Weissenbaum's Eye - Stetten

Weissenbaum's Eye - Stetten - Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

The little restaurant was fancier than anywhere Sand normally would go. But it made Peter proud to feed his son in style. The other tables were empty. Sand and his father were the only customers.

"Order what you want," said Peter.

The unargued assumption passed that Sand would not pay for what he ate. It bothered him, but evidently not enough to complain. Any fuss he made would disappoint his father. Besides, things could be worse. A fancy meal delivered to his senses would compensate for all the algae in his stomach.

The food appeared as they called for it. Soon their table was full, and grew bigger to fit more. Peter smiled and reached out to serve his son some cold noodle salad.

"So, how are you, Sand?"

Sand immediately stuffed his mouth with a fork full.

"Your appetite seems fine."

Sand smiled and swallowed. "How's your music?" he asked quickly to dodge the next question.

Peter's eyes shifted.

"Good, really good. I've been playing in front of people. I'm learning how to be happy when I perform."

"How do you do that?" asked Sand, forcing another bite of noodles.

"When I make a mistake," Peter explained, "I don't punish myself for it. Mistakes are part of life. Pretend you're great and you just might be. Anyway, that's what Benjamin says."

Sand didn't look up. He still remembered when his father had played an actual piano. There had been no talk like this back then, just music.

Peter continued. "Sand, you know, you should go see Benjamin. He likes you."

Sand's appetite was gone.

"I haven't finished anything good enough yet," he said.

Peter shook his head emphatically.

"That's just it. Benjamin says things are never finished. You should show him what you have. That way you'll learn to love what you are."

Peter wondered if his son understood. Sand was so hard to reach sometimes, so sensitive, so easy to antagonize. Mara had been like that too, right before she left. It seemed to Peter that he had been to blame, somehow...

"Oh, I have some good news," he said, clearing his throat. "Benjamin has a new way of reflecting sound. He says it gives a whole new texture to music. He's going to let me use it soon." Peter paused. "You could too, if you were with us."

"That'd be nice," said Sand, with that same polite resistance.

Was it so abnormal for a father to want to help his son? Peter looked at Sand again. If the boy had other things on his mind, why didn't he just speak up? Peter wished he could reach out and shake him.

Instead, he said, "Here, have some steak." The two ate in silence for some time, and then Peter asked, "Are you going to find out about Mara? Benjamin really wants to know."

Sand looked up at his father now. "I went to the campus. She's not there."

"What do you mean?" Peter's voice rose. "How do you know?"

"There was a man at the gate. He'd never heard of Mara, or Benjamin Holly either."

"And you believed him?" Peter exclaimed.

Sand hadn't thought of that.

"Benjamin Holly says she's still there," his father was insisting. "He must be right. He's never wrong. I'm working on a special piece of music for her." Sand looked at his father now with pity, but Peter was beyond that. He sounded crazy.

"You've got to talk with Benjamin."

Sand looked away.

"Benjamin will know what to do. See him tomorrow, will you?" Peter demanded.

"Maybe," said Sand, and then despite his father's protests, excused himself before dessert was served.

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