Jonathan's Friend

By Roberto Athayde

Mostly know for his play Miss Margaridas Way, presented on Broadway starring Estelle Parsons and produced in more than 30 countries, Brazilian author Roberto Athayde writes both in English and Portuguese. Jonathans Friend is a novel inspired by the authors own experience as a foreign student in the US.
The narrator, Armando, is a composition major at the the Music School of the University of Michigan in the spring of 1969. He is in the process of giving up music for writing. He finds out that a certain young composer is supposed to be in love with Jonathan, the best violinist in the music school, and that his passion is not reciprocated. Armando figures that such story might be just what he needs to get on with his fiction. He strikes a friendship with the unhappy composer. But, instead of merely finding material for a short story, the sensual Armando falls hopelessly in love with Jonathans friend. Jonathans Friend is a novel of budding passion played out amidst the notes of classical music. It was written by Roberto Athayde when the author was nineteen years old and has been withheld for more than thirty years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 16, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469122045

Roberto Athayde

Mostly known for his play Miss Margarida’s Way, presented on Broadway starring Estelle Parsons and produced in more than thirty countries, Brazilian author Roberto Athayde writes both in English and Portuguese. He has published novels, short stories and poetry and is also active as a theater and film director. He won the Molière Prize for Miss Margarida’s Way.

Book preview

JONATHAN’S

FRIEND

_____________________________

Roberto Athayde

Copyright © 2000 by Roberto Athayde.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission

in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States ofAmerica.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-7-XLIBRIS

www.Xlibris.com

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CONTENTS

GABRIELA AND JONATHAN

REMEMBRANCE OF

LEENEFFEY’S DINNER PARTY

AND A SELECTION OF MY

VIEWS ON MUSIC

JONATHAN’S RECITAL__

FIRST AND FATIDIC

APPEARANCE OF JOSEPH

VINTEL

JOSEPH VINTEL

JOSEPH AND I

EVELYN

JOSEPH LOST

POSTLUDE

GABRIELA AND JONATHAN

Gabriela is one of those lucky ones. She has perfect pitch. For years before my admission to the Music School I denied the existence of such a thing as perfect pitch. Once inside the school, I realized I could afford not having it.

But that doesn’t matter, the matter being Gabriela. Besides her perfect pitch, Gabriela also has a Brazilian passport and she is an amazing pianist. At the age of 13 she played the Appassionata sonata for some virtuoso and he said her tempo was too fast. Anyone who can play that too fast at 13 must be a hell of a piano player. And that’s what she is.

Like me, she came to the University of Michigan as the result of a long series of misunderstandings. She was now a piano major under Prof. Fowler who, being a very far-seeing man, predicted a great career for her. She had lived in an apartment since her freshman year, no dormitory. I don’t know how she managed it. We foreigners have a way of doing things.

Also roommatewise she was very unusual. Her roommate was another pianist. And, as if that weren’t enough, Barbara Sminans was the greatest living pianist in the whole Music School. She was to the piano department what Jonathan Shonkerman was to the violin department: number one. She was so conscious of the fact, she’d speak to hardly anybody. Because of her superiority. She was a Ph.D. student. It took me a while to find out what exactly that meant __ I just knew it was pretty high in the American academic pecking order. And yet she was simply Gabriela’s roommate.

Through Gabriela I achieved a considerable degree of intimacy with Barbara. I don’t know if such an honor was due more to my being a Brazilian or to my being a friend of Gabriela’s. Probably both. But you can’t treat a Brazilian like you treat anybody else. Even if you are Barbara Sminans.

One thing about Gabriela is that her accent was by no means better than mine, although everyone thought so. The thing is that, living in Michigan for a long time, she adhered unconditionally to a Midwestern dialect I didn’t. I pretended my accent was a British one because my first English teacher was a subject of Her Britannic Majesty. But people at Michigan couldn’t understand that. They thought I was less gifted for languages than Gabriela.

Now, about her cohabitation with Barbara, there was one thing that disgusted me. Despite my best intentions and offices, I could never detect in it any traits of lesbianism. Togetherness yes. They were always seen together. But togetherness just isn’t enough. Soon Gabriela acquired a boyfriend. A great loss for my autobiography. But let me not waste time dreaming of how much easier it would be to make fiction if facts were a bit less banal!

Gabriela’s temperament was upbeat and spontaneous, therefore fickle. Her most obvious quality was an incorrigible heartiness. Once, expressing her condolences to a colleague who had missed too many notes playing an audition, she said her famous last words: Even God makes mistakes!

I stuck my eye to the glass of the practicing room window (they look like portholes at Michigan) and saw Gabriela inside. She was raping the keyboard with the help of a Chopin ballade, her hair alive, all over her face __ she couldn’t possibly see me. It was the first day of the term, January 5, 1969. I had just flown back from Brazil, where I went for the Christmas break and … I had news for Gabriela. Fresh family news straight from Copacabana. The temptation to break in was strong enough, but I wanted to observe her, her movements, so that next time she knocked people down for pianistic convulsions I could say ‘bullshit, you do it just as bad yourself’.

My favorite phrase comes up from her left hand, flattering my ear with recognition. Then she stops, cruelly, without any consideration for her unperceived listener. She starts playing the same note over and over, like a mentally retarded child or a piano tuner. I furiously dashed the door open but, at her smile, I changed my mood to something sarcastic:

Working on your new repertoire, Gabriela?

That was an insult as she had probably known that ballade since she was three. But she let it pass, probably on account of the New Year and our return to school, and affected an exaggerated surprise:

Armando! Armandito, the Lion-Hearted, you’re back! And with a terrific suntan! You look awfully healthy!

"I am healthy, I protested, much more so than you can ever imagine! God, it’s so strange to be back here. Did you go to Canada for Christmas after all?"

"Of course I did. You think I’d stay here? Please, tell me all about Rio! Is everything the same? Was it hot?"

32 Celsius just last night. 37 a few days ago. Beach every day. Carnival ball on New Year’s Eve! By the way, your father got married.

What?! exclaimed Gabriela. "Well, finally. And he doesn’t even write me for that."

He said he’ll write you but he’d rather I told you first. So …

Did you see him or was it just by phone?

Phone. He told me you never said what music sheet you wanted me to bring back. There was no point in my going over. Everything is fine. I told him you played in the student recital. He was glad.

I succeeded in keeping Gabriela from practicing for about two hours __ with homesick chat and a fairly good harvest of Music School gossip. She told me all about Barbara’s coming graduation recital. Was she going to get a standing ovation was the great query. All of a sudden, as if already galvanized by her roommate’s success, Gabriela grabbed my arm scaring the hell out of me:

Guess who I’m going to accompany in three weeks’ time!

I haven’t the faintest idea.

Jonathan!

Who’s Jonathan?

"Jonathan Shonkerman … the concertmaster, the violinist in this school! What do you mean who’s Jonathan?! It will be the most sensational event in the whole strings department!"

Why?

Because he’s wearing a turtleneck. Gabriela changed her tone and pretended she was about to cry. "Stop underestimating things, Armando! He’s great and I’m all excited."

I’m not underestimating anyone. I just have never heard him play though I admit I’ve heard a lot about him. Just let me come to the rehearsals, if you want to get me excited. I suppose you must be rehearsing like mad, if the recital is only three weeks away.

That’s the problem, she said proudly, "I haven’t learned my part yet. And you should see how he plays. The first rehearsal is tomorrow at 3 o’clock. Of course you’re welcome to the rehearsals but not tomorrow because it will be terrible. Specially if I chat with you all afternoon."

"I’m coming tomorrow then. I’m sure with my presence it will be more embarrassing. How old is Jonathan?

I don’t know. I think he’s 22. What’s that got to do with the rehearsal?

It has nothing to do with the rehearsal.

I knew damn well who Jonathan was, even before the ‘Shonkerman’ came. But I didn’t want to sound too up to date in front of Gabriela. One thing was true though (in conversation even if you are careful you always say something true), that I had never heard him play. Except in the orchestra, but that doesn’t count.

I hate to describe his physique but I must since he’s my title role. He was very short and slim. But so well built that you almost didn’t notice he was short. His eyes were ultra sensitive and sweet, his grin arrantly hostile. He constantly displayed a certain ruth-lessness, strikingly disparate from his real nature, which was refined and delicate. Unlike Barbara, Jonathan was covered with a mantle of simplicity of which he only unveiled himself when he was playing the violin. Then he became gracefully cocky. That Jonathan is Jewish, as most of my characters are, should be no surprise to anyone though it was one to me when I first arrived, a Brazilian Catholic, at the School of Music of the University of Michigan.

So I knew damn well whom Gabriela was talking about. And I was also excited that she was going to accompany him. Excited in a different way though. Jonathan had a peculiar reputation apart from that of being a great fiddler. He had a peculiar boyfriend. I had heard countless gossip about their being inevitably seen together and even that it was impossible to see one without seeing the other. I had never seen the ‘other’ or, if I had, I didn’t pay any attention to him. I really didn’t care about who Jonathan’s friend could be. The simple fact that he did have such a friend, or merely that so many people thought so, was enough to arouse my morbid curiosity. I had been told that Jonathan not only was permanently followed by his friend but that he sheltered him in his room on Tree Street, though the friend supposedly lived in Baits Housing and even had a straight roommate.

The whole thing smacked of groovy literary material. At the time, however, I could never suspect that I was going to use it in my own autobiography. Cruel fate! If I only knew what it had in store for me, wouldn’t I have kept clear of that affair! But I must not indulge in self-pity. Jonathan had this little halo of mystery due to a generous dose of hearsay; Gabriela tells me she’s accompanying him and invites me for rehearsals; result: I, with this characteristic naivete of mine, decide to take an interest in Jonathan’s case.

I stuck my eye to the glass of the practicing-room porthole and, this time, saw two people: Gabriela and Jonathan. Jonathan was pompously seated at the piano while Gabriela tuned the violin. Slightly disturbed by the inversion of instruments, I went in and found them kidding and relaxing as they got ready to begin.

I can play the violin! shouted Gabriela greeting me. She bowed a note. Jonathan tittered. As a counterpart to Gabriela’s performance of the note G, he fluttered his fingers throughout the trebble register of the piano without touching the keys.

I said hi to Jonathan and got the same for a reply. Gabriela didn’t bother to introduce us. I put my portfolio on the piano and took a discreet lateral position. They fooled around for another couple of minutes. When they were ready I stood behind Gabriela to turn the pages for her. She said she was going to sight-read and I didn’t want her to have the turning of the pages as a pretext for a poor job. The music was Beethoven’s A major sonata for violin and piano. They start. It is not indispensable that the reader imagine the sounds of that specific work now. You can imagine anything, preferably for piano and violin. Don’t imagine La Campanella because it will occur later in this chapter.

Gabriela faced the music. When a passage came that had too many notes, she deftly skipped the less important ones, keeping up with Jonathan’s tempo. Jonathan, on the other hand, already had the whole thing by heart. He was devoting himself to histrionic polishing, wriggling, showing off the fitness of his body with proud bowing. At that particular moment I was his only observer. My attention was divided between the pages of Gabriela’s score and a desire to do justice to Jonathan’s choreography. I did both things perfectly.

After Beethoven (and a little Brahms which I’m contemptuously skipping) it was time to go through La Campanella! The music of course is a bore but who cares about the music? Paganini’s musical exhibitionism offered two things to me: the ridiculousness of its accompaniment, which I was hoping would make Gabriela get lost and stop, and the fact that it gave Jonathan such perfect opportunities to display his muscular bravura. Gabriela didn’t get lost but stopped anyway. Jonathan went on. Gabriela gave him a cynical look. Jonathan made a face as if rather blaming Paganini for the fluffiness of the variations than Gabriela for messing them up. Then she caught up with him at a passage where she had only a few shabby plucky chords. Then came The End. Jonathan was sweating and his bow was beautifully shedding. A shedding violin bow happens to hold a certain fetishistic value to me. They were going to start the piece da capo. But I was already late for my composition lesson and, sorry as I certainly was, I had to excuse myself and leave.

I kept seeing Jonathan all the time after that. At the rehearsals or just around the concourses or at the student lobby. I also saw him at the Bursley Hall snack bar. Bursley was my dormitory. He seemed to be coming more and more often to see some girl. I did some research and discovered the whole thing. Her name was Georgette and she was his girlfriend. Apparently Jonathan was conducting a ménage à trois.

Georgette was a super sensual broad and she also played the violin. The affair was getting progressively more interesting I thought maybe I could get two or three short stories out of it. Now I was eager to get to talk to Jonathan. I figured we had much in common and we might even become good friends. I never felt physically or emotionally attracted to him, let’s make that perfectly clear. All I wanted was friendship and inspiration for my writing.

I wanted to break him down and make him talk seriously to me. I can enjoy nonsensical gabbing but it must be conscious. And that requires a truth session between the candidates for friendship. They should exchange some emotions, share unhappiness and only then emerge back to their social level of bullshit. I will expand on this theory later on. For now what I wanted was to talk to Jonathan on a personal level and the silly bastard didn’t give me a chance.

Probably people scared him to death, at least as much as they scared me. But between the two of us I’m sure I scared him more than he scared me! At the snack bar, on my way from the grill to some secluded table, usually carrying a cheeseburger and fries, I would say hello to Jonathan and Georgette and sometimes even managed a little sterile dialogue:

How’s the recital coming along? I missed the last rehearsal.

Oh pretty good. Gabriela and I are having a great time.

And that was about all I could pull out of him. With Georgette there, I couldn’t hope for better. I thought an approach apt to yield a short story ought to be treated man to man. Maybe another night. Jonathan was so goddamn defensive. I could feel he never said anything really meaningful for fear of exposing his emotions and getting