Dissonance by Stephen Orr

understand?’
    She didn’t reply.
    â€˜He wasn’t there,’ he continued. ‘So I spoke to Shirley, and her husband.’
    Madge took a deep breath. ‘Why? I asked one thing.’
    â€˜I had to go back to school. When I was leaving I saw Declan at the front gate. He said he knew who I was. Then he asked me to come in … but all of a sudden I thought, No, this is wrong. These are nice people, but they stole my father.’ He looked up at his mum. ‘They stole him from us.’
    â€˜They most certainly did,’ Madge said.
    â€˜So I turned and ran, all the way back to school. And as I ran I thought, Please, God, let that be the end of it. If I promise to forget them, to stay away.’
    Madge glared at him. ‘They wanted to take that shop from us. If I hadn’t sold it when I did we would’ve been left with nothing.’ She pointed a long, crooked finger at the piano. ‘None of this.’
    â€˜I know, I know, Mum,’ he said, begging forgiveness with his voice. ‘And then when I got back to school I got in trouble.’
    Madge rolled the long tongue of the whip around her hand.
    â€˜I knew, when I was standing at that gate,’ he pleaded with his eyes. ‘All she went on about was how much he loved her … and Declan … how he worked in the shop with him and got him a job at the Co-op.’
    Madge returned the whip to the hutch. She hobbled back to her son and sat beside him. He uncurled himself and lay across her lap like an overgrown baby. ‘I realised, Mum,’ he explained, staring up into her eyes, as she started stroking his cheek.
    â€˜Good,’ she said. ‘The things I could tell you about those people. She, that Shirley woman, was always spreading rumours about me. People would come into the shop and tell me. Once, someone said, Congratulations, and I said, Pardon? and they said, When’s it due? Apparently it was O’Loughlin’s. You know, the butcher in Lyndoch. See, she comes over all friendly but the truth is quite different. That’s why I told you to stay away. She’ll poison your mind if you let her. She’ll turn you against me. How would that be, Shot-a-tee?’
    â€˜Not good.’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Promise me you’ll stay away?’
    â€˜I knew, when I was at the gate.’
    â€˜You will be the world’s greatest musician. But that woman, she couldn’t stand that. She’d find a way to spoil it. See what you almost did?’
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜So, who’s your protector, Shot-a-tee?’
    â€˜You are.’
    â€˜And who are you?’
    â€˜Grettir the Strong.’
    â€˜And what can you do?’
    â€˜Conquer.’
    â€˜With whose love?’
    â€˜Yours.’
    Half an hour later Madge was back in the laundry running her iron along the creases in Erwin’s school pants. School, too, had outlived its usefulness. Like Jo and Father O’Gorman and Reg and the boxes of clothes and trinkets in the shed; like Cub scouts (she only took him twice, before she lost interest) and soccer, the Barossa Valley, Adelaide, Australia.
    She took the dress she’d worn to town that day. She draped it across the ironing table and set to it with a shot of steam. As she worked she sang the melody to the Moonlight Sonata . Better. Focus always helped. But that wasn’t something that came naturally to most males.
    She shifted her weight on her feet. It had been a hard couple of days. In and out of the city, up and down North Terrace, waiting, always waiting, until Reg appeared with the reference he’d promised.
    Dear Professor Schaedel,
    I am writing to you to recommend a student, my very best – Erwin Hergert. Erwin will be moving to Germany with his mother and is seeking a teacher.
    And he continued: You may remember my brother, he always praised the piano program at Hamburg … Erwin is a fine boy, and