Devil’s Music - Chapter 59: The Fourth Encounter with the Dead?

Geon followed Pyotr into the magnificent building of the St. Petersburg Conservatory, feeling a significant sense of pressure as the grand and splendid doors silently slid open as Pyotr gently pushed them.

Upon entering, Pyotr removed his suit jacket and held it in his hand. Beneath, he wore a white dress shirt with a black vest featuring an intricately laced cuff at the wrists. Gesturing forward, Pyotr addressed Geon.

“Welcome to the St. Petersburg Conservatory. Among those who aren’t students, you seem to be the first-time visitor. Please, come this way.”

Geon, slightly formal, walked a bit behind Pyotr, exploring the building’s interior. The corridors branched out, and staircases on either side led up to the second floor. Pyotr guided Geon down the second corridor to the left of the stairs.

The long hallway exuded warmth with apricot-colored wallpaper. On the densely arranged albums hung photographs in black and white, featuring musicians who had passed through St. Petersburg. They were mostly recent graduates posing shoulder to shoulder with the Conservatory’s director, Anton, suggesting these were taken shortly after its establishment, mainly showcasing teenagers rather than established musicians.

Geon strolled down the corridor, scanning the pictures curiously, wondering if he recognized any faces. Even if he did, recognizing their younger selves would have been a challenging task.

Passing several deep brown doors along the long corridor, Pyotr opened the final door straight ahead. This one seemed less lubricated, emitting a creak as it swung open. Glancing inside briefly, Pyotr turned back, holding the door for Geon.

“Please, come in, Mr… Oh, I’m not familiar with Eastern names. Mr. Geon? Mr. Kim? How should I address you?”

Geon entered, responding, “Yes, Pyotr. It’s Kim. In the East, the family name comes first, followed by the given name.”

Nodding, Geon observed Pyotr’s smiling face, then surveyed the room. The space was entirely enveloped in white from walls to ceiling, except for the wooden flooring in a shade of ochre. Four large windows adorned the right side from Geon’s viewpoint, adorned with apricot curtains neatly tied to white frames.

A chandelier, more European than traditional Russian, adorned the ceiling. Below it sat around 20 navy blue metal chairs. Positioned at the forefront was a small wooden stage upon which a black grand piano rested.

Taking in the surroundings, Geon inquired, “Is the person we’re meeting not here? Is this the right place?”

Pyotr chuckled and stepped forward, calling out, “Sergei! I saw you hiding earlier, come out now.”

Glancing forward, Geon saw nothing. Confused, he turned to Pyotr, who called out again.

“Sergei! If you don’t come out now, I’ll tell Teacher Daria you played pranks with paint again. Promise not to say anything if you come out.”

Once more, Pyotr called out, prompting the appearance of a small boy’s head peeking from behind the black grand piano on the stage. He seemed slightly wary, peeking only his eyes out as he spoke.

“Really, you won’t tell on me if I come out?”

Pyotr stepped closer, gesturing toward the boy, “Yes, I want to introduce someone to you. Come out and say hello.”

The boy emerged, sporting short blond hair, deep-set eyes, appearing around nine or ten years old. He wore a white dress shirt paired with jodhpurs tied at the waist with a belt. Holding sheet music, his hands were smudged with an array of colorful paints. As he descended, Pyotr remarked.

“More painting, Sergei?”

Sergei, looking slightly flustered, glanced at Pyotr and said, “I’ve told you many times it’s not painting. Nobody believes me, so I’m trying to prove it.”

Pyotr raised his hands apologetically, “Ah, my mistake. I should apologize to you, Sergei.”

Looking puzzled, Sergei glanced between Pyotr and Geon.

“I’ve been sorry for not believing you until now. Not just me, but nobody could see what you were talking about. I owe you an apology.”

Sergei’s expression brightened a bit, “So, do you believe me now?”

Pyotr turned to Geon, “I think I can trust your words now, thanks to this person here.”

Sergei looked at Geon, perplexed, “Really? Why? Why can he see?”

With a smile, Pyotr patted Sergei’s shoulder, “It seems he sees what you were talking about—the colors you mentioned.”

Sergei, delighted, took Geon’s hand. Despite the paint stains on Geon’s hand, he couldn’t resist the joyous expression on the boy’s face. Sergei held Geon’s hand and guided him to the edge of the stage, tapping the floor as if gesturing to sit.

As Geon took the seat, Sergei eagerly asked, “Can you see it too? Really?”

Nodding, Geon examined the sheet music Sergei offered, pointing out various colors starting from where Dante is marked down to the thirty-second measure, then the following page entirely filled with black notes, and the subsequent page with red notes except for the last four measures.

Amused, Sergei jumped off the stage and stood before Geon. “Really! You see it! Hahaha! Look at this! I was right!”

Geon smiled, watching Sergei’s excited movements.

“But why can’t others see it, though?”

Sergei stopped bouncing and looked at Geon, asking curiously.

“Sure, no one here at this music academy ever believed me. No one saw what I saw. Even before coming here, no one acknowledged what I see, but my brother was the first to confirm it.”

As Geon stared at Pyotr with surprise, Pyotr nodded. Geon turned to Sergei again and asked, “But what does this mean? Are these notes just colored?”

Upon hearing Geon’s question, Sergei quickly retrieved a pencil from his pocket, spread out the music sheets, and began jotting something down. “Here, here. The green you mentioned earlier signifies ‘jealousy.’ The black notes on the next page represent ‘gloom, fire,’ and the red notes on the following page signify ‘anger, passion.'”

Geon looked at Sergei, who was jotting down words in Russian on the music sheet, and said, “Jealousy? Anger? What do you mean? Are you saying there are emotions in the sheet music?”

Sergei lifted his head, glanced slightly at Geon, and shook his head. “No, it’s the emotions the composer had while creating this music. The emotions they had while composing. Orchestral music doesn’t have lyrics. It’s about expressing emotions through performance.”

Geon, amazed, looked at the notes again and asked, “So, the emotions the composer intended to convey are represented by these colors?”

Flipping through the pages Geon hadn’t seen yet, he asked, “Then what about the notes marked in blue, pink, white, and gray? What emotions do they signify?”

Sergei picked up his pencil again, marking the section Geon pointed to, and explained, “Blue represents ‘melancholy,’ pink means ‘healthiness,’ white depicts ‘intensity,’ and gray signifies ‘uncertain confusion.'”

Geon, wide-eyed, alternated between looking at Sergei and the music sheet. Beside the blue-colored notes, he noticed the word ‘melancholy’ written in pencil.

As Geon continued to interchangeably stare at Sergei and the sheet music with astonishment, Pyotr approached and sat beside him. Observing Geon’s expression keenly, Pyotr inquired, “Mr. Kim, is this the first time you’ve seen something like this? Your expression betrays surprise.”

Geon, not taking his eyes off the sheet music, nodded, and Pyotr asked, “Really? Is this the first time you’ve seen sheet music in your life?”

Geon looked up at Pyotr and replied, “No way. I’m a musician. I see sheet music every day. I saw it yesterday too, but I didn’t see anything like this, so I’m quite bewildered now.”

Pyotr, looking serious upon hearing Geon’s words, stroked his beard thoughtfully. After staring at Geon for a moment, Pyotr walked toward the window, crossed his arms, and gazed outside for a moment. Sergei, sensing the atmosphere turning serious, lowered the volume of his playing and perked up his ears.

Letting out a sigh as he looked out the window, Pyotr said, “I see. You’re probably experiencing a ‘musical awakening.'”

Geon, holding the music sheets, asked, “An awakening?”

As Sergei and Geon shifted their focus to Pyotr, he gazed alternately at them and said, “Yes, among musicians, it’s called a divine gift.”

Pyotr walked slowly and stood on the stage in front of the black grand piano where Sergei sat. Pyotr looked at Sergei and said, “The songs of ice and fire, the depths of human emotions revealed—the ‘eye of Amdusias.'”

Placing a hand on Sergei’s shoulder and turning to Geon, Pyotr continued, “Those with Amdusias’ eye can see every emotion the composer wished to convey and can transpose all those emotions onto sheet music. I only heard it from my mentor. I didn’t believe it then.”

Pyotr glanced at Geon and Sergei, wore a briefly regretful expression, then nodded and resumed speaking. “The ability bestowed upon you and Sergei by the demon of music—Amdusias’ eye. Mr. Kim.”

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