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The bird was gone。 The bird was free。
〃Christ is born；〃 I whispered。 〃Christ is risen。 Christ is in Heaven and on Earth。 Christ is with us。〃
But no one could hear my voice； my private voice； and what did it matter； for all the world sung the same song？
A hand clutched me。 Rudely； meanly； it tore at my white sleeve。 I turned。 I drew in my breath to scream and froze in terror。
A man； e out of nowhere； stood beside me； so close that our faces almost touched。 He glared down at me。 I knew his red hair and beard； his fierce and impious blue eyes。 I knew he was my Father； but he was not my Father but some horrific and powerful presence infused into my Father's visage； and there； planted beside me； a colossus beside me； glaring down at me； mocking me by his power and his height。
He reached out and slammed the back of his hand against the golden chalice。 It wobbled and fell； the consecrated wine staining the morsels of bread； staining the altar cloth of woven gold。
〃But you can't！〃 I cried。 〃Look what you've done！〃 Could nobody hear me over the singing？ Could no one hear me above the peal of the bells？
I was alone。
I stood in a modern room。 I stood beneath a white plaster ceiling。 I stood in a domestic room。
I was myself； a smallish man figure with my old tousled shoulder…length curls and the purple…red coat of velvet and the ruff of layered white lace。 I leant against the wall。 Stunned and still； I leant there； knowing only that every particle of this place； every particle of me； was as solid and real as it had been a split second before。
The carpet beneath my feet was as real as the leaves which had fallen like snowflakes throughout the immense Cathedral of Santa Sofia； and my hands； my hairless boyish hands； were as real as the hands of the priest I'd been a moment before； who had broken the bread。
A terrible sob rose in my throat； a terrible cry that I myself could not bear to hear。 My breath would stop if I didn't release it； and this body； damned or sacred； mortal or immortal； pure or corrupt； would surely burst。
But a music forted me。 A music slowly articulated itself； clean and fine； and wholly unlike the great seamless and magnificent chorus which I had only just heard。
Out of the silence there leapt these perfectly formed and discrete notes； this multitude of cascading sounds that seemed to speak with crispness and directness； as if in beautiful defiance of the inundation of sound which I had so loved。
Oh； to think that ten fingers alone could draw these sounds from a wooden instrument in which the hammers； with a dogged rigid motion； would strike upon a bronze harp of tautly stretched strings。
I knew it； I knew this song； I knew the piano Sonata； and had loved it in passing； and now its fury paralyzed me。 Appassionata。 Up and down the notes rang in gorgeous throbbing arpeggios； thundering downward to rumble in a staccato drumming； only to rise and race again。 On and on went the sprightly melody； eloquent； celebratory and utterly human； demanding to be felt as well as heard； demanding to be followed in every intricate twist and turn。
Appassionata。
In the furious torrent of notes； I heard the resounding echo of the wood of the piano； I heard the vibration of its giant taut bronze harp。 I heard the sizzling throb of its multitudinous strings。 Oh； yes； on； and on； and on； and on； and on； louder； harder； ever pure and ever perfect； ringing out and wrung back as if a note could be a whip。 How can human hands make this enchantment； how can they pound out of these ivory keys this deluge； this thrashing； thundering beauty？
It stopped。 So great was my agony I could only shut my eyes and moan； moan for the loss of those racing crystalline notes； moan for the loss of this pristine sharpness； this wordless sound that had nevertheless spoken to me； begged me to bear witness； begged me to share and understand another's intense and utterly demanding furor。
A scream jolted me。 I opened my eyes。 The room around me was large and jammed with rich and random contents； framed paintings to the ceiling； flowered carpets running rampant beneath the curly legs of modern chairs and tables； and there the piano； the great piano out of which had e this sound； shining in the very middle of this mayhem； with its long strip of grinning white keys； such a triumph of the heart； the soul； the mind。
Before me on the floor a boy knelt praying； an Arab boy of glossy close…cropped curls and a small perfectly fitted djellaba； that is； a cotton desert robe。 His eyes were shut； his round little face pointed upwards； though he didn't see me； his black eyebrows knit and his lips moving frantically； the words tumbling in Arabic：
〃Oh； e some demon； some angel and stop him； oh； e something out of the darkness I care not what； something of power and vengeance； I care not what； e； e out of the light and out of the will of the gods who won't stand to see the oppression of the wicked。 Stop him before he kills my Sybelle。 Stop him； this is Benjamin； son of Abdulla； who calls upon you； take my soul in forfeit； take my life； but e； e； that which is stronger than me and save my Sybelle。〃
〃Silence！〃 I shouted。 I was out of breath。 My face was wet。 My lips were shuddering uncontrollably。 〃What do you want； tell me？〃
He looked at me。 He saw me。 His round little Byzantine face might have e wonder…struck from the church wall； but he was here and real and he saw me and I was what he wanted to see。
〃Look； you angel！〃 he shouted； his youthful voice sharpened with its Arab accent。 〃Can't you see with your big beautiful eyes！〃
I saw。
The whole reality of it came down at once。 She； the young woman； Sybelle； was fighting to cling to the piano； not to be snatched off the bench； her hands out struggling to reach the keys； her mouth shut； and a terrible groan pushing up against her sealed lips； her yellow hair flying about her shoulders。 And the man who shook her； who pulled at her； who screamed at her； suddenly dealing her one fine blow with his fist that sent her over backwards； falling off the piano bench so that a scream escaped from her and she fell over herself； an ungainly tangle of limbs on the carpeted floor。
〃Appassionata； Appassionata；〃 he growled at her； a bear of a creature in his megalomaniacal temper。 〃I won't listen to it； I will not； I will not； you will not do this to me； to my life。 It's my life！〃 He roared like a bull。 〃I won't let you go on！〃
The boy leapt up and grabbed me。 He clutched at my wrists and when I shook him off； staring at him in bafflement； he clutched my velvet cuffs。
〃Stop him； angel。 Stop him； devil！ He cannot beat her anymore。 He will kill her。 Stop him； devil； stop him； she is good！〃
She crawled to her knees； her hair a shredded veil concealing her face。 A great smear of dried blood covered the side of her narrow waist； a stain sunk deep into the flowered fabric。
Incensed； I watched as the man withdrew。 Tall； his head shaven； his eyes bulging； he put his hands to his ears； and he cursed her： 〃Mad stupid bitch； mad mad selfish bitch。 Do I ha