Aydy's Fiddle - The Memory Thief

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Aydy's Fiddle - The Memory Thief Page 9

by Edward Curnutte


  “But Emma, I really do think it’s a magic violin! How could I possibly learn so many songs so fast? People tell me I’m really talented, but even talented people have to work long and hard to play these songs!”

  “But Aydy, you do work long and hard! You also have a special gift for music!”

  “I don’t know that I do. Also, strange things have been happening. I was going to tell you…”

  “Strange things? Strange things what?” said Emma, getting her words mixed up.

  Alexandra leaned in, cupping her hand around Emma’s ear.

  “Promise me you’ll keep this a secret! Promise!”

  “All right,” whispered a hushed Emma, “I will.”

  “Lately, when I play the violin, I get very strange visions. Even today, I was playing a song for Marcie and I had a vision of when she was just a young girl. She was playing with her little brother in the yard at their house in Berlin. She was so happy.”

  “Alexandra, you’re scaring me,” said Emma.

  “That’s not all, either. I had a strange experience when I played for the lady near the train station and also when I played for Mr. Walker in the café.”

  “Did you have a vision about me?” asked Emma.

  “Yes.”

  “What was it?”

  Alexandra sighed. “That your mother thinks you eat too much and she wants you to take up a hobby like me. I had that one the day we got sprayed by the skunk.”

  “Oh my goodness!” said Emma. “I just can’t believe it! How could you know that?”

  “I don’t know! I have no control over it!” Alexandra glanced towards her father to make sure he wasn’t listening.

  “What about the other visions?” asked Emma. “Were they bad? I mean, what were they about?”

  “I’d rather not say, but they weren’t bad visions. I wasn’t scared and I didn’t mind having those visions at all. They were real life-like. Did you think I looked scared when I played for the poor lady?”

  “Well, no you didn’t. You looked all right to me, just like you were concentrating on your playing.”

  “It’s true, I was concentrating but at the same time I allowed myself to be taken up by the music. It really takes you into a different world, and Papa says I have a very active imagination. He also says that an imagination is like a brain – everyone has one but not everyone uses it. Right, Papa?” She snapped her head to the side, finally catching her father trying to listen in on their conversation.

  “What’s that, Angel?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

  “I was just telling Emma what you said about people having an imagination but not using it,” she said, her mood brightening.

  “Ah yes, of course. Then again, some people have overly vivid imaginations, don’t they, Alexandra?” He winked as he spoke. Professor Hergicksen appeared puzzled, and Emma just smiled.

  At that moment, the steward arrived with their lunches.

  Chapter 11

  When the train arrived at Toronto’s Union Station, the four descended the steps onto the platform. Professor Hergicksen was comfortable with these surroundings, but the other three behaved as if they were in a foreign country.

  “Come on, this way! Our hotel is just a short walk from here.”

  The three followed obediently, with the professor leading, elbowing their way across the busy platform and through the train station. Alexandra carried her violin but the professor had chosen to leave his at home. He believed he had good reasons for that. He didn’t want anyone to think he was trying to re-establish himself as a virtuoso, and certainly didn’t want anyone to think he had reduced himself to busking on the street.

  With their bags in hand, the four strolled leisurely along Front Street. As they walked, the professor acted as their tour guide, ever sure to point out some interesting and notable sights. When they arrived at the hotel, the two girls were rapturous with delight.

  “Oh Alexandra, just look!” said Emma. “Isn’t it lovely? We’re royalty!”

  “Yes, it’s true,” remarked the professor. “Did you know that your name, Alexandra, is a very royal and regal name? In fact, famous queens in Eastern Europe and England had that same name.”

  “I wish my name were regal,” said Emma.

  “As a matter of fact, it is,” the professor said. “As we speak, there’s a Dutch queen on the throne with your name!” Emma smiled in reply, and the four continued their walk.

  Professor Hergicksen always enjoyed staying at the Queen’s Hotel as he secretly enjoyed feeling like royalty himself. With its huge cupola its most notable feature, the hotel’s massive façade spanned nearly an entire city block – and the hotel was nearly as deep. Rows of stately windows were neatly spaced along its width, culminating in the central focal point, the grand front entrance. Conveniently located on Front Street near the provincial parliament buildings, it fulfilled every expectation a traveler could have.

  “Good afternoon, Professor Hergicksen and welcome back!” said the check-in clerk.

  The professor acknowledged the greeting and turned his attention to Joseph. “I always stay at the Queen’s Hotel when I’m in Toronto.”

  “I trust your good judgment, professor, and I see the ladies here do as well,” Joseph remarked.

  The clerk gave them their room keys. Alexandra and Emma would stay in a room adjoining Joseph’s while the professor would have his own private room. All of them would stay on the fourth floor, the top.

  While walking through the drawing room, the professor noticed Alexandra slowing down as she looked about here and there. “Don’t dawdle, dear!”

  “But Maestro! This room is so lovely and elegant! What is it for?”

  “This is called a drawing room. It’s not for art, though. It’s from the word ‘withdrawing,’ and this is where ladies and gentlemen of the higher social classes can withdraw in order to relax.”

  “I’m not from a high social class, Maestro, but I can just imagine myself here sitting on that sofa and playing my music to entertain royalty whilst sipping tea.”

  “I’m quite sure you’d be welcome here, my dear,” he said, just as a bellhop entered.

  “May I carry that for you, miss?”

  Alexandra clutched her violin case close to her chest with both arms. “Thank you, no. I prefer to carry it myself.”

  “We’re grateful for your assistance, sir, but I think we can manage,” added the professor.

  “Very good, sir, ma’am. Enjoy your stay at the Queen’s.”

  The four guests made their way up the stairs to their rooms.

  * * *

  The hotel rooms were just as luxurious and well-appointed as the rest of the hotel. By this time, Alexandra and Emma were fully engaged in their royalty fantasy and Joseph did nothing to dissuade them. “Young ladies, I do believe it is time for you to dress for dinner.”

  The two friends went to their part of the room and closed the door.

  Joseph believed that everyone was having a marvellous time living and basking in this temporary nobility. That is, everyone except him. He knew the time was coming when he had to speak the horrible words to his daughter which would, in all likelihood, tarnish her holiday.

  Emma and Alexandra emerged from their room, both dressed in elegant dinner gowns and appearing even more regal than when they were travelling on the first-class train. They had also taken meticulous care to do each other’s hair up, too, swirled upwards at the back and presented nicely towards the front in the latest fashion.

  Joseph had likewise taken the time to change into his dinner clothes, but unlike the young women, his merriment was decidedly muted. At that moment he heard a knock on the door.

  “Excuse me, Joseph, are you ready?” came the professor’s voice through the wood.

  Joseph swung the door open. “I am almost ready sir. However, would you mind escorting young Emma to the dining room please? Alexandra and I will follow shortly.”

  The professor squinted at Joseph. “O
f course, if you like. I would be pleased to escort the young Miss Emma to dinner.”

  Emma joined the professor and the two set off towards the hotel’s main dining room. “Don’t be long!” said Emma, turning back as she walked down the corridor.

  Joseph wanted to get this unpleasant task finished as quickly as possible. Even still, he felt like he was about to slaughter some innocent creature, to betray his daughter and dash her hopes. His heart was pounding and he began to sweat.

  “Papa, what’s wrong?” asked Alexandra. “Are you all right? Are you ill?”

  “Please sit down. I must talk to you about something.”

  “About what, Papa?” said Alexandra as she sat ladylike in one of the upholstered armchairs. Joseph sat in the one next to her.

  “Angel, I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

  “What is it, Papa? Please tell me! What happened? Is there a problem with the café? You’re not going to give me up for adoption, are you? Oh I couldn’t bear losing you like I lost Mama!”

  Joseph sat leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped together over his knees. His desire to reduce the drama of the news had met with complete and absolute failure. Alexandra began caressing the back of his head, and he turned to look at her, noticing that her eyes were beginning to moisten.

  “Whatever it is we can manage it, Papa, but please tell me.”

  Joseph drew a ragged breath and sat up. “Angel, I gave you my father’s violin because I knew you would cherish it, play it and love it every bit as much as he did. The problem…” he sighed. “The problem is that it belongs to your Uncle George. He wants it back in order to give it to Owen. He’s quite insistent on this point and nothing I say or do can change his mind. I have no choice. I must return the violin. I am so sorry.”

  “No,” said Alexandra. By her tone of voice, Joseph could tell that her resolve seemed to be cast in iron, unshakable as a mountain. “You’re not going to give it back to him. I will.”

  Joseph looked up. Alexandra’s face was flushed and the tears that had welled up in her eyes had already run down her cheeks, yet she looked so brave and beautiful. She sniffled and wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

  With a voice sounding like it could break any moment, she continued. “Papa, I remember you told me the violin was only a tool. I can get another violin someday. Owen can play Pépé’s.”

  “I promise, Angel, we will get you another violin before we leave Toronto,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I’ve already asked the professor to help us buy one, and he agreed. He knows some excellent luthiers in the city.”

  “Are you sure, Papa? I can wait, it’s all right.”

  “I am going to get you a fine violin my dear, and no one can ever have any rights to it except you.” He was as firm in his resolve as she was in hers.

  “Whatever violin you get me, Papa, I promise I’ll cherish it always.”

  Joseph and Alexandra stood up together and embraced. They left the hotel room, making their way to the dining room to join the professor and Emma.

  “Welcome, you two,” said Professor Hergicksen, smiling and rising from his chair while Emma sat and watched. “I trust everything is all right?”

  “It is, Hergie,” said Joseph. “We just had a little father-daughter conversation, and all is well.” He pulled a chair out for Alexandra and she took her place at the table.

  Dinner at the Queen’s Hotel in Toronto was truly a culinary experience. They had the best of everything – triple-plated cutlery, crystal water pitchers, glasses for cold and hot water, English bone china and fresh-cut flowers on every table. All of it was carefully set out on the finest linen tablecloth with embroidered serviettes. It was difficult for Joseph to imagine that there were people who ate like this every day, He assumed the professor had long ago taken such luxury for granted.

  After they examined their menus, the maître d’ arrived and took everyone’s order, but didn’t write a single thing down. “Yes sir,” and “Yes ma’am,” and “Will there by anything else?” were all he seemed to say.

  After the maître d’ left, Joseph turned his attention to the professor. “Hergie, I understand that you had a long career in music. If I may ask, is it possible for other people to be as successful as you’ve been?”

  “Good question, Joseph,” replied the professor. “Normally, no. However, with me, all is not as it appears to be. I come from a family of investors, and my father had business interests in companies around the world. He also bought and sold stocks and bonds – something which I continue to do to this day. However, these activities never did occupy all my time, so I was able pursue what I really love – music. When I retired, I returned to Canada and bought my house in Sandwich.”

  “Interesting story, Hergie. Thank you.”

  The professor smiled.

  “I have a question, too, Maestro!” said Alexandra.

  “You may ask,” said the professor.

  “Could you please tell me where you got your violin? What’s the story behind it? I think everyone has a story to tell about how they got anything, and I would really like to hear yours. Would you mind?”

  “Well,” said the professor, “I’d be happy to tell you if you’d really like to hear.”

  “Oh, yes, please!” said Alexandra, sitting upright in her seat. Emma raised her eyebrow sceptically.

  “As you may well know, I was born and raised in Toronto and received my musical education here as well. After graduation I went overseas to England and joined an orchestra where I played and taught for many years. I already had a violin by then, but it’s not the same one I use now. I played in France, Germany, and Hungary. I eventually went to Kiev and played there with their best orchestras. For Christmas one year I was given this fine instrument by one of the young musicians, and I still have it to this very day. I treasure it as you treasure yours.”

  Alexandra squinted at him. “Oh that’s marvellous, thank you so very much Maestro! But –”

  “You’re welcome!” he said. “Now that’s enough about my violin. What about yours?” he asked, leaning forward on one elbow. “What’s the story of your violin?”

  “The story of my violin really begins tomorrow, Maestro. I’m giving my present one to Owen.” She glanced at her father and smiled.

  “Aydy! No!” said Emma.

  Professor Hergicksen sat back in his chair. “You’re giving your violin to Owen? Do you happen to know what he did to the last one?”

  “He won’t destroy this one, Maestro. Frankly speaking, I hope he comes to love it. He was a good player at one time and I’m sure he can be again.”

  “I don’t understand why you’d ever do such a thing!” He turned to Joseph. “Never mind. You have your reasons, whatever they are, and I won’t meddle in your affairs by pressing the issue. However, before we leave this subject I would like to go on record as saying this is not a good idea, not at all, Joseph. In any event, it’s your choice. I do hope everything will be just as you say.”

  Emma stared at her friend and did not speak. When they finished their meal, the professor motioned for the maître d’. “One bill, right here,” he said. After thanking the professor, they all stood up and left the hotel, putting aside this conversation. Following an evening stroll along the Toronto waterfront, the four returned to their rooms for the evening.

  Alexandra and Emma went to their room to ready themselves for bed while Joseph scanned the local newspaper from his room. After a short time, the door adjoining the two rooms opened and Alexandra emerged.

  “Goodnight, Papa, and thank you for such a splendid day! Please don’t fret over the violin. Everything will be all right.”

  “Angel, why don’t you allow me to bring the violin to Owen? You’ve been through so much already and remember, the mistake was all mine.”

  “No, Papa,” she sweetly insisted as she kissed him goodnight on the cheek. “I’ll bring it myself.” She started back to her room, but suddenly stopped. She tu
rned back to her father and smiled. “I want to play a song for Owen.”

  Chapter 12

  The next morning found Alexandra rising early. Emma had started kicking her in her sleep, so she felt it just as well to get up and start the day. Besides, she wanted to go down to that drawing room and perhaps play some songs quietly before breakfast.

  She donned her blue dress with white polka dots, adding a white sash around her waist. After writing a note to Emma, she took her violin and went down to the drawing room. Nobody was there except for a hotel worker arranging flowers in the lobby. She positioned herself on the divan, back straight, pretending she was a princess. Taking her violin in hand, she drank in the atmosphere of that ornate little room.

 

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