A Novella in installments, tracing the intermingling autobiographies of a boy and a violin, spanning over a century. The previous episode is right here. To find any episode, look here.

(The protagonist posing with some old friends.)

(5) – Christmastime Into New Years, 1898

I cannot tell you what a freedom, what a blessing it was, to be able to see things again. To be out in the open and hear the comings and goings unmuffled and take in the many delightful fragrances surrounding me. The pine tree, my nearest companion, drenched me with its paradise smell all through the night. And gentle candlelight glimmered from glass containers across the room. My existence seemed far more agreeable than anywhere I had previously known. It was strange at first being the only one of my kind, but I quickly was getting used to it. Here, I was special. A thing like no other. And I seemed to elicit wonder from humans, simply by virtue of my physical appearance.

About one hour passed by after the first beautiful shining of morning outdoor light began streaming through the room’s large windows, when a sudden great deal of scurrying noise happened above me, upstairs. I heard youthful voices pitched higher with excitement. Then came rushing footsteps down down down coming closer. Voices cried “Mama, Papa, wake up wake up wake up, it’s time!”

Suddenly through a doorway two smaller than usual humans stood in front of me. They were between half and three-quarters size, I estimated, and their faces were beautiful with emotion. The slightly taller one with long brown hair began ripping the colored paper off of a gift box sitting next to me. But the other one, the shorter one without long hair, a boy, stared at me in rapt adoration. “A new violin!” — he sqealed it with joy. “Rowena, look.” He picked me up from my stand and I could see shining lights in his eyes. I was filled with a wave of love. He touched my different parts, not entirely with an absence of gentleness. At this point the man came into the room, fastening a bathrobe belt. This man, the father, told the boy to be careful. He took me temporarily, and showed the boy how to pluck my cords. He was less good at it than the whitecoat man whose face I’d forgotten, but it still felt pleasant. “You try it, Iain.” And now the little boy took me and very deliberately plucked my each and every string, two times each. 1-1, 2-2, 3-3, 4-4. Each cord sounded higher than the previous one, It was fabulously pleasing. Oh, did I feel goood! I vibrated with benevolence. Then the lady arrived, but her bathrobe was already fastidiously attired. She smiled warmly, and asked the girl to try it too. “It is for both of you, for all of us, really. But Rowena, since you are two years older, you will be the first to learn how to play it. You will receive lessons. Then, when we can afford it, you too, my handsome Iain”.

I took all this merriment and passion and goodwill in as best I could. I gathered that I was called a violin. And besides this, I was also to be an ‘heirloom’. A family heirloom. The one thing which I found a bit unsettling was this talk of “lessons”. That sounded more serious and foreboding, and I had no clue what it meant.

====================

Two weeks came and departed, during which I learned and understood many new things about this household, which was Scottish-American. Then, in an era known as ‘January’, Rowena came and collected me one morning. She had extra clothing on, more than usual, including a colorful warm-looking hat and a woolen thing wrapped around her neck. She spoke to me, but not in a conversational way. I could tell she had no idea that I was speaking or could speak back to her. She gave no evidence of hearing me or sensing my feelings. But she told that she was taking me to a place called school, and that later in the day we were going to meet her official music teacher. Whom she prayed was not too strict! I was not sure what a music teacher was though I had developed some theories. She packed me in my case — she never used the term ‘coffin’ — and off we went. I felt a cold blast when she opened her front door. We were going on an adventure.

_______RS

NOTE: The next episode, if it exists yet, is right here. To find any episode, look here.

► Handy INDEX — scan through all available ||SWR|| articles