Mr. Laszlo was a Hungarian musician working in Baghdad. He was a member of the Iraqi philharmonic orchestra in the 80’s and on top of that, he had the hard job of teaching me music.  I wasn’t the worst 10-year-old student he ever had, but I wasn’t a natural talent either. It is not the music he taught me that kept him in my mind; actually I haven’t played any instrument for more than 10 Years. What made him so unforgettable are the things that happened to him while teaching me. The last time I saw him I had the feeling he was very happy that it was the LAST TIME.
One day we were sitting on our corner sofa and I was holding the guitar trying to do what he just taught me. Playing the guitar looks very easy but learning to play it is very hard. At least it was for me. He wanted to help me, so he sat beside me on the sofa arm. I was just about to warn him when I heard a sound like “CRACK” and the next thing I saw, was Mr. Laszlo and the sofa arm lying on the ground. His face turned red, he stood up holding the sofa arm in his hand and repeating un-understandable words of apology. I tried hard to keep myself from laughing out loud. I fixed the sofa telling him not to worry and that it was broken before he sat on it. He looked at me and said: “And why didn’t you tell me?” “Hmm, I was just about to tell you!!!” but I don’t think he believed me. I could almost see his thought bubble “Little girl trying to get rid of her music teacher…”
Our lessons were once a week. He used to come to our house; we started with a guitar lesson and then the piano. He taught me how to read music, but I used to learn the music pieces by heart. I watched his long artist’s fingers and copied every move in my mind. For the piano this method worked very well but it didn’t work at all for the guitar. His fingers moved too fast so I was unable to memorize the movements. I told my mom that my fingertips were sore from pressing the guitar strings (WHAT???  Believe me, they really were!!!) so we stopped the guitar lessons. I’m sure he was very pleased when we told him.
Another piano lesson started and Mr. Laszlo was sitting on the chair beside me at the piano. We didn’t have a typical piano bench, so we used the chairs of the dining table instead. My chair had no arms but the one he used to sit on had iron chair arms with a sharp edge. I played my homework and we went through the mistakes I made. I played it again and again while listing to him saying “Tempo tempo… Pamm pamm pamm … pamm pamm pamm …” At the end we were both happy with the result. I played the Mozart piece without mistakes and with the right TEMPO. He looked at me happily and with pride. He Stood up to pick a music book that was on the piano and honestly I was just about to warn him but it was again toooooooo LATE. “OUUUUCH” just thinking of what happened gave me the creeps. He came down with all his weight and sat on the edge of the iron chair arm.  He jumped up with a silent scream and sat down immediately. He tried to hide his pain or maybe his tears? He didn’t say a word; he pressed his lips together and started to play the piano. He played wonderfully and very loud, not tickling but hitting the ivories. By the end of the music piece, (he played it three times) he was relaxed again. He turned to me and said: “This is your homework for next week. Good bye” he stood up and went without waiting for my mom to pay him for the lesson as usual. What was that? Did he cry out after slamming the door? No, no, I’m sure it was just my imagination!!!
I wasn’t sure if he would ever come again, but I was happy when he did. Even if it’s hard to believe, I loved playing piano. I only hated the learning process and wished I was talented enough to play anything I liked right away.
The lessons went on for a while without accidents, until one day he came early and asked to talk with my mom. We didn’t really understand what he was trying to say. We had this little communication problem. Although we speak and understand both English and German, it was hard for us to decode his mix of English and broken German. We thought he was telling us that his wife and daughter are invited to a party and need some clothes for the occasion. We also thought that he was asking us to help them out with some old stuff we didn’t need any more. I found it strange, but well why not! At the end he said “I will be leaving Iraq by the end of next month”. I was sorry to hear that he will leave and that my lessons will stop, but he promised to find me a new teacher before leaving.
My mother prepared a bag with some old dresses we didn’t wear anymore and kept it near the piano to give it to him next time he comes. At the end of the next lesson I gave him the bag. He looked with surprise at me and asked: “what’s this?” I told him it was the clothes he asked my mom for. He opened his eyes wide and said: “No, no, no, I want give old stuff before leaving to Hungary!!!” Ooopppsss, I got it. He was trying to get rid of old clothes before traveling back home. Do you know this feeling when you wish you could vanish?  This moment was so ridiculous and embarrassing that I wished it would never have happened.  I felt the blood flushing into my face when I put the bag down. I told him that I was very sorry for the misunderstanding. He looked at me and murmured something I didn’t really understand (maybe it was Hungarian?).  When he left I thought “ok, that was embarrassing but at least he didn’t get hurt this time”.
He came one last time the next week. It was not a spectacular lesson. He told me that if I would concentrate more on learning how to read music I would be able to play anything I’d like. He gave me some training tips and home work. He didn’t recommend a friend (strange isn’t it?) (Maybe he didn’t want the substitute teacher to face the same misfortune accidents!). He said he couldn’t find a substitute. He shook my hand and said “Good bye and good luck ……….”
Good bye Laszlo I will never forget you and you will always bring a smile to my face whenever you cross my mind.