Strawberry Orange Star Night

I. Vivace

It was another sunny morning with the sun rising.

Nalanja had a headache, and the culprit was Fugo.Fugo gave him a multiple-choice question with four options in total, asking him to choose the measure with the wrong combination of note duration.He really couldn't figure it out, and quietly sang each option in his heart, choosing the correct answer based on his feeling.Fogg praised him.It's a pity that the good times didn't last long, and before Nalanja had time to be happy for a while, Fugo asked him how he did it.There was no way to get away with it, so he had no choice but to confess honestly, and the result was a loud bang——Fuge was hit hard on the head.

"My former professor once praised me. He said that every lucky person with artistic talent in the world was kissed by an archangel before descending into the mortal world. As for you, Naranca, alas, you may have experienced Uriel's kiss." The beating was so severe that it broke the head." Fu Ge said with a sigh while holding the scroll that was used as the murder weapon just now.

Naranja rubbed his head.I don't understand what angels are or not, but it's true that you knocked on me just now.And I obviously chose the right one, why are you still beating me? It's really long-winded.

"What did you say?" Fugo narrowed his eyes.

"Oops," Naranja let out a mournful cry, and he accidentally spoke out what was in his heart.Fugo raised the scroll again, approaching him step by step like holding a sword.He ran away with his head in his arms.

"How is it, is it over?" The door of the piano room opened, and it was Bugarati.

"Buggarati!" Seeing the savior, Nalanga ran behind Bugarati and complained, "Fugo is going to beat me up again!"

"It's you who don't want to make progress! You need to know why you know what it is, you elm-brained brain, do you understand it!" Fuge waved the scroll, with a look of hating iron and steel.

"I don't understand!" Nalanga stuck out his head from under Bugarati's arm, and shouted back while throwing a ball of draft paper at him.

"Okay, okay." Buccarati smoothed things over. "Fugo, it's time for you to practice. Naranga, it's time for you to attend class."

Fuge put down the book, lifted his legs and left the piano room, and before leaving, he did not forget to goug out Nalanga's eyes.Bugarati patted Fugo on the shoulder and sent him out the door.

"Then, let me see how you're doing." Buccarati closed the door and turned to Nalanga with a smile.Naranca cheered up and ran to the piano.He sat down, twisted his body on the piano bench, found a comfortable position, stretched his fingers, took a deep breath, and then, the light and lively melody spun out from under his fingers with dancing steps, and he played Bach's g Minuet in minor key.

After counting, this kind of life has lasted for nearly three months.Three times a week, Fugo will accompany him for an hour, teach him music theory, listen to him warm up, such as some scale exercises, and play a few Hanon.After this part is over, there will be Bucciarati's professional courses, which are also one hour each time.During the time outside the class, Nalanga never relaxes. He almost forgets to sleep and eat in the piano room, as hungry as a sponge thrown into the swimming pool. At the beginning, he even fainted from hunger once he practiced.

It is conceivable that he improved so fast that even Bugarati was shocked.In less than three months, he finished the basic course and started to learn to play some elementary repertoire: Kurau, Clementi, and Bach's little pieces.And, well done.

When the last note landed, Naranja turned his head and looked at Bugarati expectantly, like a puppy picking up a frisbee.

"Very good, this one can pass." Bugarati nodded appreciatively, ticked off the score, and turned a few pages back. "Let's look at this next..."

"Buggarati!" Naranga interrupted. "When will I be able to play the Little Star Variations?"

"Well, if you only aim at this piece of music, you can practice hard for a month or two." Bugarati said, "but I don't recommend it. You need to gradually improve to that level naturally. .Now, let's look at this little prelude..."

Naranja pouted, got up and gave the piano bench to Bugarati, because every time before setting up a new piece, Bugarati would give him a demonstration to play it.Looking at Naranja's bulging cheeks, Bugarati shook his head helplessly.

The one-hour class is over quickly.Bugarati arranged the exercises after class, marked the score and handed it to Naranga.

"Naranja, take a few more minutes of your time." Bugarati said.

Naranja held the music score and looked at Buccarati with his head tilted.Soon, the confusion on his face was replaced by surprise, and his eyes sparkled - the familiar melody sounded, it was the little star variation.

This piece was adapted by Mozart from a traditional European nursery rhyme. He took a simple and plain melody as the theme, and quickly developed it into twelve colorful variations.The tune is sometimes naughty and noisy, jumping briskly, sometimes quiet like a song, with few moons and stars, and finally comes to an end in a dreamy and warm atmosphere.With outstanding and superb skills, Bugarati presented this dynamic and gorgeous scene of stars playing in front of Naranca.

After finishing the song, Nalanja blushed, clapped her hands vigorously, and accidentally dropped the score on the ground.He hurriedly bent down to pick up the sheet music, Bugarati smiled and rubbed his head, telling him that get out of class could be over.

"Buggarati, can I hear you play other pieces again?" Naranja straightened up and asked in an insatiable way.

"Yes, yes, but what I'm going to practice next is the ensemble repertoire, do you want to listen to it too?" Bugarati turned out a sheet of music on the piano and spread it out on the music stand.

"I want to hear it!" Naranja nodded repeatedly and sat down.

II. Adagio assaies pressivo

The sound of the piano flows out from under Bugarati's fingers.Completely different from the gorgeous and breezy piece just now, this is a slow Adagio.

Music is magic.It can capture your emotions instantly, like a siren bewitching a sailor, easily turning joy into depression and melancholy.

This piano sound is like a ghost.It hooked Naranga, twisted and turned a thousand times, and sank him into a deep pool in the misty forest.Sinking, sinking, sinking... The melody is soft and melodious, full of mourning, and the music is full of affectionate memories of the past, which makes people feel sad.

His eyes are cloudy like those of a drowning man, but he sees the light of the sky when he is desperate.As the music progressed, the music gradually became more exciting, and a bit of high spirits was added to the elegy, which seemed to ignite hope for the future.That day, the light was like smoke, pushing away the stagnant water, and caressing the face sparklingly.

"... Naranja? Naranja? Are you okay?"

Naranca heard Bugarati's voice in a trance.Only then did he come to his senses, he was completely immersed in the song, and at some point, tears blurred his vision.He rubbed his eyes to wipe away his tears, and saw Bugarati's concerned eyes.

"Buggarati,... what song is this?"

"Well, it was me, Giorno, and Mista who practiced the Brahms Horn Trio for the ensemble. I don't know if you remember, the day you first came, we were practicing the second movement. Now we are practicing the third movement. The movement, I just played the piano part." Bugarati said softly, rubbing the score. "This is Brahms' elegy for his mother. Did you know that in this movement, Brahms also uses a German folk song that his mother taught him when he was young."

"..." Naranja's tears gushed out of his eyes like broken beads, wiping more and more.Bugarati stood up from the piano bench and sat down beside Naranga.

"Don't rub your eyes with your hands, it will damage you." Buccarati took out a tissue and handed it to Naranga, "Here, this is for you."

Naranja took the tissue and pressed it on his eyes.He heard Bugarati ask him softly,

"Naranga, your foundation is much better than I imagined. I think you should have learned it before, or at least you should have been exposed to it. You didn't want to talk about it before, but now, would you like to talk about it?"

Naranja bit his lip and swallowed his sobs, trembling all over, Bugarati patted him on the back.Slowly, he calmed down and sniffed.He raised his eyes to look at Bugarati, his blue eyes were full of watery concern.

He lowered his head again, unfolded the crumpled tissue in his hand, crumpled it again, and unfolded it again... The two sat side by side on the piano bench, and the time passed by every minute.Bugarati kept stroking his back.

"……I……"

Naranja opened his mouth, his voice hoarse, and he coughed a few times.Bugarati brought him a glass of water.He took it, took a sip, and returned it.

"It's okay, if you don't want to say it, forget it." Bugarati hugged him, but he shook his head and spoke.

"Before I came to the orchestra, I wandered on the streets for about a year. Before that..."

He used to have family too.His mother is a maid who works in a wealthy businessman's house, while his father is an out-and-out scum, drinking and gambling all day long, idle about, and will fight the mother and son if things go wrong.Every time his father punches and kicks, his mother always protects him in her arms.

The mother worked day and night and endured the beatings from her husband for no reason.Whenever you look at her, you wonder why the poor woman is not overwhelmed with pain.And Naranja is the reason.Whenever she looked at Naranga, there was always tenderness in her grape-colored eyes, which supported her to live.

She hums a lullaby to Naranga every night.And this lullaby is Little Star.Twinkle twinkle little stars, how I wonder where you are.Hanging in the sky to shine brightly, like many small eyes... At this point, the mother would always point Naranja's nose with her finger, brush away his broken hair, and press a kiss on his forehead.

"Good night my little star," she would say.

Naranga sometimes sneaks into the home of a wealthy businessman where her mother works.He would jump over the fence with agility, and come to the window sill as silently as a cat in the shadows.The children of rich merchants practice the piano every day.However, he was a child with no musical talent and was always scolded by the teacher.He hid under the window sill and heard the teacher sternly reprimanding the poor child, why did he snap his fingers again?Why is the tempo wrong again?Why can't I hear this chord?

He stood up, gently pushed aside the luxuriant flowers, and peeked in.The old teacher was sweating profusely, his mother handed him a towel, and the mother—found him.She looked at Naranja in surprise, and Naranja stood there blankly like a frightened deer, at a loss.

Mother came out quietly and found Naranga under the window sill.She told Naranja that it can't do this again next time, if the master catches us, we will suffer.Naranca bowed his head in apology, and his mother hugged him.

But he wants to learn piano.Due to his poor family background, he has not studied for a few years, and the piano is the only thing in his short life that gave him the idea of ​​learning.The son of a rich merchant cannot hear the tone, but he can.When he returned home, when his father was drunk and unconscious, he collected the empty wine bottles that his father drank, six in total, and poured water into them.He tried repeatedly, and finally figured out the different tones corresponding to different water levels. He knocked on the bottle, and the bottle made a pleasant sound.He immediately recognized what it was.

When my mother came home from get off work, she saw Naranga sitting on the ground knocking on a bottle, knocking out the melody of little stars.Seeing her mother, Naranja rushed to her happily, pulled her forward, and knocked the little star again.

"Oh, my little star!" The mother laughed, and she hugged Naranja, who buried her head in her arms, feeling a few drops of coolness in her hair—the mother cried.

So, he would still sneak under the window sill without anyone knowing, listening to the stumbling music and the teacher beating his chest and reprimanding him.In this way, he took classes every day, and before he knew it, the seeds of music took root and sprouted.

But one day, when Naranja came under the window sill as usual, he heard a sharp noise.He stood up abruptly, and saw a shocking scene through the window. It was a child of a rich businessman standing by the piano with a hammer—he was finally overwhelmed and broke the strings.

Naranja's mind went blank, he put his arms up and jumped onto the window sill, opened the window without hesitation, and looked at the broken piano that was out of reach in the room.

The door opened.The rich businessman heard the noise and rushed to the scene with his servants, along with his mother.

"It was him, he broke the piano! He is the criminal!" The son of the rich businessman raised his hammer and pointed it at Naranga on the windowsill. "Look, this is the murder weapon!"

The rich businessman was furious.He couldn't help but sternly ordered the servants to take Naranja into the house, while his mother threw herself in front of Naranja and wrapped Naranja into her arms with her weak arms.

The mother was weak and seriously injured, and was bedridden.When she was dying, she called Naranja to the bedside, held Naranja's hand, and hummed the melody of Little Star with her dry voice, calling him "my little star".Good night, she sighed softly, her grape-colored eyes were full of warmth, flickering and losing their luster.

"Then, that man kicked me out of the house." Naranja's voice was flat, as if he was telling someone else's story.He had already stopped crying, and the half-dry paper towel was crumpled up and held in his hand.

So, I really want to learn this piece, Bugarati.Naranja unconsciously tore the ball of paper into strips and said.

"You can." Bugarati said softly, and he took Naranja into his arms.