A long silence. Two empty beats.
The right hand tries again. This time in A♭ major: sweeter, almost tender. For four bars, it believes it can escape. But the left hand — the destino — tightens its grip. The major mode wilts back to minor. The melody breaks. ostinato destino
Left hand alone again. Four notes. Forever. A long silence
And yet — in the subito piano , in that one B♮ — is there not a kind of freedom? Not escape, but recognition . To play the ostinato knowingly, to place your fingers on the same keys your grandmother pressed, and to press them your way : that is not resignation. That is the human within the machine. almost tender. For four bars