Aydy's Fiddle - The Memory Thief

by Edward Curnutte

  “Good. That’s all the better. You need a good challenge. By the way, I’ve heard reports that your cousin is doing very well on the violin. It would be a shame if you were usurped by a girl, Owen.”

  “What does that mean?”

  George rolled his eyes and sighed. “It means if you’re not careful and don’t work hard enough, she’ll take your place and be better than you. Would you like that? Would you like a girl to be better than you? If you don’t work hard, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. I will help you as much as I can, but the rest has to come from you. Remember that, Owen.”

  The boy pursed his lips. “I understand, Father. I won’t let little miss Goody Two Shoes be better than me.”

  George smiled. “Good. Keep that attitude not just with her, but with everyone else. You see, son, people think that just because we have a bit of money we can buy anything we want. It’s not true. Most things are impossible to buy. Honour, respect, and of course talent are not something that can be bought.”

  “But Father, I’m working hard on the violin!” said Owen. “Mum will tell you that!”

  “It’s not just about playing the violin,” said George, rubbing his eyes and the bridge of his nose. “We have several matters here we need to address. First of all, you need to understand that your mother and I have been working hard these many years to build a good life not just for ourselves, but for you. We’ve established ourselves, are respected, and are making plans to achieve even more. However, we must be careful. People are watching us, Owen. They’re jealous of our success. They’d take away all we’ve ever worked for the first opportunity they got and think nothing of it. For instance, if you go about telling lies, it can get all of us into a whole lot of trouble. It reflects badly on your mother and me. They’ll wonder what kind of a son we’re raising. What were you thinking when you lied about your violin? You know, when you get caught in a lie, no one will ever be able to trust you again. They’ll say, ‘Owen? Oh, yes, we know about him! He’s a liar and takes after his father.’ I can’t have people thinking I’m a liar, Owen, not at all. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Father,” Owen said, lowering his head.

  Later that evening after Owen had gone to bed, George sat in his favourite chair sipping a brandy. Clara sat near him, knitting. “How are your social groups?” asked George.

  “Oh George, everything is going so well! In the church group, Mrs. Bellemore is the new secretary and she’s so strict! We need that! Mrs. Barker is organizing a quilting bee and Mrs. Tellier wants me to bake cookies for the church bake sale!”

  “I wish you’d stop mentioning that name,” said George.

  “Which name?”

  George sighed. “Barker.”

  “Oh yes, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, yes. When you mention that name, it stirs up bad memories.”

  “Yes, of course dear. We must always avoid situations which stir up bad memories,” she said, her tone sarcastic.

  “What are you implying, Clara? We’ve already talked about this. No more mentioning my father’s visions or especially the fire. Is that understood? We’ve kept it secret for how long? Sixteen years? One false step and we could lose everything. Do I need to lecture you as I did Owen?”

  “Of course not, dear,” she said, returning to her knitting.

  * * *

  Mornings were the time of day Marcie loved best of all. She enjoyed the cheery customers, the fast pace of her work, the friendly banter. Now that Alexandra was playing her music regularly in the café, it added even more to the merriment. Marcie enjoyed hearing the different melodies Alexandra played – some slow, others fast, even some waltzes and resonating, deep love ballads. She knew that due to these impromptu performances, the café was becoming a much busier place. However, she found it difficult to keep up with so many new customers. Even Emma and her family were coming to the café more often, Emma soon getting into the habit of calling Alexandra by her new nickname, Aydy. Before long everyone was calling her Aydy – everyone, that is, except her closest family members.

  “Marcie,” Joseph said at the end of another busy day. He was working at his usual table, a mess of papers spread out before him. “Could you come here, please?”

  “Of course, Joseph,” she said, squinting one eye at him at his strange request. She sat sideways in the chair across from him at his table, ready to jump up. She pushed every scattered thought from her mind.

  “Ever since Alexandra started playing her fiddle for the customers, business has increased way beyond what I could have ever imagined,” Joseph said, looking at her over his half-moon glasses. “The place has been very busy every day and it seems it’s getting busier all the time. I’ve been going over the numbers, and the workload. I think this work is too much for you to handle, so I’ve had to make a difficult decision.”

  Marcie knew she wasn’t as spry as she once was, yet she tried to do her best. “You’re going to fire me, aren’t you, Joseph?” she said, sulking.

  “Fire you? My goodness, Marcie, I’m so sorry!” he said, removing his glasses and reaching his hands out to hers. “I didn’t mean to make it sound that way! No! In fact, I’m hiring two more people! I want another waitress and a cook. I want you to be the head waitress. Of course, I’ll increase your salary. You’ll be in charge of these new employees and the daily running of the café. Can you do it?”

  Marcie rose from her chair and hugged Joseph, almost spilling his coffee into his lap.

  “Mercy sakes woman!” Joseph said. “Sit down, there’s more! I’m hiring these new people until such time as business dies down. I don’t know that it will die down, of course, but soon Alexandra must return to school and concentrate on her studies. Knowing her, though, I think she won’t have a problem spending some of her free time playing for the customers. We could also arrange her own playing schedule instead of these haphazard performances.”

  “Yes, of course, boss,” Marcie said, nodding.

  “I also want you to help me hire this new cook and waitress. Since they’ll be under your charge, you’ll be responsible for them. Naturally, I make the final decision when it comes to hiring.”

  * * *

  Later that night when all the lights were off, Marcie had gone home, and the café was closed and locked, Joseph crept upstairs with his candlestick. Reaching the top of the stairs, he tapped on Alexandra’s bedroom door. All was quiet inside.

  “Angel, are you awake?”

  “Yes, Papa,” came the voice from within.

  “May I come in?”

  “Yes, Papa,” she said. “Come in.”

  Joseph eased the door open, his candle cutting lines through the darkness. He saw all her things neatly placed about the room. Her violin occupied the night table next to her bed. The girl was already under the covers, which she had pulled up to her neck. Joseph put his candle down on the night table and sat sideways on the bed.

  “I wanted to wish you a good night and sweet dreams. I also wanted to say how very proud I am of you.” The flickering glow of the candle softened her cheeks and twinkled in her eyes.

  “Thank you, Papa. I’m proud of you too.”

  “I’m proud not just because of what you’ve done with your violin,” he said, “but also of the fine lady you’re becoming. We have many blessings in this life we can count, but none can be more important than the love we have for each other.”

  “I know, Papa,” she said, her eyes searching his face. “You’ve taught me so much, and I’m so very grateful.” She shuffled herself into a sitting position and smiled. “I’m so happy you gave me Pépé’s violin. It will always be the best present I could ever receive and I shall treasure it forever.”

  “I’m pleased to know that, but remember Angel, it’s only a tool. It doesn’t define who we are. In fact, all these things we have and we learn in life are just tools. We can do many things, we can speak ten languages, we can have top marks in school, we can have all the money and power and f
riends in the world, but it’s our strength of character, our convictions, our integrity that make us the people we are. That’s the real reason I’m so proud of you.”

  “Papa, do you think Mama would be proud of me? Do you think she still loves me?”

  Those words always cut Joseph. He looked down at his daughter, at her searching eyes. Every time she asked that question, he tried to give an honest answer, and each time it became more difficult.

  “My dear daughter, sometimes life brings us pain which no words can ever heal. I wish I could say I knew where your mother was, if she’ll return or even if she’s still alive. I know that she needed a long rest after working so hard. Let’s just say this: wherever she is, be it in heaven or on earth, that she still loves you. You see, whether we are here, or whether we are there, we still love. Let’s just say that she’s loving you from afar.”

  “I really miss her, Papa. I hope I’ll see her again someday,” she said, sniffling. “I just hope you don’t ever leave me. I don’t think I could bear it.”

  “I’ll never leave you, Angel,” said Joseph, roughing up her hair. “Someday, though, you’ll leave me when you start your own life with your own family,” said Joseph.

  “That’s not going to happen for a long time!”

  “That’s right. So now, you can do well at school, be with your friends, help in the café from time to time, and play your violin.”

  Alexandra managed a smile.

  “Tell me a story, Papa, please. Tell it to me like you did when I was little.”

  “All right,” said Joseph, repositioning himself. “Once upon a time there was a little bird who lived with her mother and father in the branches of a great tree in the forest. They had a happy life singing songs, watching the other birds in the sky and watching animals pass by on the forest floor. Her parents would bring her many tasty things, such as worms, insects and spiders…”

  “Eww!” Alexandra wrinkled her nose.

  “Not so to a young bird, Angel! Now let me finish! The young bird grew and grew, getting stronger with each passing day. It longed for the day it could spread its wings and fly. ‘How glorious it would be,’ it thought, ‘to be able to soar across the sky and weave through the tree branches as my parents do! I’ll be so free!’

  “Then one day, the little bird’s wish came true – but not the way she had dreamt of it. While her parents were searching for food, a gust of wind pushed her right out of the nest!”

  “Oh my!” said Alexandra, sitting back up again. “But it’s so high up! What happened?”

  “You see, the little bird, like it or not, had to fly, but not for the reason you might think. Do you know why?”

  “So that she wouldn’t fall all the way to the ground?” asked Alexandra.

  “Yes, that’s right! That means to survive. The moral of the story is that life is full of difficult situations, and we can never predict what’s going to happen next. We all have to spread our wings and fly – just like our baby bird did. We can allow ourselves to fall all the way down to the forest floor and be eaten, or we can make a decision to spread our wings and not just survive, but to really live. So, you can do the same.”

  “But that bird had a mother!”

  “Yes, and that bird had a father, too. The gust of wind came when neither was there. Of course people don’t have wings, but we have minds. We use them when a gust of wind, problems, come into our lives. Now you should get some sleep. Goodnight, Angel. I love you.”

  “Goodnight, Papa,” she whispered. “I love you too.”

  Joseph stood up and brushed his hand across her cheek. Taking his candlestick, he started towards the door, the glow illuminating his path and making long, dwindling shadows across the floor.

  Stepping out of her room, he took one more look back at the girl who was watching him from the safety of her bed.

  * * *

  Wednesday brought the fulfillment of the promise Alexandra made to Emma – they would pay a visit to Robbie. Afterwards she would attend her first study session with the Maestro. However, for her visit to Robbie, she didn’t just want to sit in his house, nor in their back garden. She wanted to go for a picnic on the banks of the little creek which ran through the woods just beyond the old Stuart place. She packed some fresh bread from the nearby bakery, collected some tomatoes, cucumbers and peppers from the café and packed up strips of salted fish. Emma would already be bringing some of her mother’s strawberry preserves and perhaps a few other surprises from her mother’s pantry. She hoped Robbie could scrounge up a blanket as part of his contribution.

  Meanwhile, the “Help Wanted” sign in the café window had attracted a good many people, and there were just as many applicants lined up outside the door as there were customers in the café.

  “Don’t worry about us, we’ll cope,” said Joseph. “You go have a good time with your friends and enjoy your lesson with the Maestro.”

  Emma soon arrived, and the two girls began walking to Robbie’s house. Emma carried the wicker picnic basket and Alexandra, of course, carried her violin. It never left her side.

  “Oh Alex! You wanted to tell me something, remember?” said Emma as the pair walked.

  “Yes, I did, but I changed my mind. It was like some sort of a dream, really. Not important.”

  Emma shrugged and they continued their walk. As they approached Robbie’s place, Nelson, as usual, came galloping across the field to meet them.

  “Here he comes! Look out!” Alexandra said upon seeing the happy beast bounding across the field. Like a large, overgrown puppy, he leapt at Emma.

  “Eww, get him off me!” she cried, turning her face away and wincing as the great Rottweiler welcomed her with licks to her hands and face.

  “I think he likes you!” Alexandra said, laughing.

  “He likes me more than I like him!” Emma said, wiping her face on her sleeve.

  Their arrival at the Stuart’s farm was unannounced and Robbie was nowhere to be seen. The girls walked round to the back garden where they found him building a birdhouse. He stopped when he saw them.

  “We’ve invited ourselves to a picnic at your place today!” Emma said. “Would you like to come? Can you bring a blanket?”

  He placed his tools down and grinned. “Let me ask. I’m sure it’ll be all right.”

  A beaming Robbie returned after several minutes with a blanket and even more food for their basket. The trio – plus one happy Rottweiler – marched off towards the stream which meandered its way through the woods near the farm.

  “Isn’t it a grand day?” Alexandra said. They chose a grassy area along the bank of the creek, a cheery spot in the forest and perfect for a picnic. The sun shone through the trees, forming intermittent patches of sunlight and shadow on the ground. Robbie spread out the blanket and the girls arranged a feast from the basket. Nelson sniffed about as if to ensure the area was safe.

  The three sat on the blanket and began eating, Alexandra carefully holding her other hand under the one she ate with to catch any stray bits of food that might drop on her dress.

  “I perfectly love summer,” said Alexandra. “Except for when the fish flies come.”

  “Horrible things!” said Emma. “My aunt and uncle have a cottage near the lake and there are millions of them there!”

  “At least they don’t bite – unlike mosquitoes,” said Robbie, swatting at an imaginary insect.

  As they sat and enjoyed their miniature banquet, they chatted and joked about as good friends do. After a while, Alexandra stood up and got her violin.

  “I’d like to play a few songs, would you mind?”

  “Oh yes! Please Aydy, could you?” said Emma.

  “If Nelson approves, so do I!” said Robbie, just as the dog returned and sprawled out on the blanket in front of them.

  Alexandra loved this forest woodlot. It was so refreshing to the mind and spirit, and it was one of the precious few remaining in the area. No other venue could be more perfect than here in this
paradise with her two dearest friends. She hoped she could encourage them to take up music so she could have her own little trio of strings to play with anytime she chose.

  With violin in hand, she began playing an assortment of melodies, her bow dancing across the strings, the fingers on her left hand darting up and down the neck of her violin. As usual, she couldn’t help grinning as she played. She reasoned it was much better to grin like a fool than to be like those sour-faced, stuffy old violinists who cared nothing of their facial expressions.

  As Alexandra played, Robbie sat and swept his arms through the air as if he were a conductor, and Emma sat sideways, propping herself on one arm and watching, as always. After a few moments Alexandra closed her eyes, imagining that the trunks of the elms were really the grand colonnades in a great European cathedral. The forest canopy also formed a magnificent, vaulted ceiling – one worthy of all the artistic grandeur of Michelangelo. She imagined her friends with her in this cathedral, with Robbie playing the cello and Emma the viola. Together, their music would conquer the world, granting them the privilege of escaping to any time, any place, whenever and however they wanted. Such wonderful power music has, she thought, such majesty. Pure magic can be the only outcome.