[color=9aa9a6]“Cienie, à votre service.”[/color] Senja was a bit younger than he’d expected of a nurse. She had to be only a year or two his senior. Yet her presence seemed to bring great comfort to her patients, as with any of her colleagues. It was an almost supernatural aura of reassurance. He would have to ask her for her secrets later. How would she do with presence like that if she had a stage and an audience?

Cienie gave the ward a cursory survey. Expecting good acoustics out of this place would be out of the question, no doubt. Up close to the beds would be better. A few steps later, he seemed to have found himself a suitable spot. [color=9aa9a6]“OK, I think here can. Thank you very very much, Miss!”[/color] The urge to tack on ‘green hair’ or some other moniker was strong. But Cienie had learnt long ago that Europan nicknaming customs were a little different, and besides, he had music to make.

Cienie pocketed the paqpe, silently slipping it into his pants without another clack. In its place, he took up his mouth organ. The [i]sên[/i] had belonged to his mother Van and must have already been some fifteen-odd years old when she had bequeathed it to him. It was rather unwieldy compared to the paqpe, but leagues more elegant and refined. Too highfalutin for a boisterous sideshow; perfect for a peaceful performance. The question of what to play had long been answered before Cienie had so much as gotten up in the morning. The sên’s traditional repertoire was a bit intimidating to the unfamiliar ear — ‘eerie’ and ‘ethereal’ were some of the terms he’d heard from a previous audience. So something from closer to home — Europa — it would be. Mastery of blues or ragtime was still beyond his grasp, but Baroque and Romantic were game. Thus began Cienie: —

[center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0Mn95BZ6_s]~ Air on the G String — J S Bach, arr. August Wilhelmj ~[/url][/center]
Cienie knew it only as ‘the Air’, as that was what the fiddlers on that street corner in Ostend had called it. Apparently it was quite a famous work within the Western classical canon. The Air was probably his best Europan piece, its rich polyphonic harmonies supporting an impassioned melody that was almost voice-like in its tenderness and warmth. As if there was more to the instrument than wind going past a series of carefully-made wood pipes. Maybe it could breathe some life into the medical post’s stagnant, heavy-laden air.

Not [i]sorrowful[/i] — there was no need to further dampen this sombre mood with sad music. But [i]serene.[/i] Something to ease the weary wounded into rest, eternal or otherwise. Nothing more and nothing less. That was all Cienie kept in mind as he let loose the sound of the sên.