Throughout his life, Heiner looked back on that moment countless times.
Why on earth had he run away at that moment? Why didnât he just say that he hadnât snuck into the garden, that he had just stumbled upon it while out for a walk?
Why didnât he just tell her that her performance was really good?
At the time, Heiner did not know who the girl was. He could have guessed if he had thought a little deeper, but he didnât have the time and just ran away in a hurry.
But perhaps, deep in his heart, he had known vaguely from the moment he saw the small, shining white figure.
That she was different from him.
Perhaps that is why he was not so surprised when he learned of the girlâs identity and the fact that she was a promising pianist.
He thought it was rather natural. It would have been strange if such a noble and sophisticated girl had been of a lesser status.
When he had been struggling to get his little music box, the girl would have learned all kinds of culture, including music, from professional teachers.
When he was devising ways to satisfy his hunger today and tomorrow, the girl would have eaten her fill of warm, delicious food.
When he was struggling not to be beaten right now, the girl would have dreamed of a future on stage as a pianist in a big, fancy hall.
From cradle to grave she was going to live a completely different life from him.
He was of a status that could not even be compared. Thinking about it only made him miserable.
Heiner tried to shake the memory away.
The training camp was a very good place to forget something. He was trained to move his body mechanically, to torture his limbs until they creaked, and to be brainwashed and educated about loyalty so that his head would go blank.
He did this from dawn to dusk, and his entire body became completely exhausted. It was almost as if the ultimate goal of the place was to prevent him from thinking.
Moreover, he had to endure pain all the time because his injuries werenât fully healed. He often broke out in a cold sweat with a pale face when he moved his body incorrectly. There was no time to think about things.
One day, he heard that a trainee in the next room had been beaten by an instructor and that something was wrong with his head.
It was no big deal for a trainee to get hurt or die. Normally, people turned an blind eye and moved on. But at that moment, Heiner was suddenly aware of his situation.
âWe are just one of many chess pieces.â
The words constantly buzzed in his head.
He felt rushed, as if something had been chasing him all day. Even though it was just a day like any other, it was different from usual.
Because of the clutter in his mind, Heiner made many mistakes during training. At first they were overlooked with the excuse of his injuries, but eventually he was punished with 10 laps around the training ground.
Around the time of the last round, Hugo walked into the training ground with something in his hand. Heiner ran sputtering to a stop.
âHey, why do you keep making mistakes you shouldnât have made these days? Have you finally gone crazy?â
Hugo threw Heiner a water bottle and scolded him. Heiner held his side and scowled. Hugoâs nagging soon returned.
âWhat is it?â
ââ¦I think my wound is torn.â
âHuh? Let me see. Wow, yeah, itâs bleeding.â
The wound on his side, which had barely healed, was torn. His shirt was slowly wet with blood. But Heiner didnât have the strength to walk to the infirmary, so he just sat down under a tree.
âWhat, youâre not going to the infirmary?â
âLater.â
âYeah, that woundâs gonna get infected and youâll die.â
âWhy do you have that piece of garbage?â
âItâs not garbage, itâs a reed.â
Hugo shook some reeds in his hand. But in Heinerâs eyes it was no different than trash.
âI went to the seaside and picked it up. Thought Iâd make a grass flute.â
ââ¦a flute?â
âI lived in the country when I was young. My father taught me how to make grass flutes.â
âDid it really make a sound?â
âIt did. Do you want to make one too?â
Heiner silently held out his hand. Hugo gave him one of the reeds with a look of whatâs wrong with him. He sat down next to Heiner.
âDo you have a knife? Take it and copy me.â
Heiner pulled a pocketknife from his pocket and listened to Hugoâs explanation quite carefully.
âIf you pull the core out at an angle of about 30 degrees, it will separate like thisâ¦â¦â¦â
Heiner imitated Hugoâs method quite well. When the central core was separated, a cylindrical space was created inside.
âWith the knife, cut a little scratch in the middleâ¦â¦â¦..put one leaf between the gap and cut all the remaining leaves, leaving a little at the end and cutting all of themâ¦â¦â¦.. then wove it.â
It was a process as simple as it was futile. Heiner looked around at the grass flute with a dubious expression on his face.
âHow do you blow it?â
âPut your mouth right here and blow.â
Heiner tried blowing into the entrance, but all he heard was a whoosh of air. After several attempts, he opened his mouth and mumbled.
âI donât hear anything.â
âThatâs because youâre not good at it. Look.â
Hugo put his mouth over the entrance of the grass flute and blew on it very gently. At the same time, a beeping sound came from the grass flute. Heinerâs eyebrows raised slightly.
Hugo blew the grass flute several more times, making a whistling sound. It sounded like a broken whistle. It sounded like a young bird calling for food.
Whatever it was, it was not at all the âinstrumental soundâ that Heiner had in mind.
âHey, what do you think?â
ââ¦â
âWhy are you not talking? Isnât it cool?â
âWhat about a performance?â
âA performance? What performance is there to play on such a crude grass flute? You would have to practice for about a hundred years. Oh, by the way, an old man in the town where I used to live used to play his flute using leavesâ¦â¦â
Hugo began to ramble on about his childhood story. Heiner, however, did not listen at all and looked down vacantly at the grass whistle he had made.
In the first place, there was no way that a proper instrument could be made from a single reed. What in the world did he expect?
Did he think he could play a song with such a grass flute?
âLook at the sound, what kind of flute is that?â
âThis is a flute, what do you think it is?â
âA real flute is like that flute or clarinet.â
âHey, as long as it makes a sound, itâs all a musical instrument.â
âNo, you have to be able to play something.â
âYouâre being prejudiced, man.â
Heiner shrugged and lay down on his back. I wondered what good it would do to talk to people who had only had contact with a grass flute when it came to musical instruments their whole lives.
âWhy are you lying down? Not going to the infirmary?â
âLater.â
âThen you will die early.â
Heiner closed his eyes without reply. A slightly cold wind enveloped his face, and Hugo played his flute next to him.
How nice it would be if this was the sound of that girlâs piano. Heiner turned on his side.The grass swayed in front of him.
He wanted to hear her play again. He couldnât help but think.
He had the illusion that the sound of the grass flute with only one note would turn into a piano piece whose title he did not even know.
He wanted to hear that performance again.
That enchanting performance, that dreamy scene from that summer night, just one more timeâ¦â¦â¦â¦â¦
Heiner let out a laugh. He tried to shake off the memories, but in the end he couldnât shake off anything. His mind was at the original place.
The air flowed differently. The sound of the grass flute spread from the hilltop.
***
Heiner was unremarkable compared to his talent and ability.
Of course, he had been an excellent trainee and the supervisors had been keeping a close eye on him, but it was during survival training that he first showed his full potential in a serious way.
This was partly because Heiner deliberately killed his own presence.
He was not particularly interested in the future, like dreams or success. He just wanted to escape as much as possible from the possibility of imminent violence.
But since his visit to the Marquisâ mansion, Heiner no longer hid his competence.
He literally did his best. He did everything he could. Instantly, Heiner was transformed into the top of his class and was invited to every dinner party at the Marquisâs.
If anyone were to ask, they would think he was crazy. The only reason why he endured bloody training to get the top spot was to listen to the piano play.
He was too pathetic to even think of himself.
The humanities and the arts were the concern of the kind of people who didnât have to worry about living in struggle.
It was a luxury for his kind.
But listening to the girlâs performance, Heiner could understand perfectly why people read literature, admired art, and go to concerts.
Coincidentally, the time of the dinner party coincided with the girlâs piano practice time. Thanks to this, Heiner was always able to hear the performance at the same time and place.
He hid himself in the grass by the window and listened to the flowing melody. Birdsong, the rustling of leaves, and the soft sound of the piano were the only sounds in his ears.
It seemed that only he and the girl were left in a world filled with sounds and soft piano notes.
For that moment, his life seemed so much better.
As the girlâs fingers moved back and forth over the keys, Heiner felt as if he were floating somewhere in the air. He felt as if the sense of the world under his feet had completely disappeared.
The performance took him to a foreign country beyond the hard sea, to the vast meadows he had only seen in pictures, and to his hometown, which he could not even remember.
Not to cold reality, but to some other distant placeâ¦â¦â¦â¦..
Heiner crouched in the grass and hugged his legs. His body, large for his age, seemed infinitely smaller. He bowed his head and rested his cheek on his knee.