The Pianist

A crash and a war threaten a young boy's life... and career.

It’s a cold autumn night in a small rural town in Ohio. The little community of Newdale sits alone in the eastern fields, a population of a measly 250 people. Everyone knows everyone.

            The year is 1921. Europe is on the brink of utter chaos, if that state has not already been achieved.

            The brisk wind carries our story to the presently quiet home of the Binns family. One father, one mother, and one son: your typical American family. But chaos is about to ensue, a chaos unlike that in Europe.

            My name is David Wilson, and I was a resident of Newdale that night in 1921. Some would call it a tragedy what happened. But I… I like to call it a miracle. And so begins the tale of the pianist.    

 

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            A light flashes on. Hushed voices bicker. The main raises his, and a woman raises hers back. A child’s cry cuts through the dark night’s argument. “See what you’ve done, Mildred?!” “What I’ve done? Look what you’re doing to our family, Jack!” A slap. Mr. Binns yanks the front door open, stomping out into the street. No sign of Mildred. And in his blind anger, Mr. Binns neglected to notice the headlights bearing down on him.

            The funeral was held several days later. All of Newdale showed up, including Mildred and her son, Aaron, who was only 1 year old. His birthday was in exactly 3 months, but even then the little tike wouldn’t remember his daddy. The date: September 7, 1921.

            The years passed, and the Newdale Crash had been pushed to the back of everyone’s minds in the town. Everyone’s except Mildred’s. America was great economically, and after a little bit of saving, Mildred Binns was able to purchase an escape mechanism, to help forget about that awful day she lost her husband: a piano. I fondly remember the day it was shipped: December 7, 1924. Aaron Binns’ 5^th birthday.

            But the piano was not only played by Mildred: little Aaron enjoyed pressing the keys at random to hear all the different sounds. It was not until the year 1929 that I started to notice something different in the Binns household.

            I myself am a lover of all types of music. Yet I was surprised one morning to wake to the sounds of a tune. Seeing as I lived right next door, I poked my head out the window facing the Binns house and listened intently. I couldn’t believe my eyes or ears.

            Aaron was playing a tune. By Beethoven.

            I sat at the window, admiring Aaron’s beautiful talent. Oh, the last time I had heard Beethoven… this was music to my ears. Closing my eyes, I listened to each note, and imagines Aaron’s hands dancing melodiously over the keys, the look on Mildred’s face as she listens along as well. As the last note is struck, I close the window, clap, and wipe the tear from my eye as I head off the bed.

 

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            A little note about myself. I am handicapped, bound to my wheelchair by the paralysis in the lower body, from the waist down. I had attempted marriage twice, and neither worked out very well, so I have taken up a life of solitude here in my eternal resting spot.

 

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            As the Great Depression rolled around, times became tough economically in Newdale. But like always, we stuck through and survived into the late thirties. But then things in Europe turned ugly.

            A man named Adolf Hitler took power in still war-torn Germany. He illegally gathered an army and planned out his horrific strategies or murder and conquer. Dark times blanketed the world.

            America gladly stayed neutral through it all. After the first worldwide conflict, we were hesitant as a country to go headlong into another one.

            But then 1941 came. Oh my, 1941…

            Aaron Binns was now 20 years of age, turning 21 in just two days’ time. His piano playing had become exceptional over the years, playing complicated yet classical pieces by Beethoven, Mozart, and the like. Apparently the contemporary piano jazz didn’t suit Aaron’s style. Occasionally, as I would sit in my den, I would catch a small piece of what he was playing. He would hold concerts in the house. And although the Binns’ didn’t charge anyone for attending, I never made one in person. Practically no one knows I’m here anyway, so why change that? The concerts would draw in 50 Newdalers at a time, all trying to catch a glimpse of the magical dancing fingers of the pianist. Aaron had become a community icon.

            Aaron’s 21^st birthday was a memorable one, but for the wrong reason. Mildred Binns was setting up the chairs inside and outside of the house, preparing for Aaron’s 21^st birthday piano concert. Aaron would be playing a piece he composed himself. But he was deprived of this chance by the horrific incident which will live in infamy.

            Pearl Harbor, Hawaii was attacked. Needless to say, there was no concert that day.

            On December 8^th, 1941, President Roosevelt declared war against Japan, officially bringing America into the European conflict. It was now turning into another worldwide war.

            And with the declaration of war came the issue of a draft system, requiring all men between the ages of 21 and 45 to register. This meant Aaron.

            To Newdale’s shock, Aaron was drafted. The pianist would now be playing a different tune with his fingers. No longer would they make the sound of peace and calm: they would now make the sounds of war and chaos.

            Aaron left in what seemed like no time. His time in Newdale as a 21-year old was short. It seemed so unfair: how an innocent young man like Aaron, a piano career in front of him, could be snatched by the army and chosen to do the work of the devil.

            The time passed slowly. The evenings became quiet. The Binns’ piano remained silent: perhaps Mildred was waiting for Aaron to return to play it once more.

            If he came back at all.

            Of course, Aaron still wrote back home. How do I know this? Well, you could call me a snoop, but I held a common concern for the poor kid. So naturally, I listened at the window as Mildred paced the house, reading the letters from Aaron aloud to herself, a reassurance that it was real and that her son was alive. The stories were quite interesting. Some of them even made me chuckle, the odds of the events striking me as significantly… precarious, one might say. He wrote about his general, whose name was Wolfgang Ortiz. When Aaron wrote about General Ortiz, he always mentioned how the very first time he heard his name, he had giggled and was forced to do 50 pushups in front of his entire platoon. He never brought it up without making Mildred smile through the tears.

            Every story was unique. One was about Aaron’s haircut, another about his training, another about writing the letters. But possibly the most intriguing were those about his new found friend, Ludwig Cooper, whose name he had also giggled at. Ludwig shared Aaron’s love of piano, so naturally, the pair became quick compatriots.

            The letters continued for a year and a half. In July of 1943, Aaron wrote a letter back home, the first in 2 months. Usually he wrote home every other week. So, like every time before, I rolled over to the window and listened as Mildred began reading:

 

 “Hello mum, it’s Aaron again. I’m beginning training this week, then I’m off to Italy for some time. May not be able to write for another few months. I’ll keep busy. You just keep living.

All my love,

Aaron

         I closed the window, spun my wheelchair around, and headed for bed. It was all too much.

            August began, and still there was no word from Aaron. I’m sure Mildred was waiting with bated breath, just as I was, and all of Newdale was. Like I said, I care for the boy, and all of Newdale did too.

            Then it happened.

            As I sat in my wheelchair, I started to doze off for the evening, only to be woken by the sound of a doorbell ringing next door. I rolled over to the window, and my worst fears were confirmed: standing at the door is a man dressed in his Marines uniform.

            Mildred answered the door, and immediately he hands fly to her mouth. The soldier motions to be let inside, and Mildred allows it. I crack the window as the young man sits down and begins speaking to Mildred in a somber, hushed tone.

            “Mrs. Binns, my name is Ludwig Cooper. I was Aaron’s best friend.”

            Was? “I know,” Mildred says, wiping tears away, “He wrote about you all the time. Is he okay? Please tell me he is.”

            A slight pause. Then: “Mrs. Binns, there’s been a terrible accident. Aaron, while going back to help another platoon member, stepped on a concealed mine. I immediately pulled him to safety, and I… I carried him to the makeshift hospital close by. The doctors said he might lose both of his legs.”

            The tears spewed forth. From Mildred and me.

            Ludwig continued. “The doctors said that no matter what, he needed 5 months of treatment, and then he could be sent home, honorably discharged.”

            Mildred blew her nose, then looked up, her faced streaked with glistening tears. “How long has it been, Ludwig?”

            Ludwig removed his helmet and held it in both hands, avoiding eye contact with Mildred. “6 months, ma’am.”

            It was an unbearable scene to witness. The pain, the agony, the suffering. I was ready to close the window when Ludwig spoke again. “Aaron’s last wish was for me to do something for you.” With that, he walked over to the dusty piano, out of order for nearly 2 years, and started playing a song.

            And not just any song. It was the song Aaron composed himself, the one he was supposed to play on his 21^st birthday. I imagined Aaron sitting in Ludwig’s spot, but the just brought the tears welling up in my eyes again. It was no mystery that the two men had become friends.

            After finishing, Mildred hugged Ludwig. “Was that truly his final wish?”

            Ludwig started, “Well-

            But he was cut off by the sound of the doorbell.

            It all happened so fast.

            I closed my eyes in fear of who it was. I would be able to tell from the reactions of Mildred and Ludwig. With my eyes closed, the sounds painted a picture.

            A woman yells. A man yells back. Jubilation, almost.

            Who has shown up at Mildred Binns’ house that has made her this happy?

            I had to look. So I opened my eyes.

            Standing at the doorframe, hugging Mildred, was Aaron Binns: the pianist, my son.

 

 

 

THE END