The silence that followed Marcus's declaration felt heavier than stone. Every eye in the Grand View Center fixed upon him, some curious, most skeptical, and a few openly hostile. He could feel their judgments weighing on him like physical objects. This child, this cleaner's son, this boy who didn't belong.
Vincent Harrington tilted his head, studying Marcus as one might study an unusual insect. Then slowly a smile spread across his face. Not warm, but rather the smile of a cat that had just spotted a particularly entertaining mouse. Marcus Williams, Harrington repeated, his voice carrying effortlessly through the acoustically perfect hall.
And tell me, Marcus Williams, where exactly did you study? Juilliard, the Curtis Institute. Perhaps you're a prodigy from some European conservatory I've yet to hear about. Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Marcus felt heat rising to his cheeks, but forced himself to maintain eye contact with the maestro. I'm self-taught mostly, sir, and I take lessons from Mrs. Mary Chen in Chinatown. Mary Chen. Harrington's eyebrows shot up in theatrical surprise.
Oh, I know Mary. Competent teacher, I suppose, for beginners. She once applied to teach at this very institution, you know. We rejected her application.
Not quite up to our standards. He paused, letting the insult settle. And you sayyou self-taught on what? Pray tell a toy piano a smartphone app?
A Casio keyboard, sir. And I practice every night after my homework and chores. The laughter grew louder now. A woman in a fur stole turned to her companion.
Did you hear that? A Casio keyboard. That's like learning surgery with a butter knife. My dear boy, Harrington said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. I admire your ambition. Truly, I do.
But there's a vast difference between plinking out chopsticks on an electronic toy and performing on a professional concert grand piano. The touch sensitivity alone would defeat you. Do you even know what I mean by touch sensitivity? Yes, sir.
Marcus said, his voice steady despite the mocking laughter. It refers to how the piano responds to the velocity and pressure of the keystroke. Harder strikes produce louder volumes. Softer touches create gentler sounds.
It's about the dynamic range and the ability to express subtle variations in tone and emotion through physical interaction with the keys. The laughter faltered. Harrington's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. Well, the maestro said, You can regurgitate definitions.
How impressive. But knowing the terminology and executing the technique are entirely different matters. Tell me, have you ever actually played on a Steinway Model D? No, sir.