The Enchanted Sonata

by Heather Dixon Wallwork

“Music is a sort of magic anyway, isn’t it? You can sing a baby to sleep, or wake them up again with song. You hear music, and it makes you want to dance. It’s already a bit magic.” “Or when you can’t remember the words to a song and it’s stuck in your head the rest of the day?” said the nutcracker. “Er,” said Clara.

“How dare these ungodly creatures assault a house of the Lord!” Mother Svetlana’s voice filled to the arches. “Hwe are hwomen of peace!” “Yes…” Nutcracker eyed a short nun who scampered past with an ax. She looked positively gleeful.

Every marking and placement of the note created a new note and melody. It was like learning another language, a purer language. Languages could tell you what to say; music made you feel.

“I don’t know,” the Emperor said, “why anyone must suffer misfortunes, Nikolai. But I do know that in the face of bitterness and disappointment, when our souls cry out in despair and anger, that we might fight it. As we fight everything in this life—with nobility, courage, and grace.

Nutcracker’s wooden face registered the expression of someone who just had a piano fall on his head.

Ah yes, I know exactly the face.