The Secret by Anna Enquist

Every Saturday afternoon Egbert and Emma visit Frank. In the beginning, Wanda went with them once; she remembers stench and stuffiness; she still remembers that there was a park where old parents walked around with their handicapped children. On the way back, she threw up in the car. "It's not a question of wanting to," says Egbert. "You're simply going with us. You owe that to your brother."
Impatiently he stands in the hall, his coat on, holding his car keys.
"I can't. I have an engagement."
"What will you be doing?" asks Emma.
"Play trios."
"Play, play," roars Egbert. "You do nothing but play. That has to stop, you have other responsibilities and you can't keep forgetting those. You're almost eighteen!"
Forgetting, thinks Wanda. Emma used to sing a song about it: 'Glucklich ist, wer vergisst, was doch nicht zu Šndern ist', a waltz melody, light and lovely. She smiles.
"Wipe that grin off your face! And put on your coat. We're going!"
"Please, Egbert, don't force her. There's no sense in it."
Emma opens the front door and pulls her husband along. Wanda sees them go: two old people. Egbert has lost weight lately. She sees his skull beneath his skin. His cheeks are sunken. Angrily he walks around the car to unlock Emma's door.

She's no longer going to do it, Wanda decides. She'll no longer do what he says. She wants to get out. You have to start as soon as possible according to Joyce. She's already in her third year and studies the violin with Mr Heidelberg. When the pianist of Joyce's trio quit, Mrs Heidelberg proposed Wanda.
"You can do it fine. Just go and practise."
She practises till she's blue in the face. Chamber music is a revelation, a wonderful game of now following and then again leading which makes Wanda think right away: this is what I want. Joyce helps her to analyse the scores and says: "You have to apply for admission. Leave that school, you have no use for it."
Lucas, the cellist, has passed his final high school examination. He doesn't get involved in the discussion. He never says anything. He has folded his long body around his cello and bows the strings in pairs with a far-away gaze in his eyes. His eyes. Wanda can't catch them, except when he looks at her, questioning, to get an A to which he can tune. During the rehearsals she has to look at his bow when they both have an entry, not at his face. His face with the wide, curved mouth and the pointed nose. His face, across which his hair falls until he shakes it back abruptly. After the rehearsal he packs up his instrument, raises his hand as a goodbye and disappears.
Joyce has brought along a registration form for Wanda. The examinations will be in a month, but the pieces that she has to play are at a level that Wanda has already passed. She works out a programme and fills in the questionnaire. For students who are minors, a parent's signature is required. At the dinner table Wanda looks from one to the other while awaiting a good moment to say: I won't go along anymore. I'll move up to the last year of school, but I'm dropping out. You can't hold on to me, I'm leaving.
Egbert eats little. He cuts the meat into very small pieces which he chews endlessly, as if he doesn't want to swallow.
She imagines that he'll suffocate with anger if she tells them. She can't saddle Emma with it, have her justify it, have Emma stand up for her again. Then she looks so reproachful, it's just not right. She'll have to do it herself.

Egbert's signature turns out beautifully. Wanda copied it from her latest report card, and after some practising she places it at the bottom of the registration form. Mrs Heidelberg signed without protest, with a little smile. "O.K. You do what you have to!"
On the day of the exam, Wanda doesn't go to school but instead to the station.

In the main concourse of The Hague there is a map. Which tram? How many stops? Look calmly, she has more than enough time. Breathe, shoulders down, take easy steps outside. And what if the tram doesn't come? Does she have enough money for a taxi? Probably not. She doesn't even see any taxis around. She has to pee. There comes the tram, fortunately.
Sit down, bag on her lap. Warm sun through the window. Sticky hands. It's taking so long before the tram starts. A bell.
Iron wheels squeak on iron rails.
Was it seven stops or eleven? Stupid, stupid, stupid to have forgotten. And how many times has the tram stopped already? Was that a stop or only a traffic light? The blouse sticks to her back, she is sweating. She'll arrive too late, much too late. She'll continue to hesitate whether to get out until the tram comes to a standstill at the final stop at the beech in Scheveningen. She walks towards the conductor, lurching from pole to pole, and almost falls during a turn. "Where is it?" asks the man when Wanda mentions the conservatory.
"Beestenmarkt," whispers Wanda. She has to go very badly. And she has a dry throat too, how she'd love to drink water, lots of water! At the thought of running water she can barely hold back her pee. What a long ride. Has the conductor perhaps forgotten her stop?
"Koningssingel! Get off for Beestenmarkt!"
With two feet on the traffic island. Success! Now watch out while crossing. It should be over there, on the right.
Just walk back a little and then you'll see it. A small square with a large white building. The front door is open. Next to it a sign: Conservatory of Music.

No one is sitting in the glass enclosure which says Reception. Wanda walks past it and goes into a long hall. Cracked slabs of pale white marble on the floor. A tall door with a wooden sign screwed onto it: Toilets. She pees. Great. What a relief. Supporting her head with two hands and her elbows on her knees, she listens to snatches of music that come from all directions. Through the window, the ceiling, the pipes. Trombones, double basses, a piano far away.
Wanda sighs deeply and goes to wash her hands with cold water, taking her time. She dries them carefully on the inside of her skirt, she strokes every finger and rubs her wrists, her allies. The receptionist has returned.
"They're running overtime. They always run overtime!" he says. "Just go and have a nice cup of tea in the cafeteria. If you go upstairs in about half an hour, you'll be in plenty of time." The cafeteria is a high-ceilinged room. In the corner there is an old-fashioned stove. Wanda puts lots of sugar in her tea and sits down on a bench against the wall. Everywhere music students sit eating and chatting. Near the stove an older man with a music score in front of him is talking loudly and gesturing. He is surrounded by five or so young men who are listening to him silently.
Suddenly Wanda sees Lucas come in with a girl with curly blond hair and a violin case in her arms. They walk to the counter, talking intently, their heads close together.
Look at me, thinks Wanda, look!
"Hello," says Lucas. "What are you doing here?"
"Admission. In a minute."
"What are you going to play?"
"Beethoven. Sturm."
"Good. You do that well. Good luck!"

Wanda walks up the creaky wooden stairs and sits down to wait on the bench near the piano room. Candidates who have already played stand whispering with their parents or their teachers. Wanda looks at no one and hears nothing. She thinks about Beethoven. Then the door swings open and a stocky man who looks vaguely familiar stands in the hall. Biermans! The pianist!
"Wanda Wiericke!" he calls out.
She stands up, smiles at him, and walks slowly into the room. He closes the door behind her.