Aydy's Fiddle - The Memory Thief

by Edward Curnutte

  “Oh not just music, Maestro!” she said as she removed her coat and shoes. “I’m stubborn in so many ways. Sister Rose knows it, and so does my papa. Marcie says my stubbornness is like an anchor holding a ship! Papa also says I can talk the hind leg off a mule! I even bothered Sir Charles so much that he said I made him want to drink!”

  The professor chuckled. “I’ve had to resist that urge myself! Come now, let’s not waste an opportunity to play some music!”

  The two entered the professor’s study where the big fireplace was lit, its warmth spreading throughout the room. As always, Alexandra played different selections of music, including some of the new Christmas tunes in keeping with the spirit of the holiday. She played several duets with the professor, who sometimes accompanied her on the piano, and other times on the violin.

  Meanwhile, the weather had turned into a full-blown blizzard, the wind whipping the snow into drifts and cresting sloping triangles in the corners of the window panes. When the professor stopped playing, he got up and walked to the windows. He stood, hands on his hips, gazing at the spectacle swirling around outside. He huffed. “I can’t allow you to walk alone in this weather. Let’s call your father and ask him to come get you.”

  Alexandra sat nearby and listened as the professor spoke into the contraption mounted on the wall. “Joseph, yes, I understand. I can’t trouble you to come that late, but your idea is much better. Just a moment, please. I’ll ask her.” He held the telephone receiver down and turned to the girl. “Alexandra, your father requested you spend the night here. He can come get you in the morning after the storm passes. I have many a spare room, and you’ll be comfortable and warm.”

  “Are you sure, Maestro? I don’t want to impose on your kindness!”

  “Nonsense, my dear! There’s no imposition. Here, please speak to your father.”

  For the first time in her life, Alexandra had to use the clumsy device in order to communicate with her father. To her it didn’t seem real that his voice could come out of that thing, yet there it was and it was indeed him on the other end. When she finished speaking, she handed the earpiece back to the Maestro, not knowing what to do with it. The professor took it from her unsure hands and placed it up to his ear.

  “All right, Joseph, we’ll see you tomorrow. If you like you can call here in the morning. I do hope the weather won’t affect the telephone lines.”

  Finally, he hung the telephone earpiece on a hook, thus ending the call.

  “Have you eaten anything today?”

  “No, well, I had breakfast and a few bites for lunch,” she said.

  “Hmm, well, Cora made some dinner before she left. Thank goodness she doesn’t live far from here or she’d be spending the night as well. Come on, let’s eat.”

  The Maestro’s kitchen was not as large as would be usual for such a home. Alexandra assumed he usually ate his meals in the dining room, so a large kitchen wouldn’t be necessary. Regardless, it was a cheery place with white-painted cupboards arranged neatly in a row. Each cupboard door had polished, slightly concave rectangular knobs in which you could see your reflection upside down. In the centre of the kitchen was a simple table covered with a checker yellow table cloth. The professor heated their meal in the stove which occupied one corner of the kitchen.

  “Guess what, Maestro? We had some guests at the café the other day, and they turned out to be some musicians from Detroit! We even played some songs together!”

  “Very good my dear. Are they professional?” he said as he set out their meals.

  “I believe so. They play at weddings and such events. They even asked me to go to Detroit and play with them, but my papa won’t let me,” she said, frowning. “He says I’m too young. Do you think I’m too young to go to Detroit by myself, Maestro?”

  “Well I happen to believe your father is right; I think it would be better if they came here instead. In fact, when you do get together, I’d like to come hear you. By the way, I wanted to tell you that your friends Robert and Emma approached me about taking violin lessons,” he said with an air of frustration in his voice.

  Alexandra stopped chewing and looked up at the professor. “I’m so sorry Maestro! I completely forgot to ask you about that! I was talking to Emma in the schoolyard and –”

  “You know it’s been a long time since I’ve taught anyone to play the violin.”

  “You’re teaching me, though, Maestro!”

  “It’s not the same thing, young lady, and you know it! They’re absolute beginners! I’d be teaching them from scratch!” he said gruffly, a pained look crossing his face. “In any event, relax, child. I decided to do it. I’ve determined that this will be a professional challenge for me. However, I won’t be doing it alone. You’re going to help me, and we’re going to start after the New Year. It’ll be a good experience for you as well.”

  “How can it be a good experience for me, Maestro?”

  The professor laughed. “It’ll give you good experience with amateurs and how to teach them. I’m no fool my dear, never forget that. Consider this as teacher training for you! Remember something – you never know where your musical career can lead you, and it’s just as well to be prepared. I’ll be the first one to tell you that. Now finish your dinner before it gets cold!”

  When they returned to the warmth of the professor’s study they could see a blowing frenzy of swirling snow through the grand windows beyond the piano. The fire crackled in the fireplace and the professor poked at it with a metal rod. Red embers glowed anew from the wood under the flames.

  The furniture in the professor’s study was arranged with two small couches facing each other at right angles several feet from the fireplace. A coffee table separated the two sofas. Alexandra sat on one sofa and the professor faced her on the other.

  “Thank you again for allowing me to stay the night. You’re always right, Maestro. I couldn’t have survived that walk.”

  “Well, you almost died on me once, remember?” he said, chortling.

  “You mean that rainy day when I came into the café all wet?”

  “Yes, I shall never forget that!”

  Alexandra smiled and leaned forward, intent on changing the topic. “Tell me the story, please Maestro, of how you got your violin!”

  “I’ve already told you that story, my dear.”

  “But you only told me when and where you got it and not so much how. I’d like to know all the details.”

  The professor settled back on his couch. He rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He drew in and released a deep breath. “Well, my dear, it’s a very long story.”

  “I’ve got all night to listen,” Alexandra said, smiling.

  “Very well then. I believe you to be a trustworthy person who won’t go about telling this to everyone. All right, as you know, I played in many different orchestras in Europe. At one time I knew a very special lady. She was a member of the orchestra I was playing with in Kiev. She was a Ukrainian woman, very beautiful, extremely intelligent and wonderfully talented. In our spare time we would often play duets together. After a while we fell in love. Her name was Valentina.”

  Alexandra restrained a knowing smile. She always felt the Maestro had been in love. That knowledge hadn’t come from any vision, it was just good old-fashioned intuition.

  “She gave me this violin for Christmas one year. In honour of her, I decided to name it Valentina. When she gave it to me, she told me that every time I played it I would think of her. Oh how right she was! I played love ballads for her on that instrument; I must confess I’ve done my very best work on it. It inspired me. She inspired me. I continued to meet her regularly in cafés, restaurants and in any public, respectable places. I made up my mind I wanted to marry her, spend the rest of my life with her, have a family with her.

  “About a year after we met, we went into our regular café. We liked that place; it was familiar to us and very comfortable. We were having a lovely time, a wonderful conversation. Everythin
g was going so well. Then she told me she wanted to ‘interrupt’ our relationship. She had other plans, other ambitions she wanted to pursue in her life.”

  “Oh Maestro, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “So, here I am years later with this wonderful violin. It’s not the most expensive instrument in the world and I wouldn’t get much if I tried selling it. However, it’s valuable to me. Whatever shall I do with it? In a way, I feel I am cursed with this instrument and cannot part with it. It’s all I have left of my dear Valentina.”

  Alexandra sat still, mesmerized by the Maestro’s tale of lost love.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that, Maestro,” she sniffled. Regardless, he sat across from her dry-eyed and emotionally weathered.

  “I do think about her every time I play that violin. Anyway, I don’t often get to tell that story to anyone and quite frankly, I seldom get asked about it. So now you know the story behind my violin. I trust you won’t tell anyone what I’ve just told you.”

  Alexandra looked across the table, focusing on him with understanding eyes. She smiled. “Your secret is safe with me, Maestro.”

  * * *

  Alexandra and the professor spent another two hours sitting up talking. He told her, in great detail, all about the splendid symphony orchestras of Europe, the magnificent and ornate concert halls and the wonderfully talented musicians he’d met. He concluded by telling her that despite all this, his heart always yearned to be home.

  Finally exhausted after a long day, Alexandra went up to the bedroom appointed her by the professor. It was a well-kept, tidy little bedchamber with a dresser, table and chair, and a bed just big enough for her. She had the feeling that despite the cleanliness of the room, it hadn’t been slept in by anyone for years. After bidding goodnight to the professor, she promptly readied herself and went to bed, quickly falling asleep, oblivious to the glorious white wonderland whirling and dancing just outside her window.

  When dawn broke the following morning, Alexandra rose and peeked out the dormered window. She was pleased to find that the snow had accumulated to impressive depths and had covered every possible thing – including the professor’s prized rose bushes. She could hear him downstairs playing the violin. She got herself ready, fixed her hair, and went down to meet him.

  She walked into the professor’s study, the source of the music, where she found him happily playing his violin near the grand windows. He promptly stopped when she entered the room. “Good morning, Miss Alexandra, I trust you slept well.”

  “I heard you playing that wonderful melody, Maestro! It reminded me of Christmases past and I couldn’t wait to come down and hear you play it.”

  “Well, I was hoping the music would wake you, actually. You know it’s already well past 9:00 a.m. and I’ve been up for almost three hours myself. In fact, I’ve already called your father and he’s on his way. I expect he’ll be here soon. In the meantime, we can have some breakfast. Believe it or not I can cook. I’m not entirely helpless!”

  Alexandra laughed. “I’ll help if you get into trouble. After all, I’m no stranger to cooking, either. You’ll just have to show me where everything is.”

  They went to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast with Alexandra gathering the necessary flour, eggs, butter, milk, and so on.

  While she was scooping the batter into the frying pan, Joseph rapped on the door. The professor promptly walked over and welcomed him in – along with an icy blast of air.

  “Please, won’t you come in and warm up. Your Alexandra is making breakfast for us all and you’re just in time.”

  They entered the kitchen and Alexandra served their plates.

  “So sorry I’m a bit late, Angel. The snow is really deep, so I bought you a new pair of boots.”

  Alexandra looked at the boots. They were black leather with a dozen small buttons neatly arranged in a row which closed up a central flap. “They’re beautiful, Papa! Thank you so much! Wherever did you get them?”

  “On the way here I stopped in at Clarke’s Shoes. While I was there, I ran into Mr. Nesbitt and he talked my ear off for the longest time.”

  Alexandra remembered Mr. Nesbitt and how he used to have a jewellery store in Windsor. When she was really little, her mother would often walk past that shop with her and sometimes they’d wander inside and dream of the sparkling items on display. Now the man was selling shoes at Clarke’s. It turned out that George had convinced Nesbitt to buy large numbers of shares in a company which later went bankrupt. Following that ordeal, Nesbitt was forced to sell his shop and take on any work he could find in order to support his family.

  “How is Mr. Nesbitt doing?”

  “He’s doing better now. His wife took a job as a seamstress and their oldest son quit school and got a job to help the family finances. It’s remarkable what people will do to survive!”

  They sat down and began eating. Joseph seemed eager to say something. “My visit here today is two fold, Hergie. Not only have I come to pick up Alexandra, but I’ve also come to personally extend an invitation to you.”

  The professor looked at Joseph, one curious eyebrow raised.

  “Marcie is having Christmas dinner at her home, and she has invited Alexandra and me to come over. In fact, we go there every year; it’s become a tradition. It’ll be a grand feast, done Marcie-style of course, and she wants to know if you’d like to join us. I’m sure it’ll be a merry celebration. Oh yes, one more thing – if you can come, she’d like you to bring your violin. Perhaps you and Alexandra could play a duet.”

  Professor Herbert Hergicksen sat there confounded. There would be noisy children running about, disorder, dirty dishes, plenty of commotion. He didn’t know how he could possibly socialize with, and later entertain, all those unruly people.

  “I’d love to come,” he said, smiling. “Of course I’ll bring my violin.”

  Chapter 26

  Owen and his mother spent a great deal of time visiting George in London, spending many long hours at his bedside. Though his condition had improved, he still couldn’t speak. He slept most of the time, but during his waking hours he either stared at the ceiling or made brief eye contact to those who spoke with him. He could also turn his head and make small, jerky movements with his arms and legs. Despite his condition, Clara decided they should spend the holiday together.

  As the days passed, Clara came to the conclusion that all the social activities she was involved in were contributing nothing to her family. To the dismay of her many associations and social groups, she quit them all. Now with more time, she redirected her energies to encouraging George to get well. More than that, she also felt it was the perfect time to concentrate on changing Owen into a good, honest, and respectable adult as she couldn’t bear the thought of him growing up to be like his father. Finally, through all this time, the words she last heard from Alexandra constantly replayed through her mind – “It’s not too late.”

  * * *

  When Christmas Day arrived, Alexandra and Joseph attended early mass at St. Alphonsus Church. They weren’t surprised to find George’s pew empty, save for a small bouquet of flowers someone had placed there.

  Following mass, several members of the congregation, as usual, made small talk with Joseph outside on the steps of the church. The conversation always swung round to asking him about his brother’s condition. The answer was always the same – the doctors were doing all they could, he’s getting the best treatment, we all wish him a speedy recovery and we thank you for your thoughts and prayers during this difficult time.

  Soon after they arrived home from church, Joseph walked behind the counter and retrieved something from one of the shelves.

  “This came for you the other day, Angel,” he said, handing his daughter a small envelope. Affixed to it were several red and black British stamps featuring Queen Victoria in her jubilee year.

  “Sir Charles!” she said as she sprang on her feet. She slit the side of the envelope open with a knife and mumbled he
r way through the letter.

  “Papa! I’m so happy he remembered to write! He says he’s on the board of a music academy in London and has met so many interesting people! He also reminded me about the music festival in Ottawa in the spring! Wouldn’t it be great to go? Can I? He says the Maestro will know all about it!”

  “Well, I suppose anything is possible, Angel. Spring is still a long way off. Anyway, we should get ready because Professor Hergicksen will be here soon and we don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Alexandra put the letter upstairs in a special wooden box her father made. She kept all her small little treasures in that box, including some mementos from her mother.

  Professor Hergicksen pulled up on the snow-packed street in his sleigh, pulled by a single horse.