SARA AND SKITCH
by Irv Pliskin
The system was created when Abel died.
He considered that since the creatures He had developed would have a finite existence, termination, sometime or other, He would have to have some way to conveniently handle them when they left the mortal plane.
It had not been part of His six day labor, but things keep cropping up when you are the Creator, and so He established the system.
With His considerable wisdom, He developed a sort of resort village, an expandable resort village. It was to be equipped with all of the needs of the most sybaritic of its occupants, and yet with all of the comforts anyone, at any stage of departure, could possibly want. There the souls departing Earth could rest, regain energy and wait to be called to the ‘genaden’, he place the people who became priests called ‘Heaven.'
In his infinite wisdom, He knew that He would have to make provisions for the souls as they arrived, and He knew that since He had made it possible for His creatures to multiply, that expansion was the wave of the unlimited future.
The system worked, and all souls rested in comfort until they could be sent to their final destinations. Those who had contributed reasonable value and interest to the universe enjoyed comfort, serenity and continued growth. Those who had not, who had retarded progress and spread bile wherever hey went: well one must pay the price for one’s deeds. Isn’t that the way it is, even in His case? Souls came to the resort village, recovered and then when they were ready, and their numbers came up on the huge lottery board, by now He had adopted the technology of his creations to the needs of His soul sanctuary, they could begin the pleasant journey to their genaden, their final resting spot and eternal residences.
Two newcomers were sitting in the resort village music hall, both of them at sparkling grand pianos and testing the sound and the action of the instruments.
One a man, in his late 80’s, the other a woman in her mid 90’s.
The man struck a chord, then a glissando. “What a wonderful instrument,” he muttered. “I wish I had one like this during my career.”
The woman played just as he man had done. But she played in a more classical vein.
“Yes,” she said, “it is a wonderful piano. I never could have afforded one like this in my lifetime.”
“Well,” he said, “striking a celestial chord. I could have bought it had I been able to find one.”
The Woman smiled at him, and then began to play the tough and demanding Tchaikovsky Concerto number 1 in D flat minor, which Cliburn had recorded after his Moscow triumph. She was playing it flawlessly, and the man joined in picking it up as she was into the third or fourth line of the complicated score. Together they played the entire thing, in perfect unison. When they had finished, rapped souls in the area applauded with vigor.
“Were you a performer, madam?” the man asked in a crisp British accent. “You are traffic. Had I met you in life I could have made you famous.”
She blushed. “No,” she said,” just a piano teacher. As a matter of fact, I taught until just a few months ago, before I took too ill to teach anymore.”
“Too bad,” he said, “you play like an angel. Oops, is that a bad pun?”
“I don’t know”, she said. “But I see someone beckoning to me, and you too. I feel more sprightly than I have in years. I think we have to go.”
He took her hand, and together they walked to the path that was lighted and moving in front of them.
“My name is Skitch,” he said. Skitch Henderson. “Maybe when we get where we are going we will be able to play duets together.”
“I’d like that”, she said. “My name is Sara.”
He kissed her on the check. “Sara, you are a wonderful musician. I am sure you will get the recognition you deserve wherever it is we are going.”
With the sounds of the concerto ringing in their ears, they stood quietly as the path moved them slowly and carefully to wherever it is they were destined to go.
Author’s Note:
My dear sister, Sara Nehman died November 4, 2005, at the age of 94. She was a consummate piano teacher, teaching generations of students classical piano until just a few months before her passing. Skitch Henderson, the world renowned pianist and TV performer also passed away on the same day. He was in his late 80’s That coincidental passing of musicians prompted this story.
Irv Pliskin is a retired advertising agency owner. He is a combat veteran of World War II and an Ex Prisoner of War of the Germans. Married, with three kids, and four grandchildren he devotes his time to writing flash fiction. He hopes, that someday, he may become the Grandma Moses of flash fiction. He lives with his wife of 57 years in Cherry Hill,NJ. Contact Irv.
