"Except for the forgiveness part," Jack pointed out to her. "He's pretty clear on the subject of my forgiving my mother."
"That's not necessarily religious, Jack," Dr. Krauer-Poppe said. "That's just common sense, isn't it?"
She led Jack outside the church again, and they went in a door and up some stairs to the second floor--where the organ was. It was a smaller organ than Jack was used to seeing--very pretty, with light-colored wood. It had fifty-three stops and was built by a firm called Muhleisen in Strasbourg.
Jack looked down at the congregation and saw that even the people who were standing were facing the altar, not the organ. "Nobody wants to see, I guess," he said to Anna-Elisabeth.
"Just leave with Dr. Horvath when he tells you," Dr. Krauer-Poppe told him. "After William plays, he will need some ice water, and then the hot wax, and then more ice water. If you come out to Kilchberg in the late morning, maybe you can go jogging with him--and with Dr. Horvath. Later this afternoon, you can hear him play blindfolded--for the yoga class. Or you can watch one of your own movies with him!" she said excitedly. "Just leave when it's time--okay? I'm not kidding."
"Okay," Jack said to her.
When Dr. Horvath and Jack's father came up the stairs to the second floor, many people in the congregation turned their heads to look at William Burns. William was all business; he acknowledged no one, not even Jack. His dad just nodded at the organ. Jack felt Dr. Krauer-Poppe brush against his arm. Anna-Elisabeth wanted Jack to know that this was how William was before he played. (How had she put it the night before? "William is what he is.")
There was no applause from the congregation to acknowledge him; there wasn't a murmur, but Jack had never heard such a respectful silence.
Dr. Horvath was carrying the music. (There was what looked like a lot of music.) "Normally he plays for one hour," Dr. Horvath whispered loudly in Jack's ear. "But today, because you're here, he's playing a half hour longer!"
Naturally, Dr. Krauer-Poppe overheard him; perhaps everyone in the congregation could hear Dr. Horvath whisper. "Do you think that's a good idea, Klaus?" Anna-Elisabeth asked Dr. Horvath.
"Is there a pill to make me stop?" Jack's father asked Dr. Krauer-Poppe, but Jack could tell that his dad was just teasing her; his mischievous smile was intact. When William sat down on the organ bench, he looked into Jack's eyes--as if Jack had told him, at that very moment, how much he loved him and every inch of his skin. "Did you remember to call your sister, Jack?" his dad asked him.
"Of course I called her. We talked and talked."
"Dear boy," was all William said. His eyes had drifted to the keyboard; Jack could hear his father's feet softly brushing the pedals.
Anna-Elisabeth had taken the music from Dr. Horvath and was looking through it. "I see finger-cramping possibilities, William--lots of them," she told him.
"I see music," William said, winking at her. "Lots of it."
Jack was nervous and counted the chandeliers. (They were glass and silver; he counted twenty-eight of them.)
"Later we'll go jogging!" Dr. Horvath told Jack. "I'm going to dinner with you and William tonight. We'll give the girls the night off!"
"Great--I'm looking forward to it," Jack told him.
"Unfortunately, it's not the Kronenhalle," Dr. Horvath said. "But it's a special little place. The owner knows me, and he loves your father. They always cover the mirrors when they know William's coming!" Dr. Horvath whispered--for everyone to hear. "How brilliant is that?"
"Bitte, Klaus!" Dr. Krauer-Poppe said.
Jack could see that she was going to turn the music for his dad, who appeared ready to play. No one in the congregation was looking in their direction now. The congregation faced that stern command from the Gospel According to Saint Matthew: "You shall worship the Lord your God and Him only you shall serve."
William held his hands at shoulder level, above the keyboard. Jack heard him take a deep breath. By the way the congregation straightened their backs, Jack could tell that they'd heard his father, too--it was a signal.
"Here comes!" said Dr. Horvath; he bowed his head and closed his eyes.
William's hands appeared to be floating on a body of warm, rising air--like a hawk, suspended on a thermal. Then he let his hands fall. It was a piece by Bach, a choral prelude--"Liebster Jesu, wir sind hier." ("Blessed Jesus, We Are Here.")
"Tranquillo," Dr. Horvath said with surprising softness, in Italian.
After that, Jack just listened to his father play. Jack couldn't believe how William kept playing, or how no one in the congregation left--how they never moved a muscle. They were standing, Dr. Horvath and Jack--Dr. Krauer-Poppe stood the whole time, too. Jack couldn't speak for the others, but his legs didn't get tired; he just stood there, absorbing the sound. William Burns played on and on--all his favorites. (What Heather had called "the old standards.")
William played for over an hour. They heard Handel, and everyone else. When his dad began Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor--the famous piece that had been such a crowd-pleaser among the prostitutes in the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam--Dr. Horvath nudged Jack.
"We are almost leaving," Dr. Horvath said.
Naturally, Jack didn't want to go, but he saw that Anna-Elisabeth was watching him. Jack trusted her; he trusted them all. It was a hard piece of music to go down the stairs to, but Dr. Horvath and Jack quietly descended. His father was too busy playing to see them go.
It was warm in the church; all the doors were open, and the windows that would open were open, too. The sound of the Bach poured into the little square; it came outdoors with them. The Bach was not as loud outside--in the trees, or on the stone stairs leading away from the church--but you could hear every note of it, almost as clearly as you could hear it in St. Peter.