The Orchestra - Sinfónia Lifsins - 29. Burn the Past

On New Year’s Eve morning I was awakened by Tjúlli licking my forehead. It was such a strange feeling that, at first, my brain tried to interpret it by making me dream that someone was trying to sand a unicorn horn I had magically grown in my forehead. Before that, I had been dreaming that I was playing violin with Little Isaac on a train, so the change of scenario was weird even for dream standards. When I finally woke up, the first thing I saw was the cat’s disapproving stare. Tjúlli seemed to want me up and running immediately, like my laziness and comfort was somehow offending him.

I didn’t know if my half-asleep state made me read too much into the cat’s stare, but as soon as I got out of the bed, Tjúlli found a warm place among the discarded bed covers and laid down for a nap. Understanding I wouldn’t be allowed back in my own bed for at least a couple of hours (knowing this cat, he would probably dig his claws in my hand as soon as I got too close), I decided to go downstairs for breakfast. I hadn’t slept as much as I would’ve liked to, but it was already ten in the morning, so it wasn’t like I was waking up unreasonably early.

In the kitchen, Jó and Eiri had just started eating. They seemed surprised to see me there. “Oh, so you’re up already?” Jó asked. “I thought you were going to sleep until later because of last night.”

“Tjúlli wanted to take a nap, so he licked me until I gave the bed to him,” I explained. Eiri started to laugh, but Jó sent him a warning glare, so he tried to look like he understood my pain and felt sorry for me. But his face was so funny that I ended up laughing too.

“That’s a shame. You certainly deserve a lot of sleep.” Jó served me a bowl of fruit salad, ignoring our joking around. He sounded concerned. “Are you tired? Maybe you could take a nap in the afternoon. We have a long night ahead of us.”

“I feel a bit sleepy. I guess I’ll try to try to take a nap before Dmitri comes,” I told Jó, grateful that he wasn’t asking about last night. I didn’t think I could handle talking about it yet. “Hopefully Tjúlli will let me have my bed back by then.”

“I can give you my gardening gloves if you want to throw him out and keep your fingers,” Eiri offered with a smirk. He seemed a lot more carefree and smiley than Jó, so I wondered if he even knew what had happened. I couldn’t imagine Jó not telling him about it, but my cousins were acting so differently around me that I had to consider this possibility.

“Eiri!” Jó shot his partner another warning glance, and Eiri sighed.

“Fine. If Tjúlli is not letting you sleep, I’ll get him out for you. With a broom because I value my hands.” Eiri winked at me. Maybe he knew about everything and was just trying to cheer me up. I laughed a bit more, and Jó seemed to relax a little. We focused on small talk for the rest of breakfast. We didn’t speak about music, about our families, or anything truly close and personal. The most we did was rant about Tjúlli and his psychopathic tendencies.

For the first time since I came to live with my cousins, I didn’t feel like playing violin after breakfast. Up until now, I had used my free mornings to practice on my own before rehearsal. I knew I was younger and less experienced than all my colleagues who expected me to lead them, so I thought I should do all I could to meet those expectations. If I was not playing, I studied the scores to make sure my notes on bowing and fingerings created the best possible effect, or studied other people’s parts to see how everything fit together and what I could do to keep it that way. It was a lot of work, but I loved to hear the end result, so I had more than enough motivation to carry on.

But, this time around, I left my violin and scores untouched. Tjúlli still slept on my bed as I went straight to my desk and computer. I wasn’t sure why I was doing this all over again, but I couldn’t stop myself. I looked at my e-mails: three new messages from old school friends wishing me a happy New Year. Among the messages I had already read was one sent by Gummi to all ISO musicians. It was short, but it contained a link to a news article in English. The message read:

From: Guðmundur Sigurdsson

To: Staff

Date: 28/12/2012

Subject: A great friend will be missed

Dear friends,

It is with great sorrow that I share this news with you. It was not my intention to break the news over New Year’s festivities, but I was only informed of this an hour ago myself. I decided it was better to share this with you as soon as possible, rather than delay it until our next concert.

Isaac was a close friend of mine and I believe some of you also regarded him as such.

He will be greatly missed.

The news report was painful to read, but I found myself looking at it once more. My eyes invariably landed on the picture illustrating the article: the charred remains of a train that went off the rails and burst in flames. I didn’t really want to look, but at the same time I couldn’t take my eyes away from it. After reading the article countless times the night before, I could imagine what the scene in the picture looked like while the tragedy was still happening. I heard people screaming, running away and hiding in the isolated snowy landscape. I heard Little Isaac crying for his father, and my chest hurt so much I felt sick.

Why was I reading this again? Why couldn’t I take my eyes from the news article, this dry piece of writing reporting on yet another tragedy that took away hundreds of lives, including those of two great musicians? It hurt. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, I wanted to find Little Isaac and bring him home with me. The bright little boy I remembered from my first concert had just lost his parents. Isaac, the brilliant pianist who composed a wonderful concerto for his beloved wife, was no longer part of this world, and his wife was gone with him.

Little Boy Loses His Parents on His Birthday

Moscow, 22^nd December 2012

A ten-year-old boy has lost both his parents last Thursday (20^th December), when a train travelling on the Trans-Siberian Railway to Moscow mysteriously exploded just as it approached the Ural Mountains. The cause of the explosion has not been confirmed, but Russian authorities suspect it was a terrorist attack.

The explosion is thought to have occurred at around 2am. According to eye-witness accounts, the train stopped for a couple of minutes before the bomb went off. Rescue operations took five hours to reach the site, due to its remote location and a strong snow storm.

At least 50 people were killed by the blast, and another 200 are thought to have died from hypothermia following the explosion. According to one eye-witness, “we had no place to go, nowhere to seek shelter after the explosion. Some of those who came out of the train tried to stay together to keep warm, but many didn’t make it. I saw a young boy hugging his mother. She was obviously dead, but the boy didn’t realise it. I think she died while trying to keep him warm.”

The little boy was later confirmed to be Issac Isaakovich Krylov. He was travelling with his parents, Isaac Anatolyevich Krylov and Olga Nikolayevna Krylov, to Moscow. The parents were confirmed dead on-site. Isaac Isaakovich was taken into the custody of a family friend. Coincidentally, the accident happened on his tenth birthday.

It had been less than two months since the two Isaacs had been playing with us at the Harpa. The father had been a friendly man who helped me feel at ease at my very first concert with the ISO. The son had been shy at first, but he soon showed remarkable talent with the piano and the violin, and we played together for a packed audience. Little Isaac and I became friends quickly at the after-concert party, and I even exchanged e-mail addresses with them. Isaac, the father, had written to me only once, to share a video he made of his son and me playing violin together. I thanked him for the video, and we never spoke again.

If it had been less than two months since that day, I wondered if Isaac had played any other concerts before the accident. My eyes filled with water at the thought that we had been the last people to play with him. It was so unfair. A great person had died, leaving behind a young child who was probably the most gifted musician I had ever met. It had been obvious to me that Isaac loved his son very much, and while we played together I had felt how much he loved his wife too.

I wanted to reach out to Little Isaac. I wanted to make sure he was ok, that this family friend who was taking care of him was doing a good job. I had spent most of last night grieving because of the news, praying that Little Isaac was safe and getting help to cope with everything. The first time I read Gummi’s e-mail and the news article, I felt such a strong sense of dread and loss that it was almost irrational. I had barely known the Isaacs, yet the terrible news affected me greatly. Most likely, the duo had made such a strong impression on me because they were there during my first concert. Little Isaac also reminded me a lot of my young self. They had become special people to me, even if we spent just a few hours together. Dmitri had told me that Isaac played with us every season; he had already been booked to play next year. He was close friends with Gummi and many other ISO musicians because of this, so I knew I wasn’t the only one grieving our loss.

Still, it was too painful. The more I absorbed the events of the 20^th of December, the more I realised how truly horrible it must have been. The article said Little Isaac’s mother died hugging her son. There was no mention of Isaac, the father, which probably meant he was already dead at this point. Maybe he died with the blast. And apparently it all happened just as Little Isaac was supposed to be celebrating his tenth birthday.

Last night I cried in front of the computer for a long time, thinking about all these things and slowly understanding their full implications. After a while I managed to move my shaking legs to Jó’s office. He was still awake at two in the morning working on his writings, but as soon as he saw me, he helped me get to the living room. I lay on his lap in the sofa and told him everything. We ended up crying together while he caressed my hair and told me to get all the bad feelings out. I didn’t go back to bed until five in the morning.

Now, though, as I once again felt compelled to stare at the news article, I realised I could, actually, try to reach Little Isaac. I could send an e-mail to his father’s address. Hopefully whoever was taking care of him now would be able to access the account and translate my message.

Dear Isaac,

I just want you to know that I am thinking of you in these very difficult times. I can’t begin to imagine how you must be feeling right now, but please know that you have many friends here in Iceland. I don’t know if I can help you now, but if there is anything you need from us, please get in touch. You know that Dmitri is Russian like you, so if you choose to reply to this e-mail, you can write in Russian and I will show it to him.

I loved meeting you and playing with you in November. If, later on when you feel a bit better, you want to see us again, we would definitely love to have you back.

Your friend,

Gunni

My e-mail ended up very short, but I didn’t know what else I could write. Deep down, I didn’t expect Little Isaac to reply to it, but writing my feelings helped me calm down a little. I finally felt able to look away from my computer screen and the tragedy of a young boy’s life. I decided that, rather than keeping away from my violin because remembering our concert made me feel bad, I would play as a celebration of a great musician’s life. I thought of the Isaacs and played Mozart’s Violin Concerto n.3. I had never been a particularly religious person, but I ended up using my music as a form of prayer that Little Isaac would get through this, and that his parents were now in a better place.

(...)

I played until the doorbell rang and Dmitri appeared in my room. I didn’t notice him at first; he leaned against the doorframe and watched me play silently until I put my bow down to take a break.

“Hi, Gunni, long time no see,” he greeted me enthusiastically and asked for a hug. I looked at my computer screen, wondering if he knew about Isaac, and he took it as a sign that I wasn’t up for hugging. “Did something happen? Are you ok?” He was obviously worried about me, and the fact that he didn’t know what could be upsetting me so much proved that he hadn’t seen Gummi’s e-mail yet. I didn’t have the courage to say anything (Dmitri and the Isaacs were from the same country; they were probably closer than most at the ISO), so I just pointed at my screen. The news article was still there, and as Dmitri read through it I saw his face reflect the same kind of feelings that had taken over me the night before. He kept staring at the screen even after he was done reading, and neither of us spoke for a while.

In the end, he broke the silence, but his voice was so faint I could barely hear it. “I can’t believe it. Why…?”

“I couldn’t either.” I said, getting closer to him. I felt an urge to hug him and feel his comforting warmth. “I saw it last night. Gummi sent it in an e-mail to all of us.”

“I make a point of not checking e-mails when I’m on holiday,” Dmitri explained, running a hand through his hair. “This is horrible. Poor Isaac…”

“I sent him an e-mail. I told him he could answer in Russian because I could have you translate it.” I put my hand on Dmitri’s shoulder and rested my head on his arched back. His ribs shook in a brief, amused laughter.

“Aw, you’re so cute. Show me the e-mail. We can re-send it in Russian so we’ll be sure he can understand.” I did as he said, and we worked on the e-mail I had just sent Little Isaac. Dmitri figured out how to install a Russian keyboard on my computer and he re-wrote my message in the right language and alphabet. He made small changes to explain to Little Isaac that this was Dmitri writing to him using my e-mail, but other than that, the message kept to its original content (or so he claimed. I couldn’t read or understand any of it, but I had no reason to distrust him). We signed it as ‘Dmitri and Gunni’ and sent it off again. “Let me know if he answers.”

“Of course.” Dmitri straightened up from his crouching position and we finally hugged. We soon moved to the bed (Tjúlli had left the room at some point while I was playing), and cuddled there. Dmitri’s arms offered exactly the kind of comfort I needed, and it seemed that the same was true for him. We didn’t talk much; we mostly kept to our own thoughts and enjoyed each other’s physical presence. I was close to falling asleep when Jó called us for brunch.

(...)

Brunch was a delicious turkey that made Jó very proud of himself. My cousin-in-law acted carefully around Dmitri and me, avoiding subjects that could remind us of the Isaacs. My boyfriend, on the other hand, acted like he always did when Eiri was involved. It amazed me that Dmitri was able to carelessly flirt with my cousin as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. His flirting technique got more and more obnoxious and exaggerated as the meal went on, so that by the time we reached dessert he was coming up with pick-up lines such as ‘once we’re alone I’ll undress you like a beast and dress you like a salad, then saviour every bite of your tasty self,’ and ‘let’s cover the back garden with another kind of white material’. Jó, Eiri, and I weren’t sure if we should groan or laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Dmitri seemed fine with either.

After the meal, we headed to one of the big bonfires in the city centre. It was already dark outside, so the huge flames formed a beautiful spectacle. There were many bonfires throughout the city, all symbolically burning up the old year to start the new one on a fresh path. As I watched the flames, I tried to burn away the news article about the Isaacs, my worries about Siggi, and the other horrible things that happened during the past year (Kresten, the creepy tenor, in particular). I wanted to start 2013 hoping that Little Isaac was going to be fine, that Siggi would get better, and that I would be strong enough to face any other surprises that came my way.

Once the bonfire was over, we returned home to watch two special programs about the year that was just ending. The first was the usual news review. It was mostly boring, until it got to November and they showed footage of my interviews. Then I felt really embarrassed, and I had a hard time paying attention to the rest of the programme. Dmitri thought my embarrassed face was cute, and so he gladly offered his chest for me to bury said cute face into for as long as I found necessary. The second programme was called Áramótaskaupid, the New Year’s Comedy show, with parodies of news events. After the embarrassment from the main news, this was a welcoming change. We laughed a lot, and so we were in much better spirits by the end of it.

The four of us went out again, this time towards Hallgrímskirkja Church, where many people were gathering to watch the fireworks. The place was already crowded by the time we arrived, so we had to be particularly careful not to get lost.

“Is your cat ok with all the fireworks?” Dmitri asked. In Reykjavík, most people bought their own stock of fireworks for the New Year’s celebration. Those were sold by local volunteer rescue services, which used the money to buy their equipment. Sales were such that they usually got enough income to fund their operations throughout the year. Small, isolated explosions could be heard around the city from way before midnight, increasing in intensity and volume as the end of the year approached.

“Yes, he’s absolutely fine,” Jó answered, rolling his eyes in amusement. It was a known fact that most pets did not appreciate this time of the year as much as humans, but apparently Tjúlli was different. “I think he actually enjoys it.”

“Tjúlli is a strange cat,” Eiri agreed. He and Jó had similar expression of wonder. “Last year we found him on the windowsill trying to catch the fallen fireworks.”

“Then he got frustrated because he couldn’t reach any and decided my hat was an easier target,” Jó grumbled. “And then my legs.”

“Your cat sounds lovely,” Dmitri joked. My cousins stared at him like he had grown an extra head, but we were soon laughing about it.

Once midnight finally came, the explosion of fireworks all around the city created a beautiful view. The dark night sky was painted in many colours and shapes. Everywhere we looked, hundreds of fireworks filled the space between houses, lighting whole neighbourhoods. Next to me, Jó and Eiri kissed as soon as the fireworks begin, and they didn’t let go for many minutes. They probably missed most of the show. Dmitri hugged me from behind and I snuggled my body against his. I felt his head rest on my shoulder, and we watched the entire fireworks display in each other’s arms. Only once it was over did we kiss.

(...)

“Usually at this time of the night I’m out partying with Karen and Gísli and whichever guys I got attached to my butt,” Dmitri commented once we were back home, cuddling in bed. It was around two in the morning, but because of my lack of sleep the night before (and lack of naps), I was already feeling ready to give up consciousness. “But I can’t really complain about this change of routine.” He was spooning me, hugging my waist with one arm and caressing my hair with the other. We were both wearing only underwear.

“I like this too,” I managed to say, though the words came out slurred because of my tiredness. Dmitri seemed to understand me perfectly well, though.

“So you’re feeling ok with both of us nearly naked?” he asked. As far as I could tell in my tired state, he sounded a little concerned.

“Yes. I feel like I need to be very close to you, and the skin to skin contact is nice.” Dmitri’s warm body acted like a barrier to the thoughts and feelings that had taken over me since reading Gummi’s e-mail. He was my comfort and my safety, and I wanted as much of him as I could get.

“Aw, thanks. I feel the same way.” Dmitri kissed the back of my head, and we didn’t speak much after that. My boyfriend was making such a perfect protective shell around me that I soon fell asleep.

Like the night before, I dreamed that I was playing violin with Little Isaac on a train. But this time around, instead of being interrupted by a jealous cat, the dream was allowed to run its natural course. Little Isaac and I arrived at our destination and we were hugged and kissed by our parents. Isaac, the father, told his son he was very proud of him, while his wife praised the child’s violin skills. Meanwhile, my mother told me I was growing into a fine young adult, and my father said he would like to see me playing more often.