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: a Japanese shakuhachi, A Zimbabwean mbira, and a good ol’ American jaw harp.)

(7) – Rowena and the Maestro, Albany, 1898

I can tell, now that I am well over a century old and filled with experiences both splendid and trying, how musically sensitive a human is when one of them touches me. Sometimes I can even do this with accuracy if they merely look at me with some degree of curiosity or attentiveness. But this ‘clairvoyance’ had not yet crystallized in me during my very first earthly winter. And so, in a way, what I will recount to you now represents the seed beginnings of my developing this capacity. But I was entirely unawares about this at the time.

After being carried along by dutiful Rowena, accompanying her to various classes and hearing many sorts of knowledge, we at last came to a small room with a little piano and some chairs and waited. Until the maestro arrived for Rowena’s very first violin lesson. He arrived with a stylish beard, very sharply dressed in a black suit with a kind of silk cravatte. His eyes were smiling yet demanding somehow. The first thing he asked her to do, before even opening my coff — uh my case, was to sing Do-Re-Mi… in as clear and well tuned a voice as she could. Then a second time, and he joined in! They repeated this a third time, slower, holding each tone a bit longer, Rowena imitating her teacher. At this point it becamse irresistible to me. My whole being wished to hum along even though enclosed in a case. And the way my body hummed was to vibrate my strings ever so subtly.

“Very good, Rowena. Now, let’s have a look at the violin you have.” I was lifted, case and all in the air by stronger and more deliberate hands, and in a jiffy was freed of my case. Maestro examined me intently, turning me over and even knocking on my body a few times with a soft knuckle. He seemed to be doing this at very explicit spots along my physique while holding me near to his ear. I liked it very much and would easily have agreed to attend lessons with Rowena which consisted entirely of this activity for it transmitted immense waves of pleasure to my insides and outsides. I felt as though humming without audible sound waves, and the teacher seemed to listen closely for several seconds after all apparent outer sound was exhausted. Then began the most bewildering series of manipulations I was certain that I would ever experience in life — I was in error concerning this! — which flooded all of my being with chaotic awarenesses I had not known were possible. He began grabbing my pegs and twisting them in varying degrees while plucking my cords. I became aware that each African blackwood peg in my pegbox seemed to control a different one of my cords. Four strings. Four pegs. Maestro explained to Rowena that he was going to “tune” me for her.

I adore adore adore becoming tuned! I wish every human person could experience this, though I have noted that none of you seem to come equipped with pegs on your bodies. For each cord, when the tuning got closer, Maestro would plunk a finger down on a specific key on the piano and also hum the note and then twist my peg ever so slightly while plucking my cord to make all three sounds blend into a single delicious harmony. A moment of ecstacy for me, that! Rowena watched in wonder. When all four were done, he plucked each string in sequence and a little smile lit up in his eyes confirming that all sounded correct. Then he held me out in front of Rowena and told her to do the same sequence of plucks. Her’s were more gentle, quiet, and hesitant, but it still felt good.

Next he told her “Ok, please hand me the bow.” The bow turned out to be the name of the long slim curved stick thing with all the horsehairs attached to it. Rowena did so and Maestro, seeing her dumbfounded look when he asked whether her case contained any rosin, opened up a little desk drawer and grabbed a small rectangular clump of shiny dark golden stuff nestled in a wooden shell. The shiny side had grooves in it or some sort. He took one end of the bow and began twirling the little metal silvery knob — which I hadn’t even realized could turn — and this had the gradual effect of tightening all of the countless horse hairs. This caused the bow to assume a very pleasing arc shape indeed! Next, he took the rosin cube and began deliberately rubbing its shiny side all along the length of the stretched horsehairs, a few inches at a time. I saw then that it was in fact individual horsehairs which had made the grooves. This was not the rosin cube’s maiden voyage. Satisfied, he set the bow down and handed me to Rowena and spent a good five minutes instructing her about how to hold me. His rules about this were very precise. He worked on her posture, her arms and especially her left hand. She cradled the upper part of my neck in her tiny hand, which felt quite affectionate to me.

Finally he had her place my bottom under her chin. This seemed a tad risque or forward to me but I went with it, my curiosity considerably heightened. Besides, what could I do? Humans were uniformly incapable of ‘hearing’ my questions. Maestro studied Rowena’s neck a moment, and then decided to retrieve a soft large cloth from the drawer which he folded several times. He then tucked the clioth onto her neck and adjusted her head to press her chin down lightly on the black curved thingy to the left side of my very bottom. Maestro called this a chinrest. He told her to press her head down enough to hold me in place, dangling out towards her left side at an angle… and then, when she felt confident, he told her to let go of me with her hand! I lost consciousness a second or two, certain I was going to fall to the floor. But Maestro was wise, and her neck and chin held me firm. He told her he did this to demonstrate to her that she could support me well without any special hand strength. Her hands were free to play me — though I still had no clue what that consisted of. Then, easing my soul a bit, and I expect hers as well, he let her replace her left hand cradling my neck.

He handed Rowena the bow now, which she took with her other hand, and he spent some moments showing how to hold it just right. “Lightly”, he said. “like a knitting needle weaving spirals with yarn”. He bent her elbow gracefully, swaying the bow back and forth majestically a few inches above my still outstretched body. He took control of her arm and showed her how to move it, gliding through space. Then he said to focus on the second string, my second thinnest cord, which he said was called “A”. He hit the piano note A once for dramatic effect. Then he placed the bow one inch lower so that it rested across my a-string. The point of contact he selected was down very near to my lovely carved and springy wooden bridge. Another new anatomical term for me. Then he moved her entire forearm with bow, tangentially straight across my string, careful to keep the line it traced in space perpendicular to my bridge and strings and body.

I swooned. Dear reader, I nearly passed out from the sensation. All at once, the miniscule particles of shiny rosin on the bow’s horsehairs caught and released my A-string in tiny fractions of a second, emitting both a scrumptious physical sensation and a scratchy interesting tone. It was the note A I had already recognized, but a bit unsmooth. Maestro guided Rowena’s arm slowly back and forth using more than half the length of the bow. The bow communicated to me that it was also a new and unique feeling for him. We became friendly. This went on a good five minutes, the teacher guiding the student as to how to learn the right flow of movement, which he said her ears would prove to her the correctness of. Very pleasant and very brand new, though a little strange and choppy. I liked it even more than being tuned. At last, Rowena’s muscles needed a little rest. The bowing stopped and I noticed a sticky warm coating on my string near the bridge, in addition to little particles of resin powder decorating my belly like glitter.

Maestro then asked for me back and placed me under his own chin with expert swiftness. He asked Rowena what her favorite Christmas song was. She offered ‘Silent Night”. “Ahhh, Stille Nacht! — an excellent choice”, replied the teacher, who also seemed to know other languages. He told her to listen and watch his right arm. What occurred next I cannot faithfully depict to you, for it caused me to enter a different realm of consciousness. I heard the beautiful evocative Christmas song that children had sung outdoors one evening a week before at Rowena’s house. But there were no words or voices, just the music filling my entire body. It felt like a second body of mine had become activated, and a more vibrant and alive one at that. The stroking of my strings from the bow movements were exquisite. The entire world seemed to be revealed as vibrating and weaving with luminous aural energy. The music was warm and filled with nuances of tender earnest meaning. And yet no voices anywhere! It dawned on me with a burst of clarity: I am a musical instrument. I let people make music with my body. I was in Heaven. I remember nothing else about the rest of that day or the next. A long peaceful reverie played its course till finally I returned to my normal consciousness, warmly ensconced in my velvet lined case with my friend, the musical bow. Life was good.

_______RS

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

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