12/01/2022

Dear Ezra,

I know. A letter? An actual handwritten letter? And from me? Yes, I know. Quite out of nowhere. But I didn’t know who else to write to. Consider it an honour, will you. Oh. And please don’t show Mum. We both know how she’s going to get.

Yes. I am still in Bzalnia. But this will be my last night here and my last night in this creepy hotel. Is ‘creepy’ the right word? I don’t think I’m scared. I think maybe I’m just so tired from everything happening with Grandpa. And yes, I’ve finally got Grandpa ready to fly. We head for Vrasnic tomorrow. Grandma will be happy to finally see him.

This hotel is so strange. It’s the whole reason why I’m even writing you a letter. My room here had this big old-fashioned desk. On top were paper, pens, and stamped envelopes. It’s almost like this place wanted me to write a letter. I swear this desk was telling me to write, as if it would get mad if I didn’t. Besides, outside the hotel there’s this wonderfully pretty mailbox. Such an old-fashioned way to keep in contact must be normal for this place. I think it’s cute. When’s the last time you got a letter?

The letters aren’t the only weird thing about this place. The bar here had a lounge with a lovely little stage. And I swear there was this grand piano. I saw one of the hotel workers cleaning it carefully. He reminded me of Grandpa and how he used to always be so fussy and careful with his piano, especially after we played on it.

It was a lovely memory of Grandpa before I had to go sort out everything for him.

When I asked the hotel concierge to call me a cab, they asked what I was up to and offered me one of their own drivers to take me through the country and back. The driver surprisingly started translating for me when dealing with those people for Grandpa. If it wasn’t for the driver, I reckon it would have been so much harder to get Grandpa out of this damn country. I’m so lucky for the help. The drive was almost 2 hours there and 2 hours back. What a drag.

We got back to the hotel so late, I decided to sleep. I would have actually slept if it wasn’t for what was happening downstairs. I heard piano being played. The tones of each note were rich and pure. I could hear them sound all the way up to my room. I wasn’t complaining at all. Maybe because it reminded me so much of how Grandpa used to perform at those huge theatres. Maybe I could really hear the piano because I wanted to hear it played.

And then I heard it. I heard that special sequence of keys play though. I heard Nocturne #23^rd. Grandpa’s song. It was played beautifully, almost as if it was Grandpa when he was still young. I was sure whoever played got a standing ovation. I heard the soft blur of clapping.

But this is what was so strange. When I asked the concierge this morning about last night’s performance, they told me there was no performance last night. When I asked further about the lovely playing, I won’t forget what the hotel worker told me. “Young Madam, there is no piano in this hotel.” We went to check. There was no piano there at all. I’m so sure I saw it. I’m so sure I saw a young worker cleaning it carefully. I’m sure I heard it playing last night. Or maybe I’m just tired from dealing with the retrieval of Grandpa’s body.

I will check the stage again for the piano once I mail this letter.

Wow. I can’t believe I’ve written so much already. There’s something relaxing about writing a letter. We should write more often.

Oh. And I’ll tell you about some interesting people I met, once I’m back home. I don’t want any written evidence of my encounters. If you know what I mean.

Anyway, I’ll end it there. I hope this letter arrives to you before I do. I’ll be back soon.

Love from,

                Stella