The Ghost Sonata Read online

  “You’ll also need someone to cheer you up between practice sessions. You know how grumpy you get.”

  Wendy stood up because her mother’s car was pulling into Mrs. Mendelovich’s driveway. “Gilda, if it makes you happy to pretend you’re traveling to Oxford with me, go right ahead.” Secretly, Wendy reflected that if there was anyone who could find a way to get herself to England on short notice, it would be Gilda.

  3

  A Dubious Plan

  As Wendy practiced her scales and arpeggios, she did her best to ignore Gilda, who sat on the Choys’ living room couch. Gilda, in turn, was doing her best to ignore the stack of untouched homework that sat next to her. Instead, she flipped through several books she had found at the library with titles like A Photographic Tour of Oxford Colleges and “Spotted Dick”: An American’s Guide to British Language.

  “Get this, Wendy. In England, if you want to say that someone is totally crazy, you say, ‘She’s gone doolally!’ or ‘She’s gone dotty and barmy!’ And if you want to describe something that’s way too girlie and cutesy, you call it ‘twee’!”

  “Good words to know when I’m hanging out with you,” Wendy muttered as she continued to progress through her scales in a series of major keys.

  “And listen to this, Wendy. If you feel like you’re going to throw up, you could say, ‘Stand back, mates; I think I’m to park a custard!’ Isn’t that great?”

  “Lovely. I can’t wait to puke like an English person.” Wendy began running through the minor keys.

  “I can’t wait to start talking this way,” Gilda continued, half speaking to herself. “I can just see us in England—slurping tea, drinking warm beer, eating scones and clotted cream, driving on the wrong side of the road . . .”

  Wendy abruptly stopped playing. “What are you talking about, Gilda? For one thing, we aren’t old enough to have our licenses, and for another thing, you just told me yesterday that you missed the deadline for that study-abroad program you were thinking of. Why do you keep talking as if we’re actually both going to England? At first it was cute, but it’s beginning to seem like you’re just in denial.” Wendy turned back to her series of scales.

  “There’s more than one way to get to England, Wendy. I’ll figure something out.” Secretly, Gilda had to admit that Wendy had a point. At the moment, she had no feasible way of getting permission to leave school for a week, not to mention the expense of traveling overseas. But as she skimmed through photographs of medieval architecture with soaring spires, college students laughing in dim pubs, cobblestone streets lined with lampposts, and picnics in rose gardens, Gilda felt certain that she was meant to go to Oxford for some reason. It isn’t fair that Wendy gets to go and I don’t, she thought. Wendy doesn’t even seem excited!

  “Wendy, don’t you even want to take a look at these pictures? Can you believe you’ll be in Oxford in a matter of days? You are so lucky!”

  Wendy turned around on the piano bench to face Gilda. “Look, I’m not going there to slurp tea and stuff my face with clotted cream. I’m actually scared out of my mind. Just look at this!” Wendy thrust a piece of paper at Gilda—the competition rules and guidelines. “I don’t think you realize how much pressure these competitions are, Gilda.”

  FIFTH ANNUAL YOUNG INTERNATIONAL VIRTUOSOS PIANO COMPETITION

  Congratulations! Based on your outstanding audition tape, you have qualified to compete in the Young International Virtuosos Competition!

  Five years ago, internationally renowned pianist Eugene Winterbottom decided to create a new opportunity for talented young pianists to launch their careers and gain international exposure, and the first Young International Virtuosos Competition was held at Oxford University. Since then, the competition has been held in Prague, Paris, and Stockholm. This year’s competition returns again to the United Kingdom, to be hosted by the music faculty of Oxford University.

  PERFORMANCE REQUIREMENTS

  At the time of their audition, performers must demonstrate an ability to perform music from four major artistic eras—a work of baroque music, a classical work, an impressionistic or Romantic piece, and a work by either a late twentieth-century or a contemporary twenty-first-century composer. A list of acceptable composers and compositions is available. In the first round of the competition held at Holywell Music Room, two works from eras of the pianist’s choice must be selected for performance. The event is open to the public.

  The Sight-Reading Test:

  The first-place winner of the Young Virtuosos Competition will demonstrate well-rounded, professional-level skills. For that reason, a sight-reading test is also part of the competition, and abilities to quickly learn music are factored into judging decisions.

  Finalists:

  Finalists will perform one of their selected compositions for an audience at the Sheldonian Theater. Tickets will be sold to the public for this event.

  Page-Turners:

  * The competition organizers will make every effort to provide a page-turner for the sight-reading portion of the competition if needed, but availability is not guaranteed.

  JURORS

  RHIANNON MADDOX

  Born in Wales, Professor Maddox studied at the Royal Academy of Music in London, where she now teaches. Much in demand both as a recording artist and as a performer with major symphony orchestras across Europe and in the United States, Professor Maddox is known for her experimental and boundary-breaking approach to piano performance, and she often includes works of pop music and jazz in concerts that feature more traditional classical works. She has collaborated and recorded with a broad range of musical artists, from famed cellist Yo-Yo Ma to pop star Madonna.

  NIGEL WALDGRAVE

  Professor Waldgrave completed his studies at the Royal Academy of Music in London and made his concert debut on the London stage after winning the Leeds Competition. Professor Waldgrave retired from the concert stage following a hand injury and has subsequently become a respected music historian and critic. He is the author of numerous books, including Playing with Purity: Staying True to the Masters and the popular pet-care book A Cat’s Music Companion.

  EUGENE WINTERBOTTOM

  Founder of the Young International Virtuosos Competition and an internationally renowned performer, Winterbottom’s performances and recordings of Rachmaninoff, Ravel, and Chopin piano concertos have been celebrated with both popular and critical acclaim. He is also known for his unique approach to piano pedagogy; his master classes and workshops are highly sought-after.

  Professor Winterbottom will adjudicate the final round of the competition.

  PRIZES

  The winner of the competition will receive a concert engagement with the London Symphony Orchestra. The winner will also receive a five-thousand-pound cash prize.

  *Under special circumstances, accommodations and travel expenses may be provided for competitors who wish to bring their own page-turners due to special needs. A request to the competition organizers must be submitted in advance.

  As she read about the competition, Gilda felt annoyed that her mother was right—the day had finally come when she actually regretted giving up piano lessons. Everything about the competition sounded magical and exciting: she loved the sound of places like Holywell Music Room and the Sheldonian Theater. If only she were the one who could play the piano brilliantly! Gilda imagined herself amazing English audiences, then meeting people like Rhiannon Maddox and Eugene Winterbottom for tea and scones following her performances.

  “My knees went weak when I heard your performance,” Eugene Winterbottom would say.

  “Brilliant!” Rhiannon Maddox and Nigel Waldgrave would declare. “And to think you only started playing piano a few months ago!”

  “Wendy, I think this competition sounds amazing,” said Gilda.

  “It sounds scary.”

  “You’ve done this before, Wendy. You always do well.”

  “Everyone always assumes ‘Wendy always does well.’ What about the one tim
e I don’t do well?”

  “When that one time happens, we’ll just pretend we don’t know you.”

  “You’re beginning to annoy me right now, you know that?”

  “Wendy, you know you could sit up there and play nothing but ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ and I’d still think it was fantastic.”

  Wendy sighed. “That doesn’t make this less scary, Gilda.”

  Gilda didn’t understand Wendy’s fear. Ever since elementary school, Wendy had played piano in the school talent show and accompanied the choir and instrumental soloists. She did all of this without making any mistakes—at least not any noticeable ones. Sometimes she disappeared for a weekend, and afterward, a new, framed certificate from a competition she had won would appear on the bulletin board in her bedroom. To Gilda, Wendy’s musical abilities seemed like an inevitable part of her best friend’s being. It was hard to imagine why she would be afraid of playing in front of others when all of her efforts seemed to bring success.

  Wendy began a series of angry, impatient-sounding arpeggios—difficult four-interval exercises Mrs. Mendelovich had prescribed to strengthen Wendy’s weak fourth fingers.

  Gilda turned back to the Young International Virtuosos Competition information and noticed something in the guidelines that triggered a delightful tickle in her left ear—her personal psychic signal that something interesting might be about to happen: “Under special circumstances, accommodations and travel expenses may be provided for competitors who wish to bring their own page-turners due to special needs . . .”

  “I’ve got it Wendy!” Gilda shouted over Wendy’s arpeggios. “I just figured out how I can go to Oxford with you!”

  Wendy stopped playing and regarded Gilda impatiently. “How?!”

  “Meet your official page-turner: Gilda Joyce!”

  4

  Bad Omens, Good-Luck Charms

  Wendy walked alone, following a narrow cobblestone street lined with row houses. She gradually became aware of a steady clicking sound—the echo of footsteps from a short distance behind. She walked faster, and the pace of the stranger’s footsteps also accelerated. Someone is following me, she thought in a rush of panic.

  Wendy whirled around to face the person trailing her, but the street was empty. In the yellow lamplight, shadows shifted in the doorways and alleys. She turned to continue walking and felt a dull ache in her stomach as the sound of footsteps immediately resumed.

  Faint strains of piano music wafting from a building just ahead gave Wendy a sense of hope and relief. I must be getting close to the practice rooms, she thought. Hearing the chaotic tangle of scales and arpeggios, she felt reassured that other people must be nearby; she wasn’t completely alone on the dark street after all.

  But something was wrong: the piano music seemed too eerily familiar. Wendy realized she was listening to fragments of the very pieces she would perform the next day at the competition.

  She found herself wandering through a hallway lined with practice rooms, and was surprised to find them all empty, their doors left open with only upright pianos and vacant piano benches inside.

  The door of the last practice room in the hallway was closed. Wendy approached the room, then stood on tiptoe and peered through the small glass window in the door. A boy sat at the piano inside, practicing Mozart’s D Minor Fantasy—a piece Wendy also planned to perform. Something was odd: it seemed that his hands weren’t quite moving in time with the notes he played. Wendy felt a deep foreboding—the sense that some awful truth was right before her eyes—something she didn’t want to let herself acknowledge.

  He’s dead, a voice told her.

  He turned to look at her through the small glass window in the practice room door. Her heart sank as he waved to her.

  As usual, Wendy awoke from the dream feeling that something—or somebody—was nearby, waiting for her. She buried herself under the covers, then threw them off with an abrupt violence, as if hurling the blankets at the shadowy nightmares that lurked in the corners of her immaculate bedroom. She swung her legs over the side of her bed and rubbed her eyes, trying to scrub away a burgeoning headache. With her chin resting on her fists, Wendy stared at her open suitcase on the floor. The suitcase was packed with neatly folded clothes and stacks of piano music. Wendy seemed transfixed by the luggage, as if it were a window through which she could view some interesting scene from her future. I’m flying to England tonight, she told herself. By tomorrow morning, I’ll be far from home, riding in a bus from London to Oxford.

  She knew she should feel happy and excited, but instead, she found herself wondering why her nightmares seemed to occur more frequently as the date of the piano competition approached. Anxiety dreams before a big performance were nothing new to Wendy: there was the familiar dream that she had accidentally walked onstage naked; the dream that her hands suddenly became paralyzed; the dream that the piano keys made no sound when she pressed them down; and the dream of sitting on the piano bench and discovering that another competitor had left gum on the seat. But the dreams she had been having lately were different—more disturbing and more real than any nightmare she had experienced before. What if they’re actually bad omens? Wendy wondered. What if they’re signs that something terrible might happen to me?

  “So lazy!” said Mrs. Choy, interrupting Wendy’s trance. “Nine o’clock and still in bed!” Standing in Wendy’s doorway, she held a long, red silk dress on a hanger.

  “Mom, our flight is a red-eye, and I probably won’t get any sleep tonight.”

  Mrs. Choy held out the dress. “You wear this dress in the show. Lots of luck!” Mrs. Choy considered herself a thoroughly modern woman, but she still maintained several ancient Chinese beliefs and superstitions. One of these was her certainty that the color red would help bring luck and keep away evil spirits. As a result, red decorations and pieces of art were tastefully placed throughout the Choys’ neat, uncluttered house—wall hangings, fans, figurines of dragons and frogs. A strong believer in feng shui principles to increase the flow of “positive energy” in her home, Mrs. Choy also placed green “money plants” in strategic locations and avoided all angular shapes and sharp objects.

  Wendy eyed the dress skeptically. It reminded her of a Chinese wedding gown. “I don’t know, Mom. . . . It seems a little too Chinese for England.”

  “Nothing wrong with Chinese. Red for good luck.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “To win, you need luck. You win, you get five thousand pound. You lessons not cheap!”

  Wendy was well aware that the winner of the competition would receive a cash prize and the opportunity to perform with a major orchestra. She also knew that both her parents worked overtime in jobs they didn’t particularly like to make this sort of opportunity possible for her, and she accepted as a fact the idea that she owed them some significant success as payment for their sacrifices. If only she could win something big, like the competition at Oxford University—something her parents could tell their friends about—she would prove herself worthy.

  “Mom,” said Wendy, “I might not win. This is an international competition. That means there could be lots of kids there who are better than me.”

  “Always someone better. You work harder.”

  “There are other people who work just as hard.”

  “Don’t be afraid to win.”

  Wendy feared something much scarier than winning—something nameless that she couldn’t even articulate. Her mother couldn’t possibly understand the deep unease that had been creeping into the corners of her mind, so there was no use trying to explain.

  “Okay, Mom,” said Wendy, simply wanting the conversation to end. “I’ll take the red dress.” But I probably won’t wear it, she thought.

  5

  Fear of Flying

  Gilda and Wendy sat near their gate at the British Airways terminal, waiting for the boarding of flight nine to be announced.

  “You haven’t said anything about
my travel attire.” Gilda wore a black dress, lace-up black-leather boots, and a hat with netting that half-concealed her eyes. She felt very mysterious in the clothes, as if she were a traveling spy.

  “I like the hat,” said Wendy. “The net over your face kind of reminds me of dead bugs on a windshield, though.”

  “That’s exactly what my brother said.”

  “See?”

  “He has even less fashion sense than my grandmother.”

  Nearby, Mrs. Mendelovich paced back and forth as she spoke in Russian on her cell phone, gesturing dramatically.

  “I wonder what she’s talking about,” Gilda whispered.

  “She’s probably yelling at her husband because he forgot to run an errand or something,” said Wendy. “She always does that during my piano lessons.”

  Sitting across from Gilda and Wendy were Ming Fong and Gary. Ming Fong’s childish clothes and diminutive body made her look younger than her fourteen years. Her hair hung in a ruler-straight bob just below her moon-shaped face. Gary was a plump boy dressed in uncomfortable corduroy pants. He sat with a book of music open, tapping out the fingering of a composition and quietly humming to himself.

  “Did you practice today, Wendy?” Ming Fong asked.

  “Not much,” said Wendy.

  Ming Fong’s eyes narrowed slightly. “How much?”

  “A couple hours, I guess. I ran through all my pieces.”

  “I practiced four hours. I usually practice at least five.”

  “Good for you,” said Wendy, with thinly veiled annoyance.