As Judy shook her head, her father went on patiently.
“He’s a very great composer of modern music, a Frenchman, and teaches conducting and composition to advanced students. It’s a great honor to have such a man on our faculty!”
He looked at his daughter hopefully. She seemed interested at last.
“What I tried to tell you before you interrupted me, this great man is coming to our house next week. He is permitting my quartet and me to play his newest composition in manuscript form. He’s coming with his wife, a former actress, a fine artist in her own right.”
For a week they talked of nothing else. Whom among their friends should they invite? Who would call for the composer and his wife, since it was well known he walked little? What should they serve after the music? The house must shine and, indeed, late in the night John polished floors and furniture until they gleamed.
When the great evening came, the little parlor was crowded with friends long before the honored guests arrived.
As Darius Milhaud walked into the room accompanied by his charming wife, everyone rose. Milhaud walked slowly; his heavy body was crippled by arthritis and he leaned heavily on the arm of his wife.
He greeted Minna and John Lurie warmly and with a few pleasant words to the guests put everyone at ease—that is, everyone except Judy, who stared uncomfortably at the composer’s face, so white and unhealthy-looking.
After some general talk, Milhaud gave the signal and the music began. The composition took nearly an hour and to Judy, accustomed to the more melodic harmonies of an older school, the music was extremely trying. She was convinced that the quartet, including her father, was playing wrong notes! Otherwise how to account for such terrible sounds? She squirmed wretchedly on the small couch, wedged in by former students of Milhaud who, judging by the expression on their faces, were literally in heaven! For a few blissful moments Judy found herself dozing, only to be rudely wakened by a dissonance that shattered her.
But she found compensation at last! She watched the composer. She couldn’t take her eyes off his hands. How beautiful they were as he moved them gently, guiding the players. She no longer tried to listen to music she neither liked nor understood. She glanced at Mrs. Milhaud and was deeply touched. There was something in her face, her eyes, her whole being, fastened upon her husband. As the hour advanced and the room grew chilly, she unobtrusively rose and put a plaid shawl upon her husband’s knees. Seeing them so, husband and wife, Judy somehow thought of her grandparents.