“I disagree,” Max said. “You have all of those qualities.”You’re the most brilliant and brave person I know.
“That’s lovely of you to say,” she said, “but you didn’t know me when I was working as a nurse. I had trouble with measuring medicine, and I had a reputation of administering the most painful injections of any nurse in the hospital ward. Once, I even missed a man’s arm and injected his mattress with morphia.”
Max chuckled. “I think you’ve found your calling with training shepherds.”
She smoothed her skirt with her hands. “I guess I was attracted to traits in Bruno that I didn’t see in myself. Also, his upbringing is quite different from mine. His family owns a manufacturing business in Frankfurt, and he plans to someday run the company.”
With Bruno’s family wealth and influence, why hasn’t he arranged to acquire food?A bit of resentment smoldered in Max’s gut. He shook away his thought and said, “I assume you’ll leave Oldenburg.”
“Eventually,” she said.
He wondered how Anna felt about having to give up her dream of becoming a guide dog trainer, but decided it might be meddlesome to ask. “Bruno’s family must be quite proud of the work that you’re doing, and I bet they’re overjoyed for you to move to Frankfurt.”
“I haven’t met them,” she said, a timbre of disappointment in her voice.
Max swallowed, feeling as if he had fallen in a tar pit.
“Bruno wants to introduce me to his parents in person.”
“They’ll love you,” he said.
“You really think so?” she asked.
“I know so.”
She smiled and clasped her hands.
He felt her shift her weight on the bench.I’ve inquired enough about her personal life.“Let’s try a chord that’s a bit more challenging: A-flat minor—A-flat, C-flat (B), E-flat.”
Anna played the chord, striking an incorrect key. A clashing resonance filled the air. “Sorry.”
“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward her hand.
“Ja.”
He glided his hand over the keyboard, and then gently placed her fingers over the correct keys. “Okay.”
She played the chord.
“Perfect,” he said.
“Could you try to play something for me?”
An uneasiness stirred in his gut. “Nein.”
“Why?”
“I can’t hear the upper keys,” he said. “You saw what happened when we tuned the piano.”
“Of course,” she said, “but I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. Do you remember our turnip soup dinner when you and Norbie pretended to drink fine wine and eat delectable foods to cheer me up?”
“Ja.”
“During your game, my brain resurrected memories of what a Riesling wine tastes like. And I discovered that I could recall the savory flavor of sauerbraten, down to the precise taste of meat marinated in cognac and raisins.” She turned toward him. “Did you remember the tastes, too?”
“I did,” he said, crossing his arms. “But my limited range of hearing is different.”
“I disagree,” she said. “If our brains can remember taste, there’s no reason we cannot recall sound. I think you can build a tone memory bridge to play the piano.”
