Strawberry Orange Star Night

Allegretto

The sun is setting and night is falling.The stars and the moon are shining in the sky, the lights in the city streets are just coming on, and the sea breeze is faintly blowing the noise and fireworks of the night market in the Bay of Naples.Arriving in Naples, it is enough to die in the evening...Travelers from all over the world come here especially, dyeing the night of this sunny city with never-ending joy.

In a small corner of the night market, a vagrant straightened up from the trash can, shouting happily.He was disheveled and ragged, but he had a bright smile on his face and sparkles in his eyes, and his joy was no less than that of those who sang and danced under the lights.As if he had found some treasure, he held a glass bottle firmly in his hand.

Add this one, and I have twenty in total!Talking happily to himself, he ran to the beach, jumped down the steps, bent down to catch the sea water, rinsed the bottle, and then flew home.

However, the so-called "home" is just a dirty and dark alley in the shadow of the city.What kind of home can a waif have?He sleeps in a trash can, eats and sleeps in the open all day long, with only mice as companions.

But he doesn't care.He kicked over the trash can and moved several boxes stacked one upon another, revealing the treasure hidden deep in the pit—nineteen clean glass bottles.

He grabbed five glass bottles and held them in his arms, planning to go to the street fountain to fetch water.

"Little brother, why are you saving so many bottles? Why don't you sell them?"

Suddenly, a strange voice came from behind.The vagrant turned his head, and suddenly saw another vagrant with an unfamiliar face, blocking the entrance of the alley with malicious intentions.

"Not for sale."

...and here comes another one.The vagrant moved the box with his feet, covered the bottles in the pit, and carefully put the five bottles in his arms away.

"Not for sale? Restaurants and bars are recycling glass bottles. Why don't you give me—"

The waif didn't want to hear it.Without saying a word, he slammed into it with all his strength like an arrow leaving the string, smashing the enemy against the wall, and then picked up a stone brick and smashed it on the opposite leg.The other side was caught off guard, and the second half of the sentence stuck in his mouth, as if biting his tongue, he roared vaguely, and grabbed the waif by the collar.The waif reacted as quickly as a civet, with a slight twist of his body, he got out of the oversized old coat.He landed lightly, took advantage of the gap of the opponent's surprise, and saw the right time to hit the enemy's chin with a straight punch. This punch made the opponent's eyes stare at him, and he couldn't stand still, but he still didn't relax his vigilance. Pick up all kinds of sundries that can be obtained around you, and throw them desperately towards the opposite side.

The enemy fled, staggering and cursing.

The waif breathed a sigh of relief.This guy is so weak today, he thought.A few days ago, that one was a little more aggressive, and my arm was bruised several times, and it hasn't faded yet.

He shook his head, thinking about it no more.He picked up the coat that fell on the ground, put it on, turned around and walked back to the bottles, picked up five, and went to the fountain in the middle of the street to get water.After going back and forth several times, all twenty bottles were filled with water.

No, it shouldn't say "full".

The water level in the bottle varies from high to low.The waif lined up the bottles in order of water level from high to low and placed them in front of him.

He picked up a twig and carefully tapped it on one of the bottles.

There was a crisp sound.And then another, and another.

Successive notes, the timbre between the triangle iron and the marimba, were born from this simple "instrument".

The night wind gradually picked up, blowing the tangled and dirty hair of the waif, rats crawling through the garbage bags, they were his only audience.But he was like a soloist playing a gorgeous movement, with a big smile on his face, looking up at the sky, with starlight dimly shining in his eyes, like a dream, like a song.

Var. 1

Accel.pocoapoco

Fugo came from a wealthy family in Naples.There are two kinds of wealthy families, one is noble and blue-blooded, and the other is poor and suddenly rich, and the Fuge family belongs to the latter.

Although Fuge's grandfather was reckless and came from a humble background, he was ambitious and unscrupulous.He seized the opportunity during World War II, lost his conscience, and finally made a lot of war fortune, and his family became rich overnight.

After the war, my grandfather was full of ambition and returned to his hometown.He needed shiny and beautiful trophies to show his exploits, so he bought mansions and estates from down-and-out nobles.On the day of signing the contract, the whole family celebrated, and Fuge's mother took Fuge to attend.

It was that day that Fugo met the nobleman.Although the aristocrat's family is in decline and forced to make a living, he has to give up the food for generations, but he is still proud and generous, as if he owns the whole world with his gestures.They didn't look at Fugo the whole time.

They sold everything except the art.The moving van arrived, and the few remaining domestic servants carried the collection of paintings onto the van one by one.When they were dismantling the grand piano, Fuge finally couldn't help but leaned forward.He had never seen anything like this before.

At this time, the noble lady finally noticed Fugo.She stretched out her hand to block Fogo, preventing him from taking another step forward.The lady was young and had not yet put on the mask of politeness and alienation like her father, so the arrogance that was baked into her bones was even more obvious at a glance.

"Don't come here! Be careful not to break the piano!"

While talking, the young lady gave Fugo a push.Her hand touched Fuge's arm, but what Fuge felt was unexpectedly rough—a layer of calluses formed on the tip of the girl's left finger.

He was annoyed, but curiosity overshadowed sullenness.

"Why didn't you sell the instrument? Grandpa said you were short of money."

"Nouveau riche, what do you know? Without music, I might as well die."

Miss dropped a sentence.She didn't want to talk to Fugo any more.The piano had also been loaded into the car, and she overbearingly snatched the cello case taller than herself from the servant, carried it behind her back, turned around and left.

Fugo shrugged, turned his head, and looked at his mother.Mother had evidently seen all this and heard what the young lady said.He saw his mother frowning tightly, her eyes seemed to be on fire.

He heard his mother say to his grandfather, what's so great, the house is gone!We buy better ones than them and put them in the manor to make us look more stylish.

With a wave of his hand, the grandfather immediately arranged for his servants to buy style.

Grandfather ordered the piano, violin and cello.These three musical instruments are famous, even a rough man like grandfather knows them, but he only knows them.He threw out a lot of money and ordered people to find the most skilled top luthier in Europe. It took several months to create these unique and beautiful musical instruments and put them in the magnificent concert hall in the family mansion.

Fuge's mother caressed the golden piano label, as if caressing a dream.Fuge knew that she was stung by that proud nobleman.She sincerely hopes that one day her family can also become a real famous family - of course, it will not be the kind that sells its property.

Mother invited musicians to give a recital.However, what she didn't know was that most of those who learn art are proud and arrogant, and are unwilling to condescend to play for the nouveau riche.They threw the exquisite invitations into the trash can, and none of the high-society ladies and ladies she invited were rewarded.Fugo was sitting in the empty concert hall, three musical instruments were placed alone on the stage, and his mother nervously patted the seat cushions repeatedly.

At this time, a performer with a cello on his back came.This is the only player invited.He politely thanked his mother for the invitation, smiled at Fuge, and walked to the stage.He touched the cello on the stage, murmured something in a low voice, carefully moved the instrument away, sat down and opened the case, and took out his own.

Fogg heard his mother ask,

"Why don't you use our violins?"

"Musicians have their own instruments. However, your piano is undoubtedly the best I have ever seen. I may not be able to control it."

The performer is neither humble nor overbearing.However, at the moment when the mother was declined by the performer, her smile faltered a little.Before Fugo had time to think, he heard the sound of the cello.

It was the first time in his life that he heard the sound of the cello.A deep croon like a late swan kicked off everything, desolate and lonely, like weeping, and slowly moving like an elegy.The tune gradually slows down and intensifies, mixed with cries of reluctance to obey fate in the bitter wind and rain.

This piece reminded him of Van Gogh's Starry Night.What a great painting!He had seen the real thing.At that time, the three musical instruments had not yet been customized, and the mother thought that Fugo should receive some artistic influence first, so she sent her young and only son to art galleries around the world.Fogg saw the British Museum, the Louvre, the Vatican, and then the Museum of Modern Art in New York.His grandfather booked the entire venue for him, and he wandered through the huge exhibition hall alone, stopping in front of the treasure of the town hall.

It's a beautiful and crazy painting.The main tone is dark blue, gloomy and depressed, but the writing is strong and colorful.The dim moon eclipse climbed out from the thick and distorted sky texture like a whirlpool, the stars were restless and screaming, the cypress trees pierced into the clouds like black will-o'-the-wisps, but the village huts were completely unaware of this strange spectacle, and they fell asleep peacefully.

He saw paranoia, struggle, and despair in this painting.

Perhaps Fuge is the only person in the family who has a root of wisdom. He has a heart-to-heart connection with the down-and-out painter who is suffering from madness, and now he is in love with the elegy of the cello.He was surprised that he did not know when to shed tears.

"Mother, please let me learn the cello!" Fugo wiped his face and said to his mother.

"No." Mother said softly, but firmly. "Not only does he not want to play our violin, he plays mourning music. I will never let you learn the cello."

This is the first time that Fugo's request has not been met since he was a child.He stood up suddenly and kicked over the chair, which fell to the ground with a loud noise.The sound of the piano stopped abruptly, and in the silence, Fuge was slapped by his mother.

The mother regarded the failed recital as a great shame and blamed the cello.She put away the expensive cello, locked it in the storage room, and ordered the servant to break the key.She spent a lot of money and hired well-known piano and violin masters.Some refused to let go of their high profile, so she continued to increase the size. If this one didn't work, she would change to another one.Several times and three times, finally got his wish.

Fugo was in the concert hall with his mother, listening to wonderful music.He saw the sneer in his mother's eyes. "Any kind of art is just an object, and there is nothing money can't buy." She said.

Still, she has high ambitions.Yes, the family has a lot of money, but after all, she doesn't want to have to trade money for status all the time.So she asked Fugo to learn piano and violin.

Fogg did so.Since that little loss of control, his life has never been deviant.He has wisdom beyond his age, and like an outsider, he locked his childhood longings firmly in the depths of his heart, and made himself into his mother's favorite puppet.

Also a very good puppet indeed.He did not disappoint his mother. He is proficient in sight-singing and ear training. When playing, his hands flutter up and down like a butterfly, and he can sight-read new scores within 10 minutes.The professor praised him for his talent and intelligence, but he still lacked emotional expression.The professor said that if you want to be a real performer, you have to learn to feel and express with your heart.

Fugo scoffed.He plays the piano just to satisfy his mother, who doesn't understand music, as long as his piano sound is accurate and his hands are fast, she will be satisfied.The feeling of violin practice is not bad, after all, it is a stringed instrument - the same as his favorite cello at first.

Now, his left fingertips are also covered with a layer of calluses, and he finally knows the reason for the rough fingers of that noble lady back then.Sometimes when he was tired from practice and sat down to rest, he would unconsciously rub his fingertips.Only then would he allow himself to loosen the chains in his heart a little bit—if I were playing the cello... what would it be like?

Occasionally, in the dead of night, he would sneak into the storage room and stare at the locked door with a burning gaze, as if he could burn a hole in the door.He just stared at the door, as if he could see the deep, soft, dark cello.

Let's go, let's go, I shouldn't be here.It only takes a moment for Fugo to come to his senses and leave as quietly as when he came.

As time went on, my mother's efforts to truly enter the upper class finally had some results, and most of the credit should be attributed to Fuge.When the famous ladies learned that the child of Fuge's family was a musical prodigy, he became a talent in just two years, and they all looked at him with admiration. It's really unexpected, he is obviously from a lowly family!They were finally invited to a concert at Fugo's house.

This time it was Fugo's recital.He was wearing a formal suit, a tie on his chest, and his hair was combed beautifully, like a golden show dog, obediently playing the dance of the wild bees and Paganini assigned by his mother.Then there's the piano part.His mother asked him to play Mozart's Little Star Variations.She said that this song is the most suitable for showing off. It is popular in the front and shocks everyone in the back.Fugo agreed.

Fuge sat in front of the piano bench, without any disturbance in his heart.This song is not difficult, but the contrast between the front and the back is amazing, and it can best convince ordinary people who don't understand music.He heard his mother proudly introducing herself to the elegant and pretentious ladies in the audience, raised his eyelids and glanced at the audience, and suddenly saw the cello player back then.

Fuge's mind was in chaos.His mother invited him on purpose.Mother likes to show off.But the performer still had a gentle look, and he smiled at Fugo.

Fugo thought of the mournful music, the distorted starry sky, and the anger that he wanted.His mother urged him to start, he nodded mechanically, and began to play by muscle memory.The rhythm of the notes is correct, but there is a problem with the relationship. How ironic, this is the first time that Fugo shows his true feelings in the music-it should be a lively, joyful, brisk and gorgeous little star, but it is interpreted as a chaotic and crazy starry night .After the song ends, there are a few hesitant applause here and there, the mother's confused and embarrassed smile, the resplendent concert hall, the black and white piano, everything is spinning, surging, squeezing, convoluted, and twisted into a stream of colors Colorful whirlpools, aggressive, bustling, mountains roaring and tsunami coming... He suddenly heard the sound of his sanity collapsing.

Years of repression and patience finally overwhelmed Fugo like a scourge, and he made a big fuss at the concert.He kicked over the piano stool, smashed the piano, and the ladies in the audience were frightened.The kid in this family is a lunatic!They fled the concert hall in panic, and Fugo's mother stretched out her hands hysterically in the crowd. She once held hope, but now this hope is slipping through her hands like quicksand.

At the end of the song, the mother drove Fuge out of the house.The mother's beautiful face no longer had the decent smile she had been trying so hard to keep, and she drove Fuge away expressionlessly, as cold as ice.

Fuge pushed his mother away and ran all the way.He took a musket and an ax from his grandfather's parlour, ran straight into the storage room, he shot, he kicked and he beat, he hacked and hewed, he finally broke down the damned door, he finally smashed the heart Chains—he finally held his dream cello in his arms.

Fugo ran away from home with only his cello.