Piano & Humans

Hours later, I visited one of my favorite places, and one of the most unique in the city.

“There are more people than usual…” Sitting on the bar counter, I moistened my lips with orange juice while observing the atmosphere.

Behind me, I could hear the coughs of a stranger, probably choking on the disinfectant vapor from the old door sprayer.

It was common for people to gather in that wooden bar, with its dim lights and bottles lining the walls, taking the opportunity to have a drink after work and listen to that wondrous machine.

The spectacle, if you could call it that, began with a beautiful woman addressing the audience from the central stage. She always ended up choosing someone from the front row…

When the moment arrived, I too joined in, clapping from the distant bar, celebrating the courage of a volunteer.

“Bravo, bravo… You’ve got this.” I encouraged, lacking enthusiasm after a full day of training.

That brave soul, perhaps emboldened a bit too much by the drink, stepped onto the center stage and sat in front of the instrument, ready to demonstrate his skills.

Come on, you can drop the act now…

I thought, as if he could hear me telepathically.

The man warmed up his fingers and smiled confidently. That whole “audience volunteer” thing was a fiction; the bar had its own professionals ready for the performance, in case there was any doubt.

I had to admit, though, that blending the performer into the crowd until the last moment was a nice touch.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for choosing us for yet another night!” Without further ado, he began creating omnipotent art through that piece of keys, strings, and wood known in the old world as a piano.

It was a one-of-a-kind experience.

I couldn’t express the peace and joy it brought me to hear that instrument. Especially that specific piece the musician chose to perform: Chopin’s Ballade No. 1.

Hypnotized by the sound, the conversation dwindled. Some, as if at home, closed their eyes to fully immerse themselves in the moment.

“How does the world expect me to give this up?” I sipped my juice again. With my left hand, I touched the wood of the bar as if I were the pianist myself.

Meanwhile, the notes of the piano danced among the air and the people, reminding those present what the world was like half a millennium ago. Reminding my hand of every movement, every note that needed to be played at the exact moment.

“If an implant controlled my brain, how could I enjoy this?”

The truth was, as a child, I used to come here often with my father, which gave me a deep connection to the piano from a young age. I didn’t take long to give it up after losing my hand to the flu.

One of the things I enjoyed most about Chopin’s Ballade No. 1 was how it sped up and slowed down at will, allowing the pianist to deliver a personal experience while maintaining its beauty. It made me feel, as I played my imaginary piano, that I could control each and every breath of those present.

A waltz of beautiful harmony and rhythm that stimulated the primitive side of humanity and, for a few minutes, disconnected them from implants and the horrors of the virus.

All to culminate in one of the most tragic and beautiful endings I knew in the Universe. A collapse of music itself into a spiral of agony and beautiful despair that captivated the listener and reconnected him with life.

And so, the piece ended.

The audience applauded cheerfully.

“Huh, what a surprise.” I glanced across the tables.

In the distance, gathered with possible friends over drinks and laughs, were my colleagues Felix Bagel (the muscle man) and Irina Kaft (the elegant).

All dressed well, their conversation exuded education, propriety, and cordiality.

“I didn’t know they liked music too…”

“It’s incredible, don’t you think?” A delicate voice placed a hand on my shoulder. Soft, belonging to a young man.

“Huh?” I turned, confused.

“I mean the music. Don’t you find it incredible?” He was a blond young man, delicate in skin and build, as if an angel.

“W-well, yes. I love that piece very much,” I replied kindly.

“That makes two of us,” he laughed, extending his hand. “Touji, a pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Isayama.” I smiled. “So, you like music too, Touji?”

The young man set his glass on the bar and sat beside me. He didn’t seem older than me.

He had smooth skin and bangs that seemed carefully styled, like a young model.

“You could say so.” He took the moment to adjust his shirt. Meanwhile, I kept peacefully watching my two colleagues in the distance. “I’ve always enjoyed art. I think it’s important to stay connected to nature.”

I can understand that…

“I feel like implants, while saving lives, are destroying an essential part of humanity. They make us too mathematical…”

“To be honest, I never thought someone my age would share my view of the world.”

“I’d prefer a world where people flowed freely, like you…” He gestured as if playing the piano, just as I had done during the first piece.

“So you noticed…” We both reacted to the sound of the piano starting again.

“We’ll have time to talk another day, Isayama. Enjoy the piano the way I wish more people would…” He said softly into my ear, careful not to disturb the others.

Then, he stood up and left.

Alone again, I half-rolled up my left sleeve, closed my eyes, and let the piano melody absorb me once more.

Under the calm, the dim lights, the wood, the piano strings, and that wonderful sensation—the only way I knew to experience what some romantics called: a dialogue with God.