“It was nearing two in the morning when Ekaterina reached the square and screamed out loud when she saw the smoking remains of the Odessa Conservatory of Music. Only two walls stood upright, leaning against each other. Red bricks could be seen here and there where the plaster had fallen off. The windows gaped empty. The rest of the school was just an enormous pile of debris surrounding the large crater in the center. An institution that had fostered a unique collection of musicians over the years had been reduced to a heap of rubble. But then she saw her. A small, hunched figure on a bench right by the crater. As she ran towards the bench, she shouted:
“Yulia, Yulia! Are you okay?”
When she got there, Yulia looked up at her and nodded quickly a few times. Ekaterina sat down next to her on the bench, and only now did she realize how scared she was. Her hand trembled as she slowly stroked Yulia’s boyish haircut, down over her shoulders and one arm. She wanted to comfort her but also physically reassure herself that her sister was unharmed.
“So incredibly, incredibly relieved that you’re safe. I’ve been looking for you ever since the dreadful rocket attacks went quiet. Mom was beside herself when I left. You’re unharmed, right? Have you called Mom and Dad? Do you have your phone with you?”
Without answering, Yulia made a sweeping gesture with one hand, showing the destruction before them.
“Everything, everything… is gone.”
In her other hand, she held pieces of white piano keys. On one of them, a corner of the ivory coating had come off. With her thumb and forefinger, Yulia kept pressing it, as if trying to reattach the ivory, but it sprang back up each time.
“Are they from the grand piano you usually practice on? The full-size one?”
Yulia nodded again. Her intensely blue eyes were fixed on the large crater in front of them. Tracks of tears were visible on her cheeks. Then she shook her head and said in a low voice:
“The autumn audition is ruined.”
“Yes, but you’re alive and safe. Were you nearby when the school was hit?”
“Behind it.”
She pointed towards the church on the other side of the square. Ekaterina grabbed her blonde hair, tied it into a ponytail, but then let it loose again.
“You were at school last night, right? When you didn’t come home for dinner, Mom said you were most likely practicing for the audition.”
“Yes, completely wasted.”
“But imagine if you had still been inside. You would never have survived such an explosion!”
“Might have been better. I’m not really here anymore anyway,” she said, holding out the broken keys.
Ekaterina put her arm around her sister’s shoulders, pulled her close, and gently stroked her back. Despite Yulia’s dismay over the missed audition, Ekaterina felt grateful that her sister had music when so much else was difficult for her.
“Dear Yulia, everything that makes you you is still here. We have the piano at home. And if a distinguished pianist like Barenboim has taken an interest in your career, that’s not going away. Be sure of that. You’re one of the very best. He once mentioned to me that you reminded him a lot of Khatia Buniatishvili when she was also a teenager.”
Without saying anything, Yulia looked at her sister for a long time, but instead of meeting her gaze, her eyes were fixed on Ekaterina’s mouth. Finally, she said:
“The Georgian?”
