The wedding took place in a small temple in Brooklyn. He then whisked Mrs. Krazinski on a month long honeymoon which took them to Israel, Cannes and then to Paris.
One night while he was in the studio listening to the previous nights recordings he noticed his right hand began to sort of twitch. He shook it off and assumed it was a muscle spasm. When it began to happen more frequently he decided to go to a Doctor.
“It looks like its a nervous condition. I would recommend staying away from using your hands as much as you have been, take some time off from the piano if you can.”
“Do you think I should do anything for it?”
“Let’s try relaxation and see how that goes; come back in two weeks.”
There was a sense of relief when he was told to stay away from the piano. He went home and saw his wife sitting on the sofa and she was crying.
“What is it? Whats wrong?” He sat beside her and feared the worst.
“Nothing is wrong, Daddy.” She smiled with tears falling on her face.
“What? Oh, my…” He held her and kissed her. “I am going to write a song for our child and for their beautiful mother.” He sat at the piano and she sat beside him. He began to play when he felt his fingers aching. He stopped.
“I need to spend some time away from the keys – the Doctor thinks its overuse.”
“Is that even possible when you have been playing the piano since you were a baby practically?”
That night he had a dream…
He was on stage doing a sound check for that evenings performance. He placed his hands on the keys when the piano door closed abruptly on his hands.
He woke up in a sweat and quickly checked his hands. He was alright, it was just a dream.
Two weeks later he went to see his Doctor to update him that the pain and the spasms had continued. These were not frequent enough for any individual to panic but for a pianist it was a good reason to be concerned.
There was a bang and it was over. Just as what is written in the sand is erased when the tide comes in so are the lives of future generations when death comes too soon.
There was no Pianist in actuality. The Pianist was the dream that Bertha had one night in Auschwitz. She had dreamed of having a child who would change the world with their musical compositions. She had dreamed of watching her child light up the world with the songs that they themselves had written or the songs that she loved being played by her child.
Bertha never did board a ship to New York -there was no marriage to George Krazinski. Jonathan Krazinski never played the piano, never saw or listened to Elton John or anyone else. Jonathan Krazinski never played the concert halls or Broadway. He never fell in love or knew the feeling of conceiving a child. He never existed.
He was just one of the billions of children who could have changed the world if they ever were given the chance to live. Can something that has never been actually find its way into existence?
Can a flame that was extinguished still guide us or are we forever searching for the way to another sunrise?
What should have been and what was stolen from existence changes the level of expectancy and causes earthquakes and tsunamis as a show of anger a show of resistance. Music that would have been played, medicines that could have cured, love that could have overwhelmed any hatred…
Instead there are unwritten symphonies and dark theaters, loneliness instead of companionship, silence where the sounds of a piano should have been echoing throughout the world bringing lovers together to dance and to sing. But the ghosts of what should have existed, what should have been born and what should have been; fill the hallowed air in silence causing a sad empty wind to blow across time and onto the darkness of possibilities which were destroyed.
A piano left unplayed is equivalent to a life unlived – the natural order is disrupted and all is meaningless in silence.