Viola

The viola students from year one onwards were on stage with their teacher playing for parents and friends what they had so harshly learnt in this austere place of knowledge: the "conservatoire".

Tiny beginners clutch tiny violas from which they carefully extract screeching sounds. Their serious expressions and sweet looks generate deep sympathy.

Slightly older two year students extract a greater variety of screeching notes, which almost sound right when they all play together.

A pure note stands out now and then drawing proud smiles in the audience.

Awkward tall young teenagers perform, expressions ranging from fear to surprise, from sulkiness to utmost seriousness, as they tackle with more complicated gamut, which somehow escape their control.

While admiring their perseverance, my ears cry for pity. Oh, untameable viola, how much love and hate you must inspire to those who dare try to tame you.

And then the finale. Together they play and the notes seem to blend into music, guided by the gentle and inspired sounds of one who has mastered viola and overcome so many rugged reefs.

see "pieces" for full text

...

Behind the window on the other side of the track, I watch the energy and movements of a silent mouth, stretching into sounds unheard. Wrinkles appear on forehead. Cheeks move upward. Eyes widen, look away. Eyelids tighten. Chin hugs throat creating folds. Head shakes. Neck stretches forward. Frown takes over, and mouth dances away uttering an avalanche of words. 

Again the metro

Strange as it may seem - besides the strident sound signaling the closing doors, the screeching of brakes, the announcements on the loud loudspeaker which intrude at times on the way- inside the crowded wagon it can be eerily silent.

So many human beings, packed in such a small place, yet silent, avoiding eye contact, suffering unavoidable physical contact, doing their best to seem indifferent.

And then a phone rings - some crazy ring tone breaks through the silence - a loud voice engages in an animate conversation in a foreign tongue.

Or a beggar walks up and down the aisle and recites some sad well rehearsed story in a whine.

Or a lousy accordion player steps in and offends a well know tune.

Or two women start to gossip at the top of their lungs, one keeping her eyes closed when she speaks.

Or a little girl chats away, taking no time to breathe and her mother doesn't listen.

Or an African family talks, talks, talks, in a mysterious dialect, as if seated around a village campfire. One speaks looking ahead, the other listens looking away.

Or a baby beings to cry.

Or a witless boy begins to howl.

Or an angry man begins to shout.

And then back to eery silence and indifference.