The orchestra rehearsal is over, the sun is finally shining outside. When I unlock my bike I see something glistening on the ground. While bending over, I recognize a one-euro coin. It has been a very long time since I found pennies on the street, not to mention a euro piece. Just to be sure, I ask my colleagues again, but no one is missing the coin. I slide the coin into my coat pocket like a talisman and cycle away.
Everything smiles at me these days. It is exceptional enough if there is one work by a female composer on the orchestra’s program, but this week there are even two: D’un soir sad by Lili Boulanger and Prelude to a night of Americaine by Mathilde Wantenaar. My viola has never had the pleasure of getting acquainted with a composition by them, but this week I also play a nocturne by Lili adapted for viola with piano accompaniment during a lecture about female composers. The luck once again strengthens my indoor fun and I feel as always guided by small musical opportunities. I cycle on to the next rehearsal, the quiet, locked-up winter days behind me.
The German pianist is already expecting me, am I too late? His hostile composure is at odds with my enthusiasm. Tuning, I close my eyes and then listen to its octaves neatly giving way to my theme, but my bow chases the melody and my left-hand vibrato lights up the nocturne to a sunny day. He looks hurt. My joy of playing the chromatic anime climbs up and he forces me without spring he finds nothing to follow. Anger now takes possession of me and my instrument. Strings and keys clump to a rushed climax as a sudden bang attacks me. Not one but two strings curl up and I see my sourdine dancing in the air.
The pianist laughs, the ice is broken. I’m stretching new strings, voice, hear him’einmal is not keinmal‘ and we start again. The rehearsal is over, the sun is still shining outside. I unlock my bike and see something glistening on the ground near the front wheel. It’s one euro. I reach into my coat pocket and then the coin drops: all good things come in two.
Ewa Maria Wagner is a violist and writer.
A version of this article also appeared in NRC on the morning of February 22, 2022