It was said of the enigmatic Mozart
that "...'tis unfortunately all too well known that fast living in
ill-chosen company shortened his precious days." My Mozart is the story of Nanina Gottlieb,
who begins her narrative as a musiker brat.
"Mozart,
Ich liebe dich. I love you. Love you."
"Come
here, Nanina Nightingale. Come and give your poor old Maestro some of your
‘specially sugary sugar."
My
mouth on his‑‑the friction produced warmth and sweetness, with a decided
undertone of the expensive brandy he liked, flowing from his tongue to mine. I
slid my arms across the brocade of his jacket, none too clean these days, and
swayed a slender dancer's body against him.
Let
me assure you that my sophistication was assumed. It really doesn't matter -
then, or now. I was young, foolish, and drowning in love. I was seventeen. He
was thirty five.
He
had once been boyishly agile, doing handsprings over chairs, turning cartwheels
of joy at a prima donna’s kiss or a perfect performance of his own celestial
music. He was never tall, and was, like most men of his age, working on a bit
of a belly. Still, he kept more or less in shape by a daily regimen which
included running from bailiffs, dashing out the back doors of taverns to avoid
payment, and climbing in and out of the bedroom windows of adventurous (and
talented) musical gentlewomen.
I
believed he knew everything--that he could see right through me with those
bright blue eyes. He probably could. He'd been my music master--and, more--my
deity, ever since I'd met him, in my ninth year.
His
jacket, now spotted and stained, must have been fine enough to wear in the
presence of the Emperor. Bright blue, it perfectly matched his eyes. I can
still feel the fabric sliding under my fingers as my arms passed over his
shoulders and around his neck.
I
can still see him‑‑a woolly frizz of blonde hair, long, aquiline nose--a ram
that had once been an angel. Sometimes, when he was loving me in some
exquisitely naughty way and joyfully smiling as he did it, I could almost see
horns…
Reviews:
This
really knocked my socks off, and so you don't have to know the opera or
Mozart's music to love this book.
” Kay Cochran
