Across the Largo

by Mitchell Atkinson

  ***

  Mr. Eldredge wasn’t at fifth period history the next day or the day after that. Both days Esmeralda found Mr. Chandrasekhar waiting in the classroom, sitting peacefully with his wicker briefcase on the desk. Both days, just like the first, Mr. Chandrasekhar didn’t seem to know exactly what he was supposed to be doing. He asked the class to sit down at their desks and read, which everyone did—at least the sitting down—as he played them always new and ever more mystifying music. Both periods, both days, both precious hours that Esmeralda sat in that class were the best and, to her, the most worthwhile times that she had ever spent in school. Sometimes she read, sometimes she pretended to read, but much of the time she just sat listening with her book closed. Mr. Chandrasekhar didn’t seem too concerned one way or another. But the entire time she heard the music. She listened to it, feeling it walking around her ribcage. She was, both days, surprised and truly sad when the bell rang and class came to an end.

  After the bell on Wednesday, Mr. Chandrasekhar said, “Esmeralda, could you stay after for a moment please?”

  She stood attentively before Mr. Chandrasekhar’s desk.

  “I don’t think I am doing a good job substituting for Mr. Eldredge,” he said.

  “Oh, no. You’re doing a great job. All of the kids like you more than Eldredge.”

  “That’s nice, but I am afraid I don’t know much about American History. I’d hate to think that you kids weren’t learning anything.” Mr. Chandrasekhar began putting away his flute.

  “What is that called?” Esmeralda asked.

  “This?” Mr. Chandrasekhar said, removing the flute once more. “This is Chandravenu. I designed her a long time ago.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Esmeralda said.

  “Thank you very much. Where I come from music is very important. Though I suppose the kind of importance I am talking about is something that has to exist no matter where you come from. Esmeralda, listen, I think tomorrow I will try to show the class something about this flute. Would you like to try to play it?”

  “I don’t know.” Esmeralda shook her head. “It looks too hard. I don’t think I could do it.”

  “Well, we may see tomorrow. But let me tell you: in order to play a song—especially on this flute—you need two things. You have to know the song and you have to play it for good reasons.”