Aydy's Fiddle - The Memory Thief

by Edward Curnutte

  “Again, Owen, you are a liar. I should’ve seen it a long time ago,” she said, shaking her head. “I just didn’t want to believe it. Don’t tell me your stories. I’m sick and tired of hearing them and I refuse to put up with them any more. I love you, yes, but I hate what you’re doing. I hate what you’re becoming.”

  For the first time in his life, Owen felt that he had been caught red-handed in a bald-faced lie and that this time there’d be no escape. Yet, he still tried. “Mum, honestly, I was walking along the sidewalk and that horrible man just swung round and punched me in the face. I can only think that he thought I was looking rudely at his girlfriend.”

  The disbelieving look on his mother’s face told him she was having none of it. “I came out of the shop and was looking for you, Owen. I saw a group of people standing round in a circle near the crossing, and I knew you were in there, I just knew it. I felt it in the pit of my stomach. I ran over and sure enough, there you were, knocked out cold. I asked someone what happened, and a young man told me you had shoved your shoulder rudely into his girlfriend as you passed. What’s more, he wasn’t the only one. There were others there who said you’d done the same to them. To my mind, and may God in heaven forgive me, you damned well deserved what you got.”

  Owen felt like he had been stripped naked by the cutting words of his mother, with not a single shred of clothes left to hide his disgrace. Not even his father could have dealt such a humiliating blow. He stood there and said nothing, knowing from that moment on his mother would never again believe anything he had to say. Now with no safe refuge within his family, he had a strong desire to run away. However, the winter was biting cold, he had no real money except for ten dollars in his wallet, no friends and no place to go. Frustrated, angry and bitter, he slumped down on the floor next to his bed and sulked, trying to come to terms with his new reality.

  Owen spent the rest of the day soul searching and hardly said anything to his mother. Despite that, they returned to the hospital together to say goodbye to George, who by then had already been moved back to his room. Owen looked at the wreckage of the man his father was. He wondered if an old violin had the power to cause such devastation, and why no harm came to Alexandra, or their grandfather, when they played that same instrument.

  The first half of the train ride back to Windsor proved uneventful. Owen was surprised that after his mother’s brutal chastisement she still wanted to sit next to him. He pondered the events of the last two days in his mind. He thought everything happening in his life was making him weary, exhausted, and frustrated. He wondered why other people were happy and successful and why all this had eluded him. Finally, he came to the conclusion that it was actually he who was making himself weary and miserable and it was getting him nowhere. After a while, he made a decision.

  “Mum, I’ll try to improve.”

  Clara was quick as lightning and hard as steel with her reply. “I hope you do. But you’ve got a long way to go to earn my trust again – if you ever do. I never want you to lie to me or anyone about anything ever again, Owen. That means all lying – big or small, white or black. You must also be ready to prove everything you say, because you’ll never know when I may ask for it.”

  “Understood.”

  “Oh, but I’m not finished! This doesn’t just end with you giving up lying. You’ve got to stop being a bully. I never in my life want to see another horrible sight like I saw yesterday, nor do I want to hear another story of you bullying, picking fights, speaking badly about people and so on. When you can do all that, you’ll have regained my trust – and my respect.”

  “I promise I’ll try, Mum,” he said with his head lowered.

  “However, I must admit I can’t blame you entirely for this situation,” she said. “Your father and I must also accept our share of responsibility for what you’ve become. We are your parents and we’re supposed to be raising you. We weren’t there to guide and lead you when you really needed it and I turned a blind eye to many of the horrible things you’ve done, hoping you’d somehow improve on your own. On my part, I accept my responsibility. If your father recovers, he’ll have to accept his as well. We both love you.”

  Owen thought about his mother’s words. At that moment, he felt two opposing forces pulling at him, nearly tearing him in half, the old one wanting him to remain on the same path, while the new one was tugging on him to embark on a vastly different course. The old one reminded him he could well blame his mother as the very reason he was failing so miserably at life. It told him that now would be the perfect time to jump in for the kill, hold her to account, bring the woman to her knees. She deserved it. The opposing force told him he could change his life-path, part with the old and welcome a new, bright future. The choice belonged to him alone and he made it with absolute certainty.

  “Mum, thank you for telling me this. I hold no bad feelings towards you. I also want to thank you for putting me right. I even remember one time Professor Hergicksen said, ‘Sometimes we need a good kick in the teeth to set us straight.’ I got mine from that man in London for real. However, I really needed it – and got it – from you. I want you to know that I, too, accept responsibility for what I’ve done. I’m so sorry. I’ve not been a son you can be proud of, and I’m so ashamed of myself. I don’t know how you can ever forgive me.”

  At that very moment, Owen Delmott died.

  A new, completely different Owen now sat in the train next to his mother, a single tear forming in his eye and running down his bruised face.

  “I’m also willing to work at it and prove it,” he said.

  “How is that? What do you mean?”

  “To begin with, I will apologize to Alexandra. I’m also going to give her back Pépé’s violin.”

  Chapter 28

  The following Monday morning found Alexandra lining up with the other students at the classroom door, waiting to enter. She had been whispering to Emma when she looked down the corridor and saw Owen. When he got closer, the noisy students fell into a hush. It was clear to everyone that the boy’s face was bruised, his eye was blackened and the white was bloodshot. He stood at the back of the line.

  Sister Rose was, of course, standing at the door scrutinizing each pupil as they entered. After Alexandra took her seat, she turned back just in time to see the nun’s arm go up in front of Owen. “Not you,” the nun barked, closing the door and leaving her and Owen in the corridor. After a few moments, the students began murmuring.

  “He’s got into another fight! Did you see that shiner?” said one.

  “Ha! He looks much better now!” mocked another.

  “I wonder what the other guy looks like!” said yet another.

  Alexandra was about to say something when the door to the classroom opened. Owen entered and sat at his desk. He was soon followed by the old nun, who seemed to ignore everything and whisked herself straight up to the front of the class. They said their morning prayers, as usual, and the nun began speaking to the class in her dry, parched voice. “Master Delmott has a few words he’d like to say,” she announced.

  All the students were hushed as Owen, appearing humbled, rose from his seat.

  “Um, I was going to say this to Alexandra in private but, ah, I changed my mind. You see, since I insulted her in public, I thought that in public I should also apologize.”

  Alexandra’s attention was fixed sceptically on the boy with the battered face. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trouble he’d gotten himself into this time and what brought him to this pivotal moment.

  “I’ve been horribly cruel to you, cousin,” he said, sputtering his words. “I’ve been mean, spiteful, jealous and envious. It was wrong for me to say such horrible things to you, especially when it was your birthday. So please accept this as my apology, and I’m also sorry it took so long for me to make it. Maybe in time you can forgive me.”

  “Bully!” grumbled one person.

  “Devil!” snapped another.

  “Shh now!�
� said Sister Rose with an air of irritation in her voice. “Let him continue, please!”

  “I deserve your words, yes, for I’ve often spoken them myself to others. I’m not finished, though. To anyone else I’ve offended by my rude behaviour or bullying, I apologize to you as well – and especially to you, Robbie Stuart.”

  Robbie sat in his place, eyes narrowing as he looked at the boy who just prostrated himself before the world.

  After he finished speaking, Owen sat back down in his seat and sighed deeply. A great, powerful silence filled the room.

  The students started murmuring again. “Was that really Owen? Did you hear that? Is it a joke? Who kidnapped Owen?”

  Alexandra raised her hand to speak. The old nun nodded. “Sister Rose, I’d like to thank my cousin for his apology and I hope everything will be better in the future. Perhaps we can try playing a duet for the class sometime.”

  The old, dry nun nodded her head once in agreement, the faintest trace of a smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

  * * *

  When Alexandra returned home after her music lesson that evening, she found Marcie sitting at a table talking to Owen. He was there by himself, his mother nowhere to be seen.

  Marcie got up from the table and approached Joseph. She spoke to them both in a low voice. “What on earth happened to Owen?” she asked before turning to Alexandra. “Well, no matter. It’s you he wants to speak with, Vogelein.”

  Alexandra removed her hat and coat. She slouched in the seat across from her cousin, arms folded warily across her chest.

  “I wanted to come here today to apologize to you in person and to return something which belongs to you,” said Owen. He reached under the table and handed her an object of familiar shape and size. Alexandra straightened up and, with uncertain, yet grateful hands, accepted it.

  “Thank you, Owen. I don’t know what to say. It feels like a dream, really, I –”

  “It will never make up for the way I’ve treated you, yet I believe now that our pépé wanted you to have this all along.”

  “Thank you so much, Owen, and now I have my Nellie, too. I’ve come to love that one as much as this. Our pépé’s violin shall be a great family heirloom, and I hope someday I can pass it along to my children.”

  “I also wanted to apologize to you, in person, for those horrible things I said in the classroom on your birthday,” he said before lowering his face.

  “I forgive you for that, Owen,” she said, rubbing the boy’s shoulder. “Especially when you said my mother ran off with a sailor. I knew all along it wasn’t true.”

  Owen offered no response. He sat silently, gazing down at the table. Alexandra studied him as an icy chill spread through her arms and legs. “That wasn’t true, was it?”

  As he continued looking down at the table, Alexandra noticed tears dripping down onto the tablecloth. He raised his head and looked at her. His bruised face was now glistening and wet, and his voice cracked as he spoke.

  “I’m so sorry, cousin. I was so cruel to you. I should have never said that. It was the cruellest, most wicked thing I’ve ever said to anyone.”

  “But was it true?” she asked again firmly.

  “I’m afraid it is.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I heard my parents talk about it often. They said that a sailor only came to the café two or three times and that one day your mother ran off with him.”

  Alexandra was trying to formulate another question when her father came and sat in the seat next to her. Casting a scornful glance at Owen, he placed his arm around Alexandra’s shoulders.

  “What’s the matter, Angel?”

  “Is it really true, Papa?” she said, voice breaking. “Did Mama really leave us for a sailor?”

  Joseph sighed and, after a few uncomfortable moments, spoke.

  “Angel, please forgive me. I’m such a coward. I’ve always wanted to protect you from harm, and from this harm I wanted to protect you from most of all. I’m sorry to say that it really is true. I can’t explain it all myself, really.”

  Owen sat silently, looking at neither Alexandra nor Joseph.

  Alexandra made a weak attempt to hit her father’s chest with her upturned fists, but quickly pressed her head into him. His arms engulfed her as she began weeping.

  After several minutes, her crying was reduced to whimpering, and finally to numbed silence. Joseph continued holding her in his arms, stroking her face and, using his fingers, moved the tear-soaked strands of hair away which hung near her eyes and tucked them behind her ears. Eventually she sat straight up and wiped the remaining wetness away with the backs of her hands. She sniffled as she spoke.

  “Owen, I want to thank you for telling me the truth, but it’s horrible you had to tell me this way. I also want to thank you for returning Pépé’s violin. I forgive you, but don’t you dare do anything to hurt me again.”

  “I won’t, I promise,” he said, glancing up.

  Turning her attention to her father, she continued. “Papa, why didn’t you tell me what really happened? How could you let me believe she just went away to rest? It’s so horrible to be living in false hope and finding out the truth – from Owen!”

  “Angel, I –”

  Marcie approached and stopped just short of where Alexandra sat. “Can I get anything for you, Vogelein?”

  The answer came immediately. “Yes. You can go upstairs and get my violin. I want to play a duet with Owen.”

  The boy looked up at Alexandra. Marcie set off up the stairs to the room where the girl kept her most valuable possession.

  “I don’t have my violin here, Alex,” said Owen.

  “You’ll play Pépé’s violin.”

  “It won’t play for me, remember?”

  “It will now,” she said.

  Joseph squeezed her shoulder once just as Marcie returned with the instrument. She carefully handed it to Alexandra, who delicately plucked at the strings to check the tuning. Alexandra watched as Owen opened the case with D.C.D. on the cover and removed the heirloom. He picked and plucked at the strings too, and the instrument sounded in perfect tune.

  Alexandra took up her bow and played a short series of notes. After she finished, she looked on as Owen raised their pépé’s violin up to his neck.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “Nothing bad will happen. Trust me.”

  Owen nodded, and focused his attention on the instrument. He sighed once and pulled the bow across the e-string. It resonated through the café with a crisp, clear sound. He did the same with the other strings, and they all sounded true as well. Finally, he played a short series of notes, which sounded bright and colourful.

  “Do you like Strauss?” asked Alexandra.

  “Yes, I know some of his music.”

  “Let’s try Vienna Waltz?” Alexandra suggested.

  “All right.”

  The two cousins stood opposite each other and held their bows up to their instruments. Alexandra began first, drawing her bow back across the strings, crisply playing the first few introductory notes of the waltz. Owen joined in moments later, and the sweet sound of the waltz spread through the whole building. Joseph sat at a table and watched, while Marcie watched from behind the counter. The few customers remaining in the café stopped talking and looked on. The two cousins played the song through from beginning to end, and Alexandra felt as if they’d been playing together for years.

  When they finished, Alexandra curtsied to Owen and he bowed to her and to their modest audience. Everyone in the café politely applauded the duo as they stood down and began packing up their instruments.

  “I’m glad to have my cousin back,” said Alexandra.

  “So am I,” replied Owen, smiling, as he returned their pépé’s violin to its case and gave it to Alexandra.

  * * *

  As the weeks turned into months, Alexandra enjoyed helping the professor teach Robbie and Emma to play the violin every Saturday. Soon they even received
practice instruments – second-hand violins the professor let them borrow. Alexandra was happy to see them making slow, steady progress as they worked diligently on their craft practising scales, bow movements, correct hand positions and so on. She was pleased when one of them could learn a new technique and improve on it. “It’s called professional satisfaction,” the Maestro would say. She really admired how he was so full of such useful little tidbits. One of her favourite expressions from him was, “if you really want to learn something, teach it,” and another, “you really don’t know something well enough until you can teach it to another person.” The Maestro was wise indeed, she thought, and she knew deep down who he had meant these lessons for.