As an automatically generous and hopeful soul - I use "hope" here in its theological sense, not as a mere substitute for what the world thinks of as optimism - Sadie Blakeley had been developing her own and more adult version of her daughter's enthusiasm over her teacher. Paul really was a wonder, quite eclipsing the memories of the two piano teachers she'd studied with in her childhood, and making her feel quite undeservedly fortunate by his showing up so unexpectedly to teach the girls. How could she describe him? She had to find the words, because she would have to explain his uniqueness to Adam, who could not be present during the day, and also to Maggie's parents, who likewise had to miss the show of unfamiliar understanding. And it had also begun to dawn upon her that Paul's wonderful availability to Deirdre and her friend could be an item of envy for certain other mothers. Gerta Grayson had certainly got hold of the wrong end of the stick: this was no "method" to be purchased in a music store; this was something the conservatories did not understand. Paul was not merely teaching piano, somehow he "was" the piano. He was music itself, if one could think such a thing. She could hardly wait to hear what next he had up in sleeve. Well, yes. she could wait, because he was the prefect teacher: he would only proceed as fast as the girls could absorb the information, and meanwhile she could enjoy hearing them practice and steadily achieve the mastery he promised. And there was such humour in it all! Just imagine your traditional teacher being told that the way you began putting two hands together was with the thumbs only! No rushing into five-finger discipline here!
As if he sensed that she had a bee in her bonnet, and wanted to talk to him, he announced that the
lesson was over. "You've both got enough to think about, and when you've each got your own part clear, you can teach each other what you know. Class dismissed until you've done that and then come up with an intelligent question or two."
"Yes," Sadie said. "But first you have to get some fresh air. Deirdre hasn't been out yet today."
"But don't we need to practice what we've just learned?" Deirdre asked.
"Later on," Paul said. "But you also need to think about it. Run it through your head, and maybe talk about it using the numbers. Or, when you're out of earshot, try singing them. The sooner you can create a numbered keyboard inside your head, the sooner all this stuff becomes second nature."
"Nobody ever said that to me before," Deirdre said.
"Somebody is saying it now, and you will hear it again. Well done for now."
When the girls had gone, Sadie found more coffee and then raised her concern. "Do you know what scruples are?"
"As Philippe Gagnon's grandson I could be said to be an expert in scruples. At least theoretically. Don't tell me you've got some."
"Of course I have.I try to think about it as little as I can, but I have a position in this town, thanks to my husband, and I must not abuse it, or seem to abuse it. Once it gets around that you're not some hack with one of those systems Gerta Grayson is wary of, then it might get around that the Blakeleys have hijacked you from Vancouver, or perhaps some educational centre even more exotic, just for the benefit of their own. Or maybe that it's a Catholic plot."
Paul laughed. "Of course it's a Catholic Plot! Vatican Two has turned out to be very strong on Gregorian Chant. Rome wants it sung, all around the world, by all the people, as in the Middle Ages, before the composers and choirs went bananas on harmonies and virtuoso performances.That and other elements took the heart out of real congregational chant and otherwise interfered with the optimum spirit of worship, but eventually the French monks and then Pius X, caught on to what had happened and started to change things. Or tried to. It's an uphill fight, especially when the people who teach the organ keyboard don't actually know how to do it properly. Not that you have to have an organ for chant, but it certainly helps with an inexperienced congregation, especially when they don't have a strong singer like my Grandpere in their ranks."
"But with you we have a strong singer in our ranks, don't we?
"I guess so, but I still like the back up of an organ, if it's played well. So did Grandpere. The people get very pleased with themselves when it all goes strongly. And of course, singing good stuff resonantly is good for you. Healthy. Good exercise for the lungs and heart."
