It was only a few hours after having decided that the world, as it was, was unacceptable that Frank came up with the music idea.
He still had one of those old small tape players from the 90s, and so he used his thin black leather belt, along with some heavy tape, to fashion a makeshift bag. The choice of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor had been the easiest part of the process. Adapting to the concrete challenge of battery length and rewinding the tapes constantly made the execution of the plan an impossibility and so he hesitated.
No, there was no changing the plan. The music had to be constant, there could not be any pause. Not ever again.
And so, he invested in several small and resistant mp3 players and a bunch of wireless speakers and strapped himself up. As long as he kept a strict charging rotation, he could keep the music going at all times. As long as there was money on his account, electricity in walls, and shops selling mp3 players: he could keep listening to Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, and things would be OK.
He was split, for so long he had yearned for power to stop, for shops to stop selling mp3 players, and wireless speakers, and food, and ink pens, and a lot of other things too. But he knew it wouldn’t happen.
His wife Bernadette was upset, but that was to be expected. She laughed at first, when he came out of their room, she found most things funny, Bernadette. But, she stopped finding it funny quickly and started with the questions. He had no answers, so he offered none, instead contemplating the milk stains on the tablecloth in front of him. Bach made him happy and so he smiled, but Bernadette took it all wrong. They always took each other the wrong way it seemed.
As he looked at her, he was vaguely aware that she thought the world, as it was made, was acceptable, and since he didn’t, things would keep getting bad.
For a while, she tried to speak, over the music, her words assembling into sentences. Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor was building again, and again, and again, and again. Bach was happy and even when he was sad, Bach was happy, because, he too thought the world as it was made was acceptable. Bach was certainly acceptable, that’s the only thing rational that Frank could think of as Bernadette broke some of their fine china.
He felt sorry that he felt sorry for her, so he made his way to the corridor that linked the flats to the stairs, and went all the way down until he couldn’t.
Now he was on his way to work, he had forgotten something but he had forgotten what it was. In the bus, no one paid much attention to him and Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. Buses have strange people in them, which is to be expected.
Repetition was key. Comforting the logic of expectation: this was always the enemy, but now it was a friend. The bars of music that Bach’s genius had crafted would never fail him like he had failed them. He smiled.
The open floor of the office was just the same as he had last seen it. He crossed it just as the fugue started all over again, and went to sit down at his desk. At his desk, he plugged his chargers. Then he looked at the screen of his computer on his desk. There was a lot of dust, he noticed. How had he not noticed before? He tried to look at each grain of dust individually, giving them due respect and attention. What was dust made off? He decided that he wouldn’t clean the screen, just in case.
It didn’t take long for the person who was his boss to come and get agitated. Other people were staring, some looked sad, while some laughed. What divided these two groups of people, he wondered? What series of events did they have in common? Which percentage of each group thought the world was acceptable and which did not? And Bach built up again, one more time, as if nothing mattered, and he knew that when the universe became cold and all separated and nothing was left, Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor would still make sense.
The people in front of him made several attempts at communication. Why he decided to stay, he wasn’t sure. But somehow he knew. He had no hopes for Bernadette, but maybe these people… Someone tried to turn off his music and so, he used physical violence. That made things uncomfortable and eventually, he had to clench onto his mp3 player and his speakers as they dragged him out.
Then he went to have a whopper. He had to sit outside the restaurant, because Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor kept bothering people. It was raining, which felt good. He needed cleansing. How corrupted was cloud water? The water plopped in the gutters as so many little notes that keep rising and rising. Were dead people present in water? He left the restaurant, hesitating for a long time as to whether or not he should order another cold beverage. He chose not to.
Going home was needed. As he walked the streets he was struck by how likely it was that his coming home would be bad, yet, the music was hauntingly beautiful. The flat was about the length of two and a half plays of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor away from that other place that served such succulent whoppers.
Coming up the stairs, he steeled his resolve for Bernadette, and did not prepare any argument. Instead he noticed how amazing stairs were, and wondered if there was something in the law of physics which would stop building stairs up infinitely. He knocked on the door as the Fugue built and built. Bernadette opened and stood there. But he paid her no mind. No, instead all he could think of was how the Fugue collapsed onto itself. Bernadette was herself strapped in duct tape and on her belly was a big music player. There. There as well, was Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. It didn’t make sense. Both pieces… It was impossible.
She made an inviting gesture and somehow, despite the rage, he nodded. The two fugues fought each other, turning and clashing as they went to stand around the kitchen table. For a while they stared at each other. He was trying to find an angle, a place to make sense of the music, but it was impossible. Bernadette just smiled at him. He was suddenly struck by how very proud he was of her, there was just no one like Bernadette.
He let his finger lay on his mp3 player and paused it, so as to get back the enjoyment of the Fugue from hers, but she mirrored his action and soon it was complete silence. He shivered. His hand trembled, but before he could get ready to press the button again, Bernadette had rushed in, grabbed his shoulder and kicked his legs from under him. Everything was upside down and the floor approached in a great shock.
Then for a while, all he could see was how a few crumbs of bread lay under the table. The horrific silence was only interrupted by strident duct tape sounds. He realised but too late that Bernadette was hogtying him, eventually he couldn’t move at all. He managed to lift his eyes towards her, she was smiling but her smile didn’t go all the way up to her eyes.
She untied her own mp3 player, and put it down a few metres away from his face, just out of reach. Then she put 'Baby Shark' on a loop, disappeared into a nearby room, and re-emerged wearing a coat and dragging a wheeled luggage. Frank wiggled and moaned but she had taped his face, and his body so tightly that he could barely do anything at all. The song was blasting high, so hard, it was nearly painful.
Then Bernadette laughed and left forever. She found most things funny, Bernadette.
Brilliant Remy! That was a fun read.
Death by Oblbligato Ostinato !🎶😄
This was a scary fun time. You describe what is now my worst nightmare. Baby shark is not allowed in my house. Also, when I think about the world ending, it's the fact that that means Bach won't exist or be heard again that cuts me up the most.