3

    The next day I was at the conservatory early in the morning. The first two hours were taken up by our third lesson in the ‘basic principles of aesthetics.’ These lessons I enjoyed because they were less monotonous than the rest. It should have been the other way around, but as I had no talent for music itself, I didn’t enjoy the practical courses at all. The basic principles of aesthetics interested me. In fact, Mira suggested that I should change my major and become an art critic. But this seemed to be an arduous field, too. What I was aiming at was the Faculty of Engineering. What would I gain by becoming an art critic? Even if I did have the talent for it, it did not interest me sufficiently. I could have written reviews on different composers for the cultural periodical Drita and they would have turned up their noses at me whenever we met at the Writers’ and Artists’ Union. Why bother? I would rather construct apartment buildings or dams anyway! And I have no talent for music! My father is obsessed with the idea that I am a musical genius.
    Pale and worn out, I met Burhan and Mira in class. They asked if I had been ill but I told them it was simply a lack of sleep. It was during class that I whispered to Burhan,
    "I’ve decided to quit the conservatory."
    Burhan stopped writing in the thick notebook in front of him.
    "You would be better off to wait until the end of the semester. There are only three or four more exams to go," he said.
    "No! I’m leaving now," I replied.
    "You shouldn’t. Wait until the end of the year. After the summer break you can register at the university. I think you’ve made the right decision. Everyone has to find his own niche in life. But just wait another three months," Burhan advised.
    I liked Burhan. He was a sensible, level-headed person. He never learned anything by heart, but approached everything with logic and reason. We all liked him. He may have been a bit conservative. He disliked all the flirting between the sexes at the conservatory, and believed that love must wait until after the conclusion of a mission undertaken. Strangely enough, he never took me to task for being in love with Mira, nor did he reproach her for being with me. He spent a lot of time with us, and even made me jealous on occasion! I had the impression that he was in love with Mira, too, but I never let my jealousy show. Nor did I say anything to Mira.
    "I can’t wait anymore! I’m not staying at the conservatory any longer. Don’t you see that I’m making a fool of myself, Burhan?" I said.
    Burhan said nothing. He began taking notes again. I pretended to be listening to the professor and continued talking to Burhan from time to time. The professor noticed us but was a lenient man and said nothing. I tore a page out of my notebook and wrote a couple of lines: ‘Mira, I’ve decided to quit the conservatory.’ When I finished writing, I passed the note to Mira who sat on the bench behind us.
    A few moments later, she stuffed a slip of paper into my pocket. I opened it: ‘Good idea’ it read.
    Although her response was objective enough, it irritated me. It seemed to me that she was waiting for me to leave so that she would not be embarrassed by my bad marks and my lack of talent. Obviously, I said to myself, Mira is glad to get rid of me. She is going to leave me and fall in love with Burhan, if she hasn’t already. I was furious at all women. I was also furious at Burhan sitting at my side. Simmering with wrath, I said nothing more until the end of class. At the Faculty of Engineering I could be the best student and here I’m the worst, I thought to myself, my anger extending now to my father. Why this pretentious fascination with music when he knew absolutely nothing about it? He was completely ignorant in this field. Mr Reufi, the music lover. What a clown! It saddened me to be calling my own father a clown. He had done so much for me and here I was calling him that. It was I who was the clown.
    At that moment the bell rang. Noise filled the auditorium and the three of us went out. I walked along with my head lowered, hoping to avoid having to talk to anyone. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and stared at my legs which were advancing mechanically.
    The three of us stopped by the window. The courtyard in front of the conservatory was wet with the February rain. Neither Burhan nor Mira spoke. They, too, gazed out onto the courtyard. As we stood there, a cream-coloured car drove up. It swung around and parked in front of the entrance. I recognized it as my father’s limousine. Yes! A moment later I saw my father himself descend from the vehicle. Dressed in a heavy winter coat and a black hat, he began climbing the stone staircase. He mounted slowly, step by step, with the air of an important figure. My friends recognized him, too.
    "Look, there’s Mr Reufi!" cried Burhan and looked at me.
    "Yes, it’s my father all right," I said calmly and turned away from the window. Mira followed me.
    "Are you going to go and see him?" she inquired.
    "Why should I bother? I see him at home every day," I replied coldly.
    "Do you love your father, Arthur?" she asked.
    "What a question!" I countered.
    "I only asked because whenever he comes here you look distressed," she noted.
    "The shadow of my father distresses me," I added.
    "What does he think of your leaving the conservatory?" she asked.
    "He understands," I lied and regretted the irony in my voice. I did not want Mira to know about the chilly relations between my father and me, but she seemed not to notice that anything was amiss.
    The bell rang and we returned to class.