Trumpet Voluntary: Chapter Three

Rachel

Tibor and Malgosia became lovers, of course. Even when I think about that now it hurts. After all this time it still hurts. But there was nothing I could have done even if I had known how. She fell for him almost immediately. I don’t know how, but at the time I only realized what the situation was I thought I would die of unhappiness. I was crazy about her too, absolutely obsessed. And though we were best of friends, and she came to cry on my shoulder every time Tibor ignored her or cheated on her, still she didn’t love me like I loved her. I had to grin and bear it every time she cancelled our visits to the cinema or folk club because she was going to be with him.

One day I pushed open the door to Duke’s Hall because I could hear the sound of a beautiful trumpet. Malgosia was playing alone on the stage and she was making the most beautiful noise I ever heard. They were playing the famous ‘Trumpet Voluntary’.

‘I was beautiful,’ I told her when she finished. ‘I love Purcell’s music.’

‘It’s not Purcell, everyone thinks it is, but it’s actually by Jeremiah Clarke. Did you know he killed himself for love. It’s the kind of thing they did in those days. Isn’t it romantic?’

‘No,’ I laughed, ‘it’s stupid, if you ask me.’

‘Ah,’ she replied dreamily, ‘you are just a man, an English man. But to die for love! That takes a more passionate soul perhaps.’

Over the summer Malgosia went make to Poland to see her parents, and I had the dream that she would ask me to meet them, even though knew she wouldn’t. My parents wanted me to go on vacation with them, but in the arrogance of youth, I couldn’t stand the idea. I was much happier busking on the streets of London, playing for cinema queues and shopping tourists with the new student quartet that I had joined.

People seemed to like the way we played, and my open viola case soon filled with small change. We earned more when a law student who lived with me started collecting donations. Ken, a Nigerian, wasn’t very keen on the music, but he was a magician with the hat. It looked like it was going to be a good summer. Sometimes I even forgot about Malgosia. But not for long.

One evening, Rachel, the cellist from our group, and I sat outside Chiswick and watched the life of the river in front of us. There were the sounds of the city, birds, planes, rowers, and a little police boat going down the river.

I liked Rachel. She was quiet and gentle. She had light brown hair and pretty brown eyes in a pleasant face. When she smiled, you knew you could trust her. That night we talked about what we hoped for the future. I told her I wanted to make enough money as a musician to have a nice house, travel a bit, that kind of thing. She told me much the same. She wanted children, but with the right man.

‘Well don’t look at me,’ I joked.

‘I know that you fool,’ she laughed. ‘You can’t see anyone past Malgosia.’

I blushed. ‘Maybe,’ I replied but I didn’t like talking about it.’

‘Can I say something?’ she asked nervously.

‘It depends what it is.’ Around us I saw people were talking and laughing as the night got darker.

‘It’s just, well, I know Malgosia is beautiful. I mean really beautiful. And I like her. But she’s crazy about Tibor, and anyone who’s crazy about Tibor, well . . .’ she stopped and looked at me.

‘Well what?’ I understood what she was saying, but I didn’t like anyone criticizing Malgosia.

‘Oh God now you’re cross with me,’ Rachel said. ‘Sorry. Sorry. But it’s a pity to see you and her. She’s not right for you. You’re wasting your time, wasting your life on her and you’re not getting anything back. It doesn’t look good.’

‘Well,’ I snapped back. ‘I don’t care, OK? Me and Malgosia, well, we’re . . .’ I wanted a better word than friend, but I couldn’t think of one, ‘we’re special all right? So it’s none of your business. Keep out of my affairs, ok?’

Rachel had gone red and I had gone too far. My only excuse was that I was young and very confused. But honestly, Rachel had said something that I didn’t want to hear. The truth. If I had only listened to her then, my life may have turned out very differently.

We finished our drinks in silence. I tried to start up conversation again, but she only answered in ‘yes’ or ‘no’, so it wasn’t much good. In the end, when closing time was called by the pub landlord, we just said goodbye and I caught the tube back to London.

As the train noiselessly made it’s way through the darkness I thought about our conversation and realized it probably meant the end of our quarter. I thought about joining another one and then I thought of Rachel’s face, her sad, gentle face. Perhaps it was the drinks, or the warm summer night, or the loneliness, but I got off the train and went back in her direction.

Half an hour later, I was at her door and I rang the bell. The door opened.

‘Derek,’ Rachel said in surprise. ‘I thought you went back home.

‘I was going to,’ I replied, ‘and then I just thought . . .’ bit I didn’t really know what I thought so I just kissed her instead. She didn’t really seem to mind so I kissed her again, and it was very nice and soon just kissing didn’t seem to be enough and, well, you can imagine the rest.

The next morning we couldn’t look at each other. We had gone too far, too fast. All I could think was that I had betrayed Malgosia (which was ridiculous, since she didn’t love me), and all Rachel could think was, that I had used her.

The next day the quartet met up outside Covent Garden tube station as we had done every day. I wasn’t sure Rachel would come, but she was there early. She avoided my eyes and wouldn’t talk to me at first, but later, when we were setting up together, she approached me.

‘Derek, can I have a word?’

‘Yes,’ I said nervously.

‘It’s just,’ she announced, looking away from me, ‘what happened happened, I know that, but it’s not going to happen again is it?’

‘No,’ I meant it.

‘And you want the quartet to continue?’

‘Yes. Yes, I think so.’

‘So can we just be friends?’ she asked. I wonder how much that cost her.

‘If that’s ok.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she said as she started to walked about, but then came back, right up to me. ‘One last thing, she whispered. ‘I don’t want anyone else knowing about our . . . it. We won’t talk about it ever again. OK?’

‘OK,’ I agreed and she relaxed.

But two weeks later, when we broke for lunch, Rachel refused to go on playing. She wouldn’t say why and that was the end of our band. At least for the time being.

We watched her walk about, her head down. She hadn’t said goodbye to anyone and no one knew what it was about. Except me and Ken. I had told him much earlier, the day after it happened. He had brought it up to ask how we were and she became furious. She marched past him that day, packed her cello and left.

The summer holidays ended and the autumn term began. There was no sign of Malgosia and I was pretty miserable. I tried to talk to Rachel, I begged her to come back, but she refused to speak to me.

Things weren’t going well with my viola studies either. My new teacher was an old man that didn’t like me, and I didn’t like him either. Carl and Matt wanted to get a new cellist, but I could not agree. I had already done enough damage, and I still hoped that one day Rachel would change her mind.

I suppose you could say my life was a mess. I was playing badly, I didn’t have many friends, and the one love in my life had disappeared

But not for long. One evening, six days after the term started, I was watching a bad old Hollywood movie on my small tv set when someone knocked. It was Ken.

‘Hi,’ I said, ‘come in. Where have you been?’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ he replied, not looking me in the eye, ‘you’ve got more important things to think about.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s someone downstairs to see you and she doesn’t look very happy.’

‘Who is it?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know, but she’s really lovely. If you’ve not interested, let me know and I’ll try to cheer her up.’

I left him and walked downstairs. It was beginning to get dark and a heavy rain was falling. Malgosia was standing in the passageway with two suitcases, he beautiful hair dripping wet and a look of complete misery on her face.

Analysis:

At this point in the novel/memoir, Derek is defined by his struggle to win the beautiful Malgosia. He can play music and make other friends, but these qualities are framed within the larger goal of love. A love, though, that he would not die for.

This Derek, while sad and petty, is not a problem on his own. Many people fall in love with someone who does not love them back. Many people create romantic fantasies. It is what some people call ‘the human condition’. But Derek’s fascination infects the people around him. His spurned love plagues his friends’ lives and it affects everything he touches.

Starting with the obvious, he defines Rachel (a beautiful Hebrew name) against the Polish trumpeter he really pines for. Whatever her feelings about their intense night, he immediately compares her to Malgosia. He treats her body like an outlet for his penis, rather than acknowledging the beautiful shrine that it is. Sex should not be something to be ashamed of, but Derek so quickly devalues their experience that Rachel feels ashamed of ever being with HIM.

On a side note: Derek also responds to pressure from Rachel by assuming that she is attracted to him. When she talked about her future and family with him, he directed the conversation toward himself. This is sad but unsurprising that a man would focus attention on himself, and then beguile himself into believing it is the woman who wants him.

To her credit, Rachel stands firm about her feelings. Because of the inappropriate behavior of Derek, post-coitus, she does not want to hear about their night again (a simple promise which he cannot keep). When she hears that Derek bragged to his friend, she simply walks away. Sex is an equal partnership that needs to be respected. British musicians who do not understand that, beware.

As Derek tries to fuck his way out of depression, he creates more problems. By keeping secrets and mistreating his friends, he singlehandedly divides his quartet. He pushes aside his parents, who appear to be financially supporting his musical career. And he cannot even do well in class. In Derek’s words his life is ‘a mess.’

At the end of the chapter, an image of Malgosia appears. It is the beautiful, romantic Malgosia that Derek always imagines in his wet dreams. This is an early warning for Derek to let this obsession go. The imagine of the girl outside his apartment is a symbol of his sad subconscious. By craving love he cannot have, Derek is making himself sick and alone. He needs to free Malgosia and embrace himself as an independent human being. Then he can liberate himself, explore London and perhaps learn to treat women as people rather than ideas or fantasies.