Between the dead and the living
Professor Eto has passed away.
Is there a boundary between the dead and the living?
I feel there is not much of a difference between interchange with those who are dead and that with them when they were alive. It may be because I live in Brussels, a relatively remote place, or because of my personality. It is also common to drift apart from those who are alive and living in the same area.
I still feel clearly the existence of Serkin and V_gh.
Their music sounds fresh every time I hear it.
I was asked to play on short notice at a festival in Belgium last summer. I was strolling around a garden at dusk before my performance. The light was so similar to that of Marlboro that I was deeply moved, and at that moment, I felt the existence of Serkin. I didn't just feel it; it was as if I were there for the purpose of experiencing it.
I felt nostalgia filling up my heart, in a pleasant breeze in the dusk of the European summer. I wondered why I hadn't felt that way before.
I was teaching the second movement of Mozart's concerto No.4 today. I felt like crying because I was moved by the vivid memory of all Professor Eto had told me and the way he had played the piano, putting nuance into each phrase.
"A sound like heaven, with a single hair of the bow. Fast vibrato."
"The theme should be played inwardly and quietly. But it is not adagio, nor is it a ballad."
I invited him to my apartment in Brussels. I cooked and served, feelling very nervous. I cleaned up the whole apartment, and bought a new set of knives and forks.
At my apartment in 1989.
"This is a nice place. I feel at ease here. There's nothing worse than loneliness", he said.
I said, "I'll give you a lift", but he went back by taxi, replying "A taxi is fine with me. Your performance of Mozart is more important."
After my performance of Mozart, he said, "Nice performance. Only a single person can play like this." This was in 1989.
Four years later, I was invited to the Queen Elisabeth International Music Competition as a judge with Professor Eto, though I was still relatively young. It was just at the time when I was thinking about marriage. When I told Professor Eto I would like to introduce my fianc_ to him, he said "So, you're finally getting married."
After a historical(!) dinner, he murmured, "Well, I like him."
He had something to say at every turning point in my life.
I bore a child. I was invited to the Japan International Music Competition as a judge when my daughter was 1 year old. In the taxi, Professor Eto said, "It is all over when you have a child."
When my husband, daughter and I visited his home at the year end, he was smiling and king, telling my daughter, "Be careful. Don't bump your head."
I gave birth to my son just before I performed at Professor Eto's 70th birthday concert. I was fascinated by the way he played Korngold, and I tried it the following year. I asked him to listen, and this was my last lesson with him.
"Move the bow quickly with a fast vibrato."
I played as I was told, and the sound became sharp and clear, just like Korngold that I would like to hear.
We sat in an interview surrounding Professor Eto. He spoke kindly of me, saying "She continues to play music beautifully even after she's had children."
I now feel that I was always rebelling against the ideal life of a violinist, and he was watching and worrying the whole time.
At the moment, I am so far from perfect, and although it's just the way I am, I feel so ashamed when I compare myself to him.
In recent years I have had more occasions to talk with Angela. In this way, I have come to know Professor Eto from a different viewpoint.
It was several years before his 70th birthday concert.
I was sitting next to Tomoko Kato and listening to Professor Eto talk. He took out a pen from his chest pocket, and handed it to Angela, who was looking for something to write with. It warmed my heart, as if I were watching a nice scene in a movie.
Angela did not like to bring students to his bedside, because she wanted them to continue to have a nice image of him.
She always kept herself neat and never complained. Thought she thought that was her mission, how lonely she must have been!
In the middle of a busy time, I took up my violin.
Suddenly I was overcome with sorrow.
Words can convey little. Words can't give strength to cope with darkness.
Since he has gone to heaven, I feel all the more that he is watching me. I'm grateful for this.
Joining my hands, I pray with all my heart that his soul may rest in peace.
at Brussels
