The Piano Tuner of Earthquakes Page #2

flywheel imaginable.'

'The Doctor's constructs are almost

frightening in their subtlety.'

'The machine revealed

a little row of singing teeth

that miraculously

still retain their pitch.'

'It's true, they are not pianos,

but I'm certainly

enjoying the privilege

of working on

these mechanical marvels.'

'He said not to call them toys,

but I still cannot quite see

their purpose.'

And was that singing

I heard last night?

You play the black keys

and I'll sing the white.

I think of you...

...as a powerful tree,

shivering in a stormy sky.

Very hard from the roots upwards,

which are plunged into

the quivering matter of life itself.

It rises, as if drawn

by the gulf of the heights.

And shudders, as the wind stirs

the leaves along its backbone...

...as my fingernails mount

the tender furrows of your back...

...from the dampness of your thighs...

...to the nape... of your neck.

'The next morning, as I was working

on the second automaton,

I'm thinking that I was

a little out of my depth.'

Here is the ormolu magnet

you asked for.

The Doctor told me to tell you

that under no account

were you to let the echoes slip

behind the vibrating plates.

And that you should

remove your thumb first.

And that you'd know

what he meant by that.

Was that singing I heard last night?

Maybe it was your teeth,

Mr. Fernandez.

Or maybe I was dreaming.

Well...

it was certainly beautiful.

Malvina!

Malvina.

Malvina!

There is a voice.

I saw her last night.

- Who is she?

- Oh, you mean the Emperor's Canary.

Madame van Stille. The singer.

- Do you know her?

- No.

Hmm. Well...

The Doctor says

she has had a severe trauma

and needs complete calm

and seclusion.

For my part, all I know

is that the Doctor is helping her

to readapt to the stage.

Forgive me, but how do you believe

he goes about such a thing?

- The Doctor's method for her?

- Hmm.

This I don't know.

But he does have an expert knowledge

of the electricity in women.

And, er... does this include you?

For me, the Doctor's passions

are like the rays of the sun

when they are caught

in a magnifying glass

and they immediately set fire

to whatever object

they find in their way.

And you? Did you catch fire?

Oh, yes.

But then the fire

eventually burns itself out and...

and you just learn how to smolder.

So, erm, no need for

the fire brigade, huh, Mr. Fernandez?

Enough. I should leave you...

with the Doctor's toys.

Doctor!

'I went looking for the Doctor

and found

his mysterious patient instead.'

Madame.

Madame? Madame?

Adolfo?

I'm sorry.

Madame, I didn't mean to disturb you.

It's me, Felisberto, the piano tuner.

It's beautiful here.

I wanted to tell you about myself.

I come from over there.

I must leave now.

Goodbye.

Doctor.

Good morning. This part.

No rats get in, only... rust.

Have you ever heard of

Megaloponera foetens, Mr. Felisberto?

It's an ant that lives

in the Cameroonian rainforests.

A forager of the forest floor, which

from time to time becomes infected

through inhaling

the microscopic spore of a fungus

that rains down from the trees above

and lodges in its tiny brain...

where it starts to grow.

Troubled and disoriented, this ant

is driven to leave the forest floor

and starts to climb up

the stems of ferns and creepers

till it reaches some seemingly

pre-determined height.

At which point, it clamps

its mandibles onto the plant

and waits there...

...until it dies.

As for the fungus, it lives on,

eating the dead creature's brain

and infiltrating

its entire nervous system.

Until at length,

some few weeks later,

it excretes a sort of spike through

the remains of the insect's head.

And this rampant prong

teems with spores,

which, in their turn, shed themselves

onto the ground below,

raining down for the next

unsuspecting floor-foraging ant.

'Three days have passed already.'

'Nothing is as it seems.'

'The Doctor's insect story...

...that woman on the bench, Malvina,

calling out

for someone who isn't there,

yet singing so beautifully.'

'And the strange dreams

that come to me in the night.'

'Perhaps even these automata

are not what they pretend to be.'

Loitering with intent, piano tuner?

I wouldn't be if I had a shoelace.

You don't waste any time

getting under people's feet, do you?

Often, when I lace up my shoes,

I notice only afterwards

that my tongue,

which I'd assumed was inside,

is still hanging outside.

But then, you probably

weren't paying attention.

So, where do you think

my tongue is now?

Who loves me, follows me.

You're not being distracted,

are you, Mr. Felisberto?

No. No, no. On the contrary...

I'm totally absorbed.

It feels like I'm living

in someone else's imagination.

Has she shown you her tongue yet?

She is incorrigible, isn't she,

Mr. Felisberto?

So, I needn't ask...

...if we are on schedule?

You needn't, Doctor.

I thought as much.

Doctor Droz,

are you preparing another automaton?

In a manner of speaking, yes.

Is it an opera?

Let's just say

it's my own small contribution

to the operatic canon.

Then that would explain

the voice I've heard at night.

It is very special,

I believe, to you.

There's no country, no city,

no theatre, no recital,

I have not been to for that voice.

And now it's here.

There is where I hear it from.

What a beautiful soul it must take

to produce a voice like that.

Soul, Mr. Felisberto?

There's a big word.

Ah.

How you compliment me.

My every instinct.

The fourth machine is awaiting you.

There's not much time.

Here. It's me, Felisberto,

the piano tuner.

Be quiet so I can hear.

Adolfo.

All these lights,

these people, the guests.

Tomorrow we marry.

Everyone can hear it in my voice.

The Doctor, he...

I'm sure the Doctor

has your best interests at heart.

They say it's bad luck

to look at each other

on the eve of your wedding.

But that's just superstition.

No, his eyes...

The Doctor...

His eyes...

...following me, burning me.

I was singing and then...

and then I turned towards you.

Towards me?

And the walls slid away.

And then?

I'm neither in this world

nor the next.

Tell me... who I am.

Tell me if I'm me.

The singer.

I saw the piano tuner

with the singer...

...this afternoon, on the bench.

She called him Adolfo.

And did he answer?

Oh, he seemed to love it,

being called Adolfo.

Adolfo!

Do you think

Adolfo's his middle name?

Don Felisberto Adolfo Fernandez.

Adolfo Carino.

No?

- I wonder if he can sing.

- I think not.

Then he could whistle.

What might he whistle then?

Emmanuel,

he could whistle a tango.

With all that facial excreta

and ecstatic nose bleeds!

I think not.

But, er, maybe

there's a role for you, Assumpta.

Oh. I already have one.

I've always had one...

...Emmanuel.

Of course.

The illustrious whore.

Whose garments are wiped clean

by the epileptic's saliva.

Oh, but we did, already,

that one, Emmanuel.

Last year.

You're forgetting.

Maybe your hammer is,

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