Norbie grinned. “I do believe my daughter is jealous of my singing.” He selected a disc, placed it on a gramophone, and lowered the tone arm.
The needle scratched over the disc, and a reedy, organ-like sound of an accordion filled the air.
Max turned an ear toward the gramophone.
A choir of children, singing an upbeat melody, joined the accordion accompaniment.
A children’s song,Max thought, surprised by Norbie’s choice of music. Despite his ears unable to detect the high notes, he soon recognized the tune about a boy who journeys into the world and returns as a man to his family. “I sang this song in kindergarten.”
“Me too,” Anna said.
“‘Hänschen klein,’” Norbie said. “It’s a masterpiece.” He tapped his foot to the beat of the music and sang the lyrics in a vibrato tenor voice, which was flat and out of tune.
Max smiled, admiring Norbie’s uninhibited enthusiasm.
Anna nudged Max with her elbow and lowered her voice. “Surprised?”
“Ja,” he said.
Norbie lifted the needle from the disc. “Join me.”
“I don’t remember the words,” Max said.
“You’ll learn them quickly, my boy,” he said. “Anna?”
She nodded, reluctantly.
He lowered the needle.
Max listened to Norbie and Anna sing. Unlike hervater, Anna’s soprano voice was pure and with perfect pitch, like a finely tuned violin.
Nia’s tail thumped the floor.
“Sing,” Anna said to Max.
Max breathed the words. A memory of playing the piano and singing along with his military comrades flashed in his head. Their celebration with schnapps and song had pacified their pain. And like his friends, Norbie and Anna were using music to provide a temporary reprieve from the war. Millions of soldiers had been killed or maimed. Food shortages had placed civilians on the brink of starvation. There were only reasons for Germans to mourn, Max believed. But despite a turbulent world and hunger gnawing at their bellies, Norbie and Anna had mustered the fortitude to carry on. For the moment, Max’s mind drifted from the war, Wilhelmina, and his blindness. A swell of fervor rose in his chest, and he sang the final verse.
“Bravo!” Norbie said, clapping his hands. He raised the tone arm on the gramophone but left the disc spinning.
Nia raised her head and yawned.
“I don’t sing that bad,” Norbie said, patting the dog.
Anna shifted in her seat. “You might be a tad flat.”
“Nonsense.” Norbie stepped to the piano and tapped a key, which produced a sharp, twangy resonance. “La-la-laaaa,” he sang, adjusting the pitch of his voice. “Maybe I’m a little off.”
Anna chuckled.
Nia squinted her eyes.
“Max,” Norbie said. “What do you think?”
“I like your singing,” Max said, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “You perform with gusto.”
Norbie beamed, and then put on another recording.
For the evening, German folk music resounded from the gramophone. Norbie sang. Anna, Max, and Nia listened.
