Petit Adagio, by Paul Stansbury

Photo by Vitae London on Unsplash

“Is that her?”

“No, Mr. Elam. The tuner’s still here. He’s playing some chords to make sure the piano is tuned.”

“But she is coming?”

“Yes, she’ll be here.”

“When?”

“Soon.” Frieda, his home health aide, straightened the oxygen feed under Elam’s nose. She glanced at the display on his pulse oximeter. Any lower and you’re going to the hospital whether you want to or not. The doorbell rang. “I bet that’s her now. I’ll go see.”

She reached the foyer as the tuner closed his tool kit. “Fine old piano. I remember tuning it for Mrs. Elam a while back. I take it she passed.”

“Some time ago,” said Frieda. “It was before my time.”

“Nice lady. That’ll be a hundred and seventy-five.”

Frieda pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it over. “Hope you don’t mind cash.”

“That’s fine.” He took the envelope and opened the door. A young lady stood on the small porch. She held a portfolio. “Scuse me,” he said, squeezing past her.

“You must be Donna,” said Frieda. “Sorry, didn’t mean for you to have to wait out there.

"I’m Frieda. I’m the one who called. Come in.” Donna stepped into the foyer. To her right, a wide arch opened into the living room. An upright piano stood against the wall.

“In there?” she asked.

“Yes. That was the piano tuner you passed on the porch. Apparently, it hasn’t been played for several years. But it sounds as good as new to me.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” said Donna.

“You get set up. I’ll go make sure he’s awake,” said Frieda. “You’re going to warm up aren’t you? He wants you to.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Once you have warmed up, you may play the piece. Mr. Elam will not be joining you. He will listen from his bedroom.”

“Okay.” Donna hesitated before asking, “You want only this piece? I brought sheet music for others. There’s no extra charge.”

“He asked for only one. When you’re finished, I let him know you have more if he wants.”

Frieda walked down the hall to Elam’s bedroom. His eyes were closed. She checked his pulse oximeter. Holding. She gently shook his shoulder. “Mr. Elam, Donna is here to play for you. She’s warming up now.” Soft notes floated down the hall and seeped into the bedroom. “Do you hear?”

Elam opened his eyes and smiled. “Yes, yes,” he whispered. “It's beautiful.”

Donna played her scales, chords, and arpeggios for about ten minutes before she paused. Pulling some sheet music from her portfolio, she placed it on the piano’s music shelf and began to play.

“Sounds like she’s started,” said Frieda. “You sure you don’t want me to get you in your wheelchair and take you to the living room? You’ll be able to hear it a lot better there. It's no problem. I can have her wait.”

“No. That would ruin it.”

“Ruin what?”

“Frieda, do you know what piece she is playing?”

“It’s the one you asked for.”

“It's the Petit Adagio for piano by Glazunov,” said Elam, “my favorite piece. Margaret learned it for me years ago.”

“Very nice. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the living room?”

“Frieda, you don’t understand.” Elam began sucking in short breaths.

Frieda took a quick look at the display. Heart rate too high, O2 sagging. “Calm down, Mr. Elam,” she said, placing her hand on his chest. “Remember, slow deep breaths.”

A few moments elapsed before his breathing settled down. Frieda checked the monitor. That’s better. “Now what was that you were saying?”

“You see,” he whispered, as if confessing a grave sin. “I never went into the living room while she played. I didn’t need to. Her music was everywhere. Always there for me. It was part of what made this a home. I never told Margaret, but sometimes…He held up his hand. “Listen, this next part is lovely. ”The music reached a crescendo, then gently settled back into the melody. Elam dropped his hand. “… sometimes when I was watching TV down in the basement, I would mute the sound to listen to her play. The very walls and floor of this house acted as her soundboard. Her music filled my life.”

Frieda watched his monitor. Okay, everything’s settled down. “You need to watch getting so excited, Mr. Elam. It’s not good for you.”

Elam smiled. “She was a music teacher, you see. Always practicing something on her piano. She had it before we got married. I can’t think of her without hearing that piano. Sometimes she would sing while she played. So beautiful. Me, I never could sing.” He held up his hand again, and they listened in silence. Finally, the music ended and Elam lowered his hand.

“Donna brought more sheet music,” said Frieda. “She said she would play some more if you wanted.”

Elam smiled. “I want to hear the Adagio again. Did you put a bonus in her envelope?”

“Yes,”

“Good. Take it to her and tell her it is wonderful.”

“Be right back,” said Frieda, picking up an envelope from the dresser. Donna was still seated at the piano when she arrived. “Donna, he wants to hear the Adagio again. And he asked me to thank you and give you this.” She handed her the envelope. “He said you play beautifully. When you are done, can you let yourself out? I need to get back to Mr. Elam.

“Yes, and tell Mr. Elam I am happy to come anytime.”

“I will,” said Frieda. “Now if you will excuse me.”

She stopped in the hallway, listening as the soft melody flowed past her on its way to Elam. It is very beautiful. I’ll let him enjoy his music without interruption.

When she finally reached his room, he was still, eyes closed, lips smiling. Having no need anymore, he had removed his oxygen tube and turned off his pulse oximeter.

A. Glazunov：Petit Adagio The Seasons Op.67

---

Paul Stansbury is the author of the four volume Inversion Series as well as Down By the Creek – Ripples and Reflections. His speculative fiction stories have appeared in a number of print anthologies as well as a variety of online publications.
Website: http://www.paulstansbury.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/paulstansbury