To a Wild Nightingale

By D. Jovanovic

The book, "Love and Remembrance," discusses the adult paranormal experiences of Sophie Jacobs, CPA.
"To a Wild Nightingale" presents the life of Sophie as a teenager, studying vocal music at the prestigious Academy of the City of New York. It is there, under unusual circumstances, that she meets Nicolai, nephew of the great Soviet composer, Nicolai Sabrenkov and recent arrival at the Academy after escaping from behind the Iron Curtain with his Mother and Sister. When their friendship develops Sophie becomes popular with other students who want to know more about the handsome mysterious newcomer.
Although he is always cheerful, often teasing, Sophie senses a layer of sorrow beneath the surface, as their friendship continues to reach deeper levels. Sophie, Nicolai and friends enjoy a regular weekend routine where they have dinner, desert, and intellectual discussions at restaurants and coffee houses before and after listening to concerts at Carnegie Hall. The weekend concludes for them after having Breakfast at the Central Park Zoo. However, one Friday night in particular results in devastating consequences, leading to life altering decisions for three of the adolescents involved. While Nicolai is away on a concert tour, Sophie makes the acquaintance of a Miki, a lively teenager with the reputation of being a "sexpot." Miki gets to know Sophie and her friends and forms a special relationship with Tom, one of the group. The addition of Miki helps Sophie and the others find a level of warmth and comfort, previously absent. Meanwhile, because of his close association with his Uncle, a world renowned Soviet composer living in Leningrad, Nicolai inadvertently becomes entangled in Cold War politics through no fault of his own and is compelled to conclude his touring. He returns to New York, where he and Sophie will continue to face the challenge of learning to live creative lives in love when the World is at War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728363615

D. Jovanovic

D. Jovanovic is a musician and retired Psychiatric Social Worker; whose professional assignments required investigation, analysis, and preparation of detailed reports for courts and other official entities. As a professional violoncellist, Jovanovic played and sang in Carnegie Hall, and traveled on tour in several countries (e g.; France, Japan, U.S.S.R.). After retirement, Jovanovic traveled to sites of the Second World War and wrote articles for magazines and Associations of American veterans. These varied professional assignments led Jovanovic to situations involving paranormal phenomena, and writing the novel "Love and Remembrance," which focuses on the attempts of a C.P.A. to comprehend events and experiences her logical mind can not explain. Jovanovic chose to write a "prequel" which incorporates the lives of the people featured in "Love and Remembrance." "To a Wild Nightingale", combines the stories of the group of teenagers living moments of change to adulthood. As Richard Bach wrote in the metaphysical classic "Illusions," Perhaps it is no coincidence that you're holding this book; perhaps there's something about these adventures that you came here to remember. If that is so, the reader and the Author can have some interesting discussions.

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2019 D. Jovanovic. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  06/01/2020

ISBN: 978-1-7283-6362-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-6363-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-6361-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020910100

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

In m

emory of Sviatoslav Nicolaevich Knoushevitzky.

4 D 2 G S

Professor Helen Jones

Robin Moore

Mme Boudet, Margaret Mary

Jean-Paul Levasseur

Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1 Introduction

Chapter 2 Allegro

Chapter 3 The Golden Age

Chapter 4 Breakfast at the Zoo

Chapter 5 Entry by Invitation Only (RSVP)

Chapter 6 A Solemn Vow

Chapter 7 Romance

Chapter 8 Prelude

Chapter 9 Fugue

Chapter 10 Quintet

Chapter 11 Theme and Variations

Chapter 12 The Seventh Symphony

Chapter 13 Nocturne

Chapter 14 Moderato

Chapter 15 Allegretto

Chapter 16 A Page Translation

Chapter 17 Largo

Chapter 18 Intermezzo

Chapter 19 To a Wild Nightingale

Chapter 20 Passacaglia

Chapter 21 Finale

Chapter 22 Coda

About the Author

Foreword

D uring the years that followed the publication of the therapy sessions between my grandfather, Dr. Eliahu Levy, and his patient, Sophie Jacobs, CPA, I received many communications from people and associations interested in the subject of synchronicity, particularly as it was manifested in the lives of the therapist and his patient. That was to be expected, especially from those occupied with the subjects of psychology and parapsychology.

What I had not anticipated was the large number of communications I received from nonprofessionals who had been personally affected by the therapy sessions. Most of these individuals wished to share their experiences. My responses consisted primarily of referrals to specialists but also references to the text of the therapy sessions that were relative to the inquiries.

What was most interesting for me, both as a member of Dr. Levy’s family and as a naturopathic medical doctor, was the interest shown by others in the personal lives of the doctor and his patient. There were many inquiries about what transpired in periods not referred to in the text. Most of that information can be found, if only briefly, in the transcriptions. However, what does not appear in the book are the events that occurred in the life of Ms. Jacobs from the time she was placed in the taxi, by Harry, the ballplayer, and the moments when she began to have the experiences of synchronicity (more than thirty years later) concerning her relationship with him when she was a teenager. Eventually, there seemed to be a sufficient number of these inquiries to merit contacting Ms. Jacobs myself.

Time did not wither her. Her appearance seemed unchanged since we met in 1999. She felt touched that people would show an interest in what happened after her last contact with Harry. She related, unequivocally, that she did not have any experiences that could be classified as synchronous or paranormal between the time she last saw Harry and the time he resumed his connection to her, more than thirty years later. However, she did speak about other events of her life during the years in question (i.e., 1949–1981) after Harry sent her home.

Sophie Jacobs and I discussed this period of her life that revolved around the Cold War. Once again, I obtained her permission and have self-published her story in limited edition. I think the reader may find this material as interesting as what has previously been documented. It may be beneficial to the understanding of those events to make reference to the previous publication, Love and Remembrance (FB Publishing, 2002). Perhaps it is possible that other examples of synchronicity that I failed to discover or Ms. Jacobs failed to reveal can be found.

Note: The musical terms are used in certain specific works of the late Soviet composer Nikolai Sabrenkov and serve in this book as chapter headings.

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Chapter 1

Introduction

S ophie Jacobs leaned against the wall of the stairway alcove and finally let herself cry.

Last evening, on the way home to Queens from Midtown Manhattan where Harry had placed her in a taxi, she had tried to piece together what had happened. She had always considered herself to be lucky, but now things didn’t look that way at all.

She considered herself lucky not just because she was one of the few students in the entire five boroughs of New York City to pass the entrance exam to the city’s celebrated Music Academy but also because this special high school was only a mile from the Polo Grounds, where Major League Baseball games were played by the New York Giants.

Her aunt and uncle (Sophie was an orphan placed in their home) had six children, and by the late 1940s, all had become good fans of the Giants. Sophie, the lucky one, could walk to the Polo Grounds after school, each time a game was played. That was how she met Harry, a pitcher with the Saint Louis Cardinals. From the time she was fourteen, she followed him like a puppy dog; her aunt and uncle had scolded, and her cousins had teased, but still she continued to follow him. In response, he had joked with her and laughed with her, with nothing changing until she reached her sixteenth birthday—April 21, 1949.

In a way, Sophie blamed Rivkah for what happened. Rivkah, her smart friend who showed her how to dress and how to fix herself up and how to change from a girl into a young woman. When she first knew Harry, she had thick red braids. He used to pull on them affectionately and tell how, when the team was traveling away from home, she helped him remember his little girl, who had her red hair tied in pigtails as well. The game when they were together for what Sophie knew now to be the last time, her long red hair was in a soft, neat ponytail. The bobby socks had given way to nylons, the dungarees to a skirt, the polo shirt to a white blouse with ruffles (a birthday present from Rivkah).

Sophie had wanted to please Harry. She had pleased him so much that he had taken her to the lobby of his hotel before they both realized what was happening and left. He called a taxi, made the arrangements for the drive to her family’s home in Queens, kissed her gently on the lips, and left her and her confused feelings in the cab.

(Note: More detail of this final meeting is provided in the taped session of that date, Touch her soft lips and part.)

At home that night, she did not want to call attention to herself and provoke the anger of her aunt and uncle and the teasing of her cousins, so she held her tears in check. In bed, she fell asleep wearily and heavily, and in the morning, getting ready to go to school, she hid her feelings from her family once more.

How could she let people see her cry on a rush hour bus and subway? How could she let her classmates share her sorrow in homeroom? In Advanced Sight Singing? In French? But here, on the down staircase leading to the basement cafeteria, she could lean against the alcove wall and cry all the tears she had held back. The other students would be in classes or eating lunch. Here she could be alone. She let the tears and sobs come free, uncontrolled.

Suddenly there were footsteps on the stairway; someone was in a hurry, running up the down staircase. Sophie paid no attention; she thought the hurrying feet would pass by quickly. They did not. She heard the noise of the feet stop nearby, approach her, and then she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and gentle fingers upon her chin. She sensed these fingers were now wet with her tears, and they felt soft yet strong upon her face. She knew they belonged to a boy, and she waited to hear him speak. He did not, so she looked up to see who it was who could so quietly understand her mood. She recognized him at once, and instantly her sorrow was flooded with a flash of sudden excitement and simultaneous remembrances.

Everyone in her school knew who this boy was. Never before in its history—and probably never again—would the Academy experience such an unusual entry. He was given the qualifying examinations late in November 1948, the day after the landing of the plane that had carried him and members of his family from their point of escape behind the Iron Curtain. (Sophie always believed the State Department had something to do with this.)

He was a brilliant cellist, and his admission into the Academy was a foregone conclusion. Named for his uncle, the great Soviet composer Nikolai Sabrenkov, the boy had always been surrounded by celebrities of the music world. Less than a month after his entrance into the Academy, he gave a cello recital and received a standing ovation. Her friend Rivkah insisted Sophie attend, and his playing was all that she had anticipated.

Nikolai was popular in school; at least it would seem so. The other students were always trying to be near him. The group that published a monthly journal stopped the presses to make a last-minute addition, welcoming the new student. There was neither time nor space for a photo or interview (both of which he would have most likely refused), but they were able to add a little greeting:

We’d like to give a warm hello

To a newcomer who plays cello.

The teachers were delighted with his presence, all except the English professors, who found the boy’s Russian-isms difficult to handle. He was fluent in French, and his knowledge and personal experiences in music made several teachers invite him to lecture on occasion, despite his reputedly horrible English. Rivkah had spoken to him once or twice, and although she attempted to appear blasé about it, Sophie could tell that even Rivkah had been excited by meeting him.

In addition to the recital, Sophie had seen Nikolai at least once or twice weekly since his arrival. They were not in the same grade level and had no corresponding classes, but she saw him in the hall, or at weekly assembly meetings, or sometimes in the cafeteria.

Everyone always whispered whenever he passed. He was very masculine in appearance, in the dark, brooding manner of Russian novels Rivkah had insisted Sophie read. He was medium height and weight, with dark, expressive eyes and thick black hair through which he had a nervous habit of running his long fingers. He smiled often yet seemed to Sophie to be laughing in order to hide a deep sorrow that could never be fully expressed.

He was always in a crowd; he did not seem to have any special close friends at school, either boy or girl. But once, when she had to stay late to make up a special assignment, Sophie saw him with someone as she left the school grounds. A young woman (she seemed to Sophie to be slightly older than the boy), with dark, flowing hair and dark eyes similar to his, was swinging back and forth with him on the school gate—Nikolai on one side, she on the other. As the gate swung, the young woman’s long hair swirled around her face as she tossed it away, laughing with him in a sense of sheer pleasure at being together in such silliness.

All these things were what Sophie recalled instantly, simultaneously, as she felt the boy’s gentle fingers stroke her face. His dark eyes were a reminder of Harry’s, and more tears came in a renewed torrent.

It is not good for me asking why you are crying. It is not for me to know. But I want you should feeling someone else can understanding sorrow.

She looked up at him again. His awkward English made her almost want to laugh. She sniffed loudly and started to smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large, rumpled white handkerchief.

Here, he said, and handed it to her. The initials NKS were embroidered upon a corner, and Sophie almost felt like laughing again at what she considered to be stilted sentimentality. She wiped her eyes and nodded. Thank you.

You going lunch now? he asked.

Yes, she whispered.

So. Come. We must hurry,

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Chapter 2

Allegro

H e pulled her along quickly with his strong hand. The gesture made her remember Harry pulling her, running with her up the stairs to the elevated train station, and the tears started coming uncontrollably once more. Nikolai paid no attention and continued to run with her until they reached the entrance to the cafeteria. They stopped before going in.

One more blowing and you will being fine. Here, I will fixing everything. Stand still. He wiped her eyes and cheeks with his handkerchief, then handed it to her again.

Here, you keeping this. Maybe you will needing it some more, and is very big one, yes?

Yes. Sophie laughed.

You know, he said, I liking you because you not like other girls here. American girls here are not real. They are too much making believe. But you are real because you are crying, and someone crying is always being true.

Sophie looked at him but did not know how to answer. He paused for a moment, his large hand on the cafeteria door before pushing it open.

She let her curiosity give her courage. She had told Rivkah about the tender episode of the girl with flowing hair laughing as they swung on the gate. Other people had seen this girl. She would meet Nikolai often. She was always plainly dressed yet remarkably beautiful.

There is one girl you like, I know. Sophie thought some more, then said, half to herself, But maybe she is not American.

Who is this you are telling me? He seemed genuinely puzzled, then tossed back his own hair, much as the girl had done, and laughed loudly.

This girl, she is tall, this girl, thin, very beautiful? She is having long, dark hair?

Yes.

My sister, Kira. Is ballerina. Is very hard for us when we escaping and we almost losing each other. I tink to Kira I will always being baby brother.

Sophie smiled broadly. Nikolai pushed open the door to the cafeteria. She knew without looking that everyone would be watching this late grand entrance.

And there she would be, Sophie Nobody, walking in with—NKS the embroidery had read. Did Kira make it for him?

She imagined the conversations in the cafeteria. Where had the two of them been to arrive so late? Why had Sophie been crying? Was there some mysterious secret between them?

Sophie knew it would not be long before the entire school was talking about the two of them, and as they sat at a table far in the corner, she could sense the stares of the students.

Nikolai reached for her hand in a gesture of gentle compassion, and Sophie realized two things once and forever: she would always love him for his tenderness and honest decency, but she would always hate him for intruding upon her privacy and seeing her in a moment of weakness.

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Sophie and Seymour

Seymour Cohen (footnote 4, page 2 of the published study) and Sophie Jacobs knew each other since infancy. The two would laugh and say they were even communicating to each other from their respective wombs. Perhaps that may have been, as their own parents had known each other since birth, and they were as an extended family. They had shared moments of synchronicity even from times when they were too young to understand its nature. However, their eternal friendship, as they called it, changed direction with the arrival of Nicolai Sabrenkov at the Academy. Previously, Seymour had been principal cellist of the Senior Symphony Orchestra. After much delicate discussion, the school officials divided the section into orchestral musicians led by Seymour, and chamber musicians led by Nicolai. This solution appeared to work to the satisfaction of all concerned, until the dramatic occurrence seen by those present that day in the cafeteria.

Seymour watched as Sophie arrived late for lunch in the company of Nikolai Sabrenkov. She had definitely been crying and probably still was. The two were sitting far from the others. Where had they been to arrive so late?

Why is Sophie crying? Is there some secret between them? Sophie has always shared her innermost secrets with me, Seymour Cohen—not some guy who can barely speak English and could possibly be a spy for who knows who. We’re family—Sophie and Seymour. We share our intimate secrets. We don’t hide anything from each other. What’s he doing holding her hand? I can’t look at this anymore.

Unknown to Sophie, unseen by Sophie, Seymour Cohen got up and left the cafeteria.

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Chapter 3

The Golden Age

A nd now it was June. In another two weeks, a pleasant routine would be ending. Nikolai would be graduating, and eating lunch with him in the school cafeteria on Tuesdays and Thursdays would be over. Darn shame , Sophie thought, as she sat alone this Wednesday, eating lunch, waiting for a friend to join her.

A lot of other things might possibly be different too, next term, after summer vacation.

And now it was June.

Sophie smiled as she contemplated the changes in her school life as a result of that tender incident in the cafeteria in April. She had guessed correctly. Those who had seen her with Nikolai spread the word rapidly, and their continued friendship caused the news to be general knowledge. Before long, Sophie found herself being invited to join some of the fancier upper-crust girls’ cliques for a soda after school, and she even went with them to special intellectual films, which bored her dreadfully, as they seemed way above her head. And to top it all, she was even invited to their homes. She had dinner in a penthouse apartment on Central Park West with the daughter of a famous architect, lunch served by maids with the secretary of the GO, and a study date with the president of the Music Honor Society in her home in Brooklyn Heights. No studying was accomplished, however. All these girls wanted, despite their outer excuses, was to pump Sophie about her relationship with Nikolai.

What was their relationship? The same flurry of events occurred when students interrogated Sophie about Harry, the handsome young baseball player. However, those new friendships typically did not last long, as the only information she could provide concerned sports or, worse yet, the activities of the notoriously racist St. Louis Cardinals.

What was the nature of the relationship between Sophie Jacobs and Nicolai Sabrenkov? It was difficult to define.

Lunch together on Tuesdays and Thursdays. If they met outside accidentally after school, walking along Saint Nicholas (coincidence?) Terrace together, and at Saturday-night concerts with some of her other friends (affectionately referred to by Sophie collectively as the gang), that was all. Except for one thing—and this she imagined helped perpetuate the curiosity of their schoolmates. He took her with him when the soloists in a school performance of Dido and Aeneas went out for a soda afterward (Sophie had been in the chorus). Sophie smiled