old Ben who’d turned up with the complete set of Chopin preludes and had announced that he wanted to learn them all. The works represented a major challenge to the most accomplished of pianists and Johann had tried his best to suggest that they approach something a little less difficult; but Ben wasn’t to be put off.
“OK,” Johann agreed, “we’ll start with a couple of the easier ones and see how you get on.”

Ben had struggled his way through the preludes numbered 4 in E minor and 6 in B minor before Johann had given up.
“Look, I suggest you take these home and have a go over the Christmas break. Just make sure you don’t try to rush them.” He was pleased at Ben’s keenness but was always disappointed at his application. There was drive but little talent, desire but no hope. But then that was what being a piano teacher meant, wasn’t it?

“Do you mind if I sit here?” The woman’s accented voice was unfamiliar to Johann and he was slightly startled by its sudden intrusion into his solitary break. Looking up he saw a pretty face with a green woolen hat and scarf. The face looked tired. Then he saw the pushchair.
“Oh!” Try all he might, he was unable to hide the disappointment of seeing the young toddler in the seat. Not disappointed that the pretty face should have a child but that it might create a noise and disturb him. He didn’t like the noises made by children. “No, it’s fine, please help yourself.” The tired face couldn’t help but show her thoughts at Johann’s not-so-friendly reply to her request; but there were no other tables free.

Settling down opposite to Johann the pretty girl who looked no older than 24, brought the pushchair alongside her and started to feed the child some the pannetone she’d bought to eat with her coffee. The child made no sound at all and after apparently feeding it enough the young woman started to read a magazine she produced from a bag at the back of the pushchair. The child stared at Johann – he tried not to look back and hunched forwards over his coffee.
“Abuelita!” the child suddenly said towards Johann. “Abuelita!” Looking down from her magazine the woman followed the child’s gaze to Johann. She smiled. Johann smiled back.

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