Of course not. Do you know how much this instrument costs? $175,000. It's been voiced and regulated by master technicians. The hammers are made from virgin wool felt, the soundboard from Sitka spruce.
Each key requires exactly fifty grams of pressure to depress. It's not a toy, boy. It's a precision instrument that takes years of professional training to master. I understand that, sir, but you offered a challenge to anyone, and I'd like to try.
Harrington glanced at his audience, many of whom were now leaning forward with interest. This was turning into better entertainment than the planned dueling performance. The maestro was too savvy a showman to waste such an opportunity. Very well, Harrington said, spreading his arms magnanimously. Let no one say that Vincent Harrington denied opportunity to the ambitious, however misguided.
Please come down to the stage. Everyone, please welcome our challenger. Smattering applause followed Marcus as he made his way down from the balcony. His legs felt like water, but he forced them to move.
As he descended the stairs, he caught sight of his mother emerging from a side door, her face stricken with horror. Marcus! No! she mouthed, shaking her head frantically. But there was no turning back now.
He'd thrown down the gauntlet, and the entire elite world of New York's classical music scene was watching to see him fall.
The walk across the concert hall floor to the stage felt endless. Marcus was acutely aware of his janitor's uniform, the cheap polyester pants, the shirt with his name embroidered on the pocket, the scuffed sneakers that squeaked on the polished marble around him. Around him were silk, diamonds, and thousand-dollar shoes. He was a stain on their perfect picture.
Careful on those stairs, boy, Harrington called out as Marcus climbed to the stage. The stage lights are quite expensive. We wouldn't want you to damage anything. More laughter.
Marcus reached the stage and found himself standing 10 ft from the Steinway. Up close, it was even more magnificent than he'd imagined. The finish was so perfect he could see his reflection in it, a distorted funhouse version of himself that somehow felt appropriate. Harrington moved to stand beside him, and Marcus realized how much taller and more imposing the maestro was in person.
The man radiated confidence and authority. Every inch of him screaming that he belonged in this space, on this stage, in this world. Before we begin this experiment, Harrington said, addressing the crowd, let me explain what we'll be doing. I'm going to play a piece, and then young Marcus here will attempt to play it back.
We'll start with something simple, perhaps Für Elise. Everyone knows that one. Then, if by some miracle he succeeds, we'll progress to more challenging pieces. Does that sound fair, Marcus?
Yes, sir. Excellent. And remember everyone, when he fails, and he will fail, we've all witnessed what happens when ambition exceeds ability. It's a valuable lesson.