Orumi was certain the blue passage would take them to lunch. A very distinct rumbling came from the other side.
It turned out to be his own stomach. The friends had arrived outside a concert hall in the United States. The year was 1916.
The poster bore a name: Ignacy Jan Paderewski.
‘A pianist!’ Nubo said happily. ‘I’d love to hear him play.’
At the entrance, a girl in a coat too big for her clutched an envelope. She kept glancing at the door, then looking down again.
Fira crouched beside her.
‘Who are you waiting for?’
‘The lady who collects letters for the relief committee. I’m Hania. Mum asked me to bring a message from my aunt in the Polish lands. But I don’t know who to go to.’
A single piano note sounded from inside the hall.
‘I do!’ cried Orumi, and headed towards the stage.
He only stopped when he saw a worker arranging chairs. Behind him stood a line of people, each with something urgent to ask.
Orumi returned looking a little embarrassed.
‘Perhaps I should ask first.’
They found an organiser near the entrance. She accepted the envelope and invited them inside. Hania unbuttoned her coat, and Fira freed a scarf that stubbornly clung to a button.
‘Why bring a letter asking for help to a concert?’ Nubo asked.
‘Paderewski uses his fame to help people in Poland,’ the organiser explained. ‘There’s a war in Europe. Many families need food, clothing and care. He plays, collects aid and reminds the world that Poland should regain its independence.’
Hania pulled a chair over to Fira.
‘My aunt wrote that her children have outgrown their shoes. New ones are hard to find now.’
Fira looked at the envelope on the small table. Suddenly the distant war was no longer just a name in a book. She thought of a child wanting to go outside without suitable shoes.
Paderewski came onto the stage. Before sitting at the piano, he spoke to the audience about Poland and its people. Some in the hall had families from the Polish lands; others had never been there.
Then he placed his hands on the keys.
Nubo closed his eyes, imagining a long journey across the ocean. Fira listened to sounds sometimes gentle, sometimes powerful. Orumi tapped the rhythm on his knees, then noticed Hania’s concentration and sat still.
After the concert, a queue formed at the relief table. Someone left money. Someone asked what was needed most. Another person offered to help prepare parcels.
‘I can’t play like him,’ Hania whispered.
‘But you brought the letter,’ Fira replied. ‘Now someone knows what your aunt needs.’
Soon Paderewski came over to speak to the organisers. Nubo plucked up the courage to ask a question.
‘Can a concert help a country regain its independence?’
The pianist thought for a moment.
‘A concert alone isn’t enough. But it lets me reach people, tell them about Poland and ask for their support.’
Orumi looked for something to do. This time he asked first. The organiser gave him string to tie up empty boxes. Nubo held a box steady, Fira stacked the lids, and Hania checked that none remained under the table.
When the Blue Current called them back, Orumi looked at the piano once more.
‘I thought we were only going to listen to music today.’
‘So did I,’ Nubo admitted.
Fira waved to Hania. The girl was no longer nervously clutching her envelope. She stood beside the organiser, helping with the next letter.