Marcato

This is a work I wrote for the HEAR Scenario Department, to which I belong.
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※ This is a revised version of "Gavotte," which I wrote previously, adapted for reading aloud.


I woke up. It seems I have to keep living for now, at least. After changing my clothes, I went downstairs.
There was a newspaper on the dining table that must have been forgotten. I glanced at it. It seems the culprit who stole Munch's painting has been caught.
Stealing, recovering. Many other things were happening in the world, but I could no longer feel emotions about them properly.

Before my family woke up, I hurried out of the house and headed to the riverside on my bicycle. I sneezed. I couldn't even sniffle, and liquid dripped onto the ground. Is the pollen still flying?

I sat on the embankment and watched the river.
As I gazed at the river surface, I suddenly heard the sound of a string instrument.
I think she was probably much older than me.
Coming to a place like this in the middle of the day. What kind of person was she? When I stared at her, she glared back at me.
I looked away from her.
She played the same song on her violin, over and over again. For hours.
It was a unique song. However, I didn't get tired of listening to it.
When I passed by the place where she stood, some kind of tool had fallen into the grass.
What is it?
She came again the next day, so I showed it to her, saying, "Is this yours, miss?"
She walked up to me, snatched it away, said "Thank you, I was looking for this!" and attached it to her violin, bracing it between her chin and shoulder.
From that moment on, she didn't complain even when I listened nearby.
Every single day, unless it rained, she kept playing the same song. Like an ascetic monk.
Sometimes we would ask each other.

"How long will you keep playing?"

"Until I'm satisfied."

"How long is a grown man going to be playing around in the middle of the day?"

"Until I'm satisfied..."

For two years, she and I went to the riverbed and only had minimal conversations.
I feel like the only thing connecting us was that unique violin song.
Listening to the song, I remembered many things. Sometimes, emotions would well up and I would almost cry. However, I held it back.

But that day, her song, even though it was the same one, was somehow different.
I couldn't hold back my tears. Seeing me crying, she said,

"I'm satisfied. I won't come anymore..."

"I'm satisfied, too. I won't come anymore..."

Without even saying goodbye, we parted ways.

I became able to go to school, and many more years passed since then.

That day, I was looking at a replica of "The Scream" by Munch displayed in a shop.
It is said that Munch painted this motif repeatedly, countless times, if you include his studies.
Was he able to fully depict something of an indecipherable life? Even though Munch was mentally ill enough to be hospitalized, he lived a very long life for that time.

A customer entered the shop. As I was brewing the ordered coffee, that song played on the radio.

--That was ○○○○.

※ The final song title was originally listed as Lully's Gavotte, but when used for a reading, you may omit the last line. You are also free to choose the song title according to the background music you use.

Regarding the use of this work

・You may use this work for readings, streaming, etc., free of charge, provided it is for non-commercial use, but I have not waived the copyright. The copyright of the text belongs to Nekotsu.
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・Furthermore, these terms are subject to change without notice. I cannot be held responsible for any trouble that may arise from using this text, so please use it at your own risk.

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