"I will teach you," he said. Adding to himself, It will be an act of charity. Nothing more. He would have been astounded, however, had he known that four short months before John Harper had not known even the scale.
John told no one this. He told no one anything. But he applied himself to the piano with a single-mindedness that made a fanatic seem changeable as the wind by comparison.
And soon, Professor Heinrich, he of the conscience, was confronted with something he could not understand. Genius was blooming and functioning before his eyes.
The rest is history. It is told in hushed tones how this sad-faced, middle-aged man with no background—he was called "The Man From Nowhere," by certain romantically inclined critics—gave his first recital in New York City. It was given exactly seven years from the day he told Sam Paine, "I'm quitting to become a concert pianist."
The television networks found him quickly and he rocketed to fame by giving classical music an interpretation that made it understood and loved by millions.
It was said that John Harper gave more musical pleasure to the world in his brief two-year career than had any other genius in a natural span.
But of course, the seven years had taken their toll. The punishment of learning would have killed a far younger and stronger man than John Harper. So, after a tragically brief time at the top of his ladder, John Harper was the subject of a newscast.
By a famous newscaster with the smile famous from coast-to-coast and a rat-tat-tat voice that was his trademark.
But not smiling as he finished his first item. "—be buried tomorrow in New York City."