Moonlight

Part 1: Visitors

There has always been something about night that is far less invasive than the day. Everything is awake with the day. It is loud, chaotic, and bright when some desire the still tranquility that is night…

Lud smiled at the mass of plasma sinking beneath the horizon as he stroked the piano keys rapidly. He slowly decelerated until the light of the day faded into the muted white of the moon. He paused to acknowledge the moon’s perfect, round reflection shivering on the surface of the lake outside his window. The humming of the A-minor chord beneath his hand faded into the silent darkness of Lud’s home. He closed his eyes and breathed in the cool, summer air drifting through the night. Lud bit down hard on the rod connected to the soundboard of his piano and let his hands fly up and down the keys. He relished in the vibrations of the different chord variations, the alternating between major and minor, and the music that resonated deep within him. An intruding vibration was suddenly at the back of his ear—a dull knock on the door. Releasing his jaw clenched on the sound rod, Lud stopped his playing abruptly and gazed towards the door uncertainly. He hadn’t had visitors since the doctor suggested his move to this small town. Would the critics already have found him?

Before he could consider his next actions, his housekeeper Marie was already lighting an oil lamp and opening the door. After what seemed like brief introduction, Marie had taken the hats and coats of the two figures and led them into the parlor adjacent to Lud’s piano. Igniting two more lamps, Marie rushed to Lud’s side and urged him to see to the guests—or unknown critics, for all he knew—seated in his parlor. He could hear Marie in the distant corners of his perception muttering something to a proper, straight-backed man seated in an armchair. Lud could not help but notice his formal vest and coattails and wondered what he was doing in a town such as Heiligenstadt in such attire.

Upon Lud’s entrance to the room, the man stood and introduced himself. “I am Franz Brunsvik,” the man spoke sonorously, his words deep like the notes of D-minor, “and this is my niece, Giulietta. We have traveled from Linz to Vienna to hear you perform, Herr Beethoven.” It was only then that Lud noticed the dark-haired girl seated on the sofa. “It was only when we arrived in Vienna that we discovered that you cancelled two of your performances. Letta was sorely disappointed.” The dark-haired girl nodded earnestly. Lud tried to discern more of the girl’s features, but they were lost in the shadows of the room.

“What can I help you with, Herr Brunsvik?” Lud had grown accustomed to his own voice speaking from the back of his consciousness. It were as if his soul deep inside was pouring out of his mouth. He heard his words like they were his thoughts, and if his mouth hadn’t been moving, they might have been.

Brunsvik seemed surprised to hear Lud’s speech so clearly. However, his words seemed to lack emotion. They were straight, unlaced, and depleted of any desire to communicate vocally. “I would not have called on you so late if it weren’t for the determination of my niece to hear you play just once before our journey back home.” Brunsvik spoke apologetically as his eyes lingered on Letta.

Lud’s eyes also lingered on Letta with her dark hair worn loose in an unaccustomed fashion around her face. He imagined how soft it would be should he run his fingers through its waves. And Letta’s eyes found his. Only he was not quite sure that those light-hued eyes could even detect a flash of color. Blind. Her eyes could not hold onto his—they were out of focus—but he could not escape the sensation that somehow she was seeing him. Lud shivered as her eyes shone like ice and pierced through the wall he’d so carefully constructed around himself. He found himself taking a step towards her.

Brunsvik noticed Lud’s gaze, and suddenly felt a need to explain. “Letta desperately wanted to hear you play. She’s so much more attuned to music than most because of—“

“—because I am blind, I rely on my ears to show me what I cannot see.” Letta’s voice was soft like trickling rain, yet it resonated deep within Lud’s mind. “I have heard people say that you can paint pictures with your music. Can you show me one of these paintings?”

His eyes blinked furiously as he tried to thwart his eyes’ fixation on the young woman speaking to him. Like a moth drawn to a bright light, Lud was drawn to her pale complexion and pale, dancing eyes. He traced the chemise around her neck to where it was gathered around her slender waist and then to the porcelain hands folded on her lap. Letta was something Lud was very unused to. She was unconventional in her beauty, which made her all the more irresistible.

Somewhere in his periphery, Brunsvik yawned.

“Marie, make up the guest quarters,” Lud requested to his servant perched somewhere near the entryway. He then turned to his guests, “It is late, and I can guarantee the accommodations here will be much more suitable than any inn you’d find in town. I will prepare something to play for you tomorrow.” He added the last bit with a quick glance to Letta, who sat with a content smile. For a second, he could almost feel her staring at him again, but he hastily dismissed the ridiculous idea.

“We would be honored,” Franz Brunsvik nodded. He yawned once more, and Marie offered to lead them up to their rooms.

Lud followed them to the banister and wished them goodnight. He watched the swish of white chemise dust the stairs before he turned, extinguished the lights, and walked back to his glossy, black piano.

***