I opened the teach-yourself manual and it pointed me--after pages on fingers and their numbers, wrist placement, and posture and such--to middle C and then some other notes. I touched it and it made a sound, a good sound. I liked it, even though it filled me both with wonder and terror.
Certainly this is not yet rhythm and melody, but move we will. So I brought her home about two weeks ago and she fit at an inside wall, under Ben's portrait, with a couple of porcelain Hungarian peasants, drunk, on her top, next to gifted flowers. So I am pushing along, maybe an hour a day, and getting to know her, Evelyn, or Evie (because all good things have to have names). She is a console, not young, but in fine condition, a lovely thing actually, with simple and elegant lines, darker complexion. Simply beautiful, even graceful, and all her movements are primitive poetry, music, something like the soul's primary speech. She does not complicate anything. She sounds very good, seems to like me making noise, the only thing I am capable of yet. Eventually it will become moody food, maybe even poetry, that may push folks to dance. I'll work on it. She is a great good and a fine pleasure.