A Million for Eleanor: A Contemporary Story on Love and Money Read Free

waiting for his response, and possibly knowing he was not going to give it anyway, she turned to the piano and started some sad serenade with such determination as if intending to play it through. Then she dropped it and turned back to him again.
    “I think you take me for a fool,” she said.
    “No.”
    He wasn’t lying, but he knew he wouldn’t persuade her.
    “Does mother know? I mean, everything ?”
    “Yes. I would have told you too, but there are things that shouldn’t be talked about at all.”
    “Like those you did after college? You are not going to kill her, are you?”
    Elisa’s face remained perfectly angelic even as she said that.
    “Of course not!” he cried with indignation.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Ask mother if you don’t believe me.”
    “That’s what I think I’ll do,” Elisa said, rising so elegantly it was hard not to compare her to something aerial. “Is she in the library?”
    “Yes. Go talk to her and then tell me what you decide. How does this sound?”
    “Why do you even need me? You must have already planned everything.”
    “Because you’re an indispensable part of the plan. I want to see you all together. All my favorite women at once. If you don’t come, the picture will be incomplete.”
    “There is nothing worse than that in the whole world.” Elisa sighed. “Okay, give me a few.”
    When her steps became inaudible he left the warm cavity of the armchair and sat on the piano bench. From early childhood he considered musical instruments mathematical machines and sometimes considered finding the formula of music itself, but never tried: not so much because he doubted his scientific skills, but because he didn’t know what he’d do if he found it.
    “Try again,” he whispered to himself closing his eyes. His fingers fell on the keys and he ran them up the octave to the notes he was looking for. “You know it’s not the same when you switch tonalities, even if the pattern remains identical. It just doesn’t make you eyes water, as if going through you instead of touching the...”
    Then this thought was interrupted by an explosion of pain; a wave of asphyxiating nausea crashed on his throat, and the world began to spin like a frenzied helicopter propeller. He automatically opened his eyes, seeing not the room but ugly dark-blue blotches floating in front of it. Next second another wave of nausea followed, throwing him on the floor. He felt so sick he lost track of reality, believing that someone was hammering iron nails into his skull. He just couldn’t understand why his head wouldn’t explode, releasing all the pressure and saving him from this excruciating agony.
    When the pain abated enough for him to realise what was going on his first thought was to get up before Elisa would return, but it was too late. He heard quick steps approach him, and then a warm palm landed on his temples, taking away the pain, nausea and vertigo at once and making him feel almost fine. He cautiously stood up, Elisa propping him on his elbow, and returned to the armchair.
    “Elisa,” he said hoarsely, resembling an emperor who had just recovered from a devastating debauch and prepared to make an earthshaking announcement. “Do you know why one must never find the formula of music?”
    “Because there is no such thing?” Elisa supposed, unsurprised by the question.
    “We don’t know that. But what if it exists and we do find it?”
    “Then everyone will be able to write music, right?”
    “Yes. And how will it affect music at large?”
    “Why should it affect it at all?”
    “Because such a formula will turn composing into an assembly line. And with it, your chances of coming across a good melody will drown in copious and tasteless renditions of every imaginable scale. Not to mention that music could be used for manipulating people.”
    “Are you trying to scare me?”
    “Certainly not.” He shook his head. “At any rate, if this formula exists, a genius who could find it