Alexandra’s musical pleasures continued almost non-stop. Though the old nun hadn’t yet asked her and Owen to play their duet, there was still plenty to do. Her new friends, the group of musicians from Detroit, often stopped by. Whenever they did, they always played together – much to the delight of the diners in the café.
One of the greatest pleasures she received, however, was when she played her violin with Owen. The boy had indeed done a miraculous turnaround and seemed so much happier in his new life. At one point he even defended Robbie when someone tried calling the boy Rabbit Stew. “That’s not his name,” he said. As the weeks passed, he visited the café more often, especially with his mother when they were either on their way to, or taking the train from, London.
On a particularly rainy and foggy Friday afternoon in mid-April, Owen and his mother stopped by the café to say hello. The two cousins played a couple duets, as usual, with Owen using their pépé’s violin.
After they finished, Alexandra had an idea. “Owen, why don’t you bring Pépé’s violin up to London and play a song for your father?”
“Should I?” the boy asked his mother.
Clara paused a moment. “How do you feel with the violin, Owen?” she said.
“It’s fine, Mum, really. You’ve seen me play it and everything is all right. I don’t think it caused Father to have his problems. It’s just an old violin.”
Clara hesitated. “I suppose you’re right. I can’t see any harm in it. You may bring it.”
Alexandra packed the instrument carefully in its case, gave it to Owen, and bid them both bon voyage.
* * *
The big black locomotive from Windsor to London plunged steadily along through that foggy, drizzly April evening, belching vast plumes of spray out from under its churning wheels with their giant piston arms sawing back and forth.
When Owen, violin in hand, and his mother arrived at the hospital, George was not in his room, but was sitting in a wheelchair in the hospital atrium. He was staring straight ahead, eyes focused nowhere.
“George, dear, it’s Clara and Owen. We’ve come to visit you!” she said in a higher than normal tone as she straightened the collar on his shirt.
Owen knew that special voice, that artificially bright one his mother always made whenever she was trying to comfort someone in distress. She could produce that tone under any circumstances, even for someone on their deathbed, painting that scene with bright, rosy colours.
George continued staring blankly into nothing.
“Owen has brought your father’s violin! He’d like to play you a song! Isn’t it wonderful? I’ve already asked the head nurse, and she said it would be fine if he did.”
“Yes, Father, if you don’t mind, I’d like to play a song for you,” added Owen as he took out the family heirloom.
For some reason he could not explain, Owen felt a strong desire to play “Vienna Waltz,” the song he had first played with Alexandra. He held the violin up to his neck and relaxed his arm. Taking a deep breath, he began to play, the sounds coming from the instrument being sweet and delicate indeed. He soon closed his eyes as he enjoyed the rhythm and flow of the music. Without a doubt, the melody pouring forth from the strings of the instrument was truly magic, enchanting, captivating. Several couples in the atrium even started dancing and twirling about, especially the older people; the pleasant sounds taking their minds back many decades to the carefree, memorable days of their youth.
As he continued, Owen’s mind was taken up too, transported, travelling the countless eons through time and space. It was a magical journey; in fact he had never experienced anything like that in his life. Eventually he found himself in his father’s oak-panelled law office, a distant spectator in a great, seminal moment in the life of his family.
A young George Delmott was standing in that office with another young man. He had a legal document on his desk.
“Sign the contract, I’m warning you, this is your last chance,” said George.
“I will never sign it. The property is mine and I will never sell it – especially to the likes of you!”
“As you wish. You shall rue this day forever.”
Owen continued playing the melody, mesmerized by its delicate sounds and intrigued at the vision which played through his mind. Some couples danced merrily, swirling about just as they’d done in their younger days, while other people gathered in a circle around the young performer to watch and listen.
Owen stood gazing as his father set fire to various objects in a little shop in the middle of the night. Following that, he stood on the street corner with two other men and watched the flames grow in intensity, soon spreading to the neighbouring buildings and beyond.
Owen felt the passage of time. Secrets and silence: George spoke nothing of this for many years.
“How dare you swear an affidavit to the magistrate!” George stormed to a young woman. “I told you about the fire in confidence and you betrayed me! You were taking steps to have me prosecuted, weren’t you? You’d have me thrown in prison, wouldn’t you? Well, no matter, I’ve taken care of it. The magistrate belongs to me. Now you listen and you’d better listen well: Take only a few items of clothing and one small bag. Tonight a merchant seaman will take you to the address in this envelope. If you return, contact your family, or ever try to prosecute me again, I swear that your fate – and theirs, will lie in ashes as well. Of this you can be absolutely certain.”
The music and dancing came to a sudden halt. Owen’s eyes bolted open as he looked in horror at the man in front of him. George’s entire body was shaking and his fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were turning white. He struggled to speak, sputtering a few pitiful sounds as drool ran down his chin.
“George! What is it?” shouted Clara as she held the man up by his shoulders. “Quick! Please! Somebody get a doctor!”
* * *
Clara was relieved that it took only a few minutes for the doctors to arrive, but it took a good hour to calm George down. One doctor suspected he’d had an epileptic seizure, while another thought maybe he’d suffered the side effects of his new medication. Eventually though, George was taken back to his hospital bed.
“That’s all we can do for him tonight. We’ll keep a good eye on him; you’ve nothing to worry about. Please, get some rest and come back in the morning,” said the doctor.
Clara and Owen walked in silence to their hotel room. The hour was growing late, yet Clara was curious to know what happened. She hung up her coat and hat and sat in one of the rather uncomfortable looking wooden chairs. “I haven’t seen your father like that since –”
“Since that day he accidentally heard Alexandra play the violin,” said Owen.
Clara remembered that day clearly. Though the time and situation were different, both events somehow had the same strange feel, the same strange atmosphere to them.
“Yes, since that day. Now why did you choose to play that particular song for your father?”
“I’m not sure why I chose that, Mum. I played it recently with Alex and it was the first thing that entered my head,” he replied, sitting on the foot of the bed.
“Do you believe your pépé’s violin is magic, Owen? I have to ask because I have never in my life seen you play any violin like that. I’ve also never seen people dancing with each other to your music, too. You’ve played in the past Owen, and God knows you’ve done it well. But this time was much different. I also saw the look on your face as you finished the song and how you looked at your father. You were horrified.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t at the way he looked. In fact, I wasn’t even surprised. It was because of the vision I had of him as a young man.”
“What? Are you trying to tell me you’re having visions, too?”
“Songs bring back memories in people, Mum. Think of it, you hear a song that you used to hear when you were young. Memories come back from that time. Alexandra could see them in other people. She could see them ages ago but I couldn’t until
now.”
“Tell me what you saw, Owen. I’d really like to know,” she said in her false, cheery voice.
Owen leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Perhaps it was the same sort of vision Alexandra gets, I don’t know and I can’t be sure. I don’t even know if it was real, but it sure seemed real to me. Perhaps you can help me make sense of it.”
“Maybe I can, but I want you to tell me, and God help you, you’d better tell me the truth.”
“Why not? In my vision I saw Father when he was young. He was trying to make someone sign a contract. I think Father wanted to buy some property from that man. I don’t know who the man was; I’d never met him. When the man wouldn’t sign, Father threatened him. Later that night, Father made good on his threat by setting fire to the neighbouring building. He wanted to make it look like an accident. However, the fire spread quickly and ended up burning half the town.”
Clara stretched her memory back to the night of the fire. She remembered well the chaos, panic, the smoky air, the cries of the women and children. She also recalled George coming home and walking into their bedroom in the wee hours of the morning. She remembered his defiant attitude and heartless remarks, which he spouted over and over: “Serves him right, he had it coming. His problems are only beginning now, ha!” Yet somehow despite all this, she naïvely believed that through love, time, and patience she could change him. She accepted it as a personal challenge – to mould him, form him, and shape him to her ways.
“To make matters worse, there was something else. You knew all along that Father had done it. You never spoke about it with him, but you knew. You kept silent and said nothing to anyone.”
“Stop!” she said, on the verge of tears, her voice real. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
“But Mum, there’s more! It’s very important! I have to tell you!”
“I don’t want to hear it, whatever it is!” she said, sobbing. “I also don’t want you playing that thing ever again. In the morning, I want you to do what you do best.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to destroy it.”
Chapter 29
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Owen and Clara were startled awake by the sound of a pounding fist on the door of their hotel room. It was 4:00 a.m.
Clara lit her lamp, donned her robe and walked to the door. Owen sat up in his bed, curious as to who might call at this hour.
“Who is it?” asked Clara through the door.
“I’m from the hotel staff, ma’am. I have an important message for you.”
Clara opened the door a crack. Owen could barely see a man standing there dressed in hotel livery. “I’m so sorry to disturb you ma’am, but the hospital just phoned. There’s been a change in your husband’s condition.”
“What change?”
“They wouldn’t give all the details, ma’am. They only said he’s got up from his bed and walked straight up to a nurse in the corridor. He’s speaking. He asked about you and your son. The hospital wants you to go there quickly.”
Owen and his mother wasted no time getting dressed and leaving the hotel for the hospital. “If your father can indeed speak, and dear God in heaven I hope he can, I want you to say nothing about last night’s events – or about the visions you had.”
“I understand, though I can’t help thinking about what I saw him do.”
“Hold your tongue, young man! Your fantasy proves nothing, especially now,” said Clara.
Upon entering the foyer, they were greeted by an anxious young nurse. “He just about scared me to death! He remembers nothing from last night and wants to go home.”
“Thank you,” said Clara. “Where is he?”
“He’s in the atrium. This way, please.”
The nurse escorted them into the atrium where they saw George sitting in an armchair. He was fully dressed and looked ready to leave. The big room was devoid of anyone except two nurses and a cleaning lady.
“Clara, my dear! Owen!” said George upon seeing them. “I’m so happy to see you! Where’ve you been? What is this place?”
“George dear, you’ve had some medical problems. We nearly thought we’d lost you. I’m so happy you’re back with us! You know, we’re at a special hospital in London. Didn’t the nurse tell you? We sent you here so that you could get the very best care.”
George turned his attention to the boy. “Owen, how’ve you been, son? I’m pleased that you’ve come with your mother all this way.”
“Hello, Father,” said Owen, looking at the man through new eyes. “Lots has changed since you’ve been away.”
“Well, it’s high time I go home, don’t you think?”
“I’m sure we can, George dear. We can take the early train back to Windsor. However, I was told that the doctor should check you over and sign your release forms. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, and we must be sure everything is all right before you leave!”
After hesitating a while, George agreed. They sat talking as the night gave way to the first rays of morning sunshine. Finally Clara, not willing to leave George, sent Owen back to the hotel to check out and collect their meagre things. She also sent him off to do as she bid with the violin.
As he retraced his steps to the hotel, Owen’s mind dwelt on the permanence of the task set before him – and the guilt he would suffer the rest of his days. He also thought about how Alexandra was delighted to have the instrument back, to save it, preserve it, and pass it on to her children someday. She also loaned it to him in good faith and if he destroyed it, any trust he earned from her would be destroyed as well – and that, indeed, would be worst of all. Nausea churned in his stomach.
Despite everything, Owen Delmott always considered himself a clever boy. He entered the hotel room and sat at the table. He took two pieces of paper and quickly scrawled a few lines on each one, slipping one of the notes inside the violin case. He collected all their belongings – two small suitcases plus the violin, and took everything to the front desk. “I would like to check out,” he said to the young man tending the reception desk. “I would also like you to do me a favour, if you please.”
“Yes, of course.”
He handed the second hand-written note to the desk clerk, along with a sum of money and the violin.
“I’d like you to package this instrument extra well. It is extremely valuable. Then I want you to mail it here. I hope this will be enough money.”
The clerk took the note and read it aloud. “Alexandra Delmott, Goyeau Street, Windsor, Ontario. Very good.”
* * *
“Good morning, Angel!” said Joseph from his paper-strewn table one day in late April. “Today’s the day!”
“What day is it today, Papa?”
“Why, it’s Thursday today, of course!” he said, laughing.
“What’s so special about Thursday?” she said with a hand on her hip and laughing.
“Ah, don’t you know that Thursdays are special days?” he took his glasses off and winked. “Only good things happen on Thursdays! It’s my favourite day of the week!”
Alexandra thought the man had lost his mind.
“Ah, before you think I’m crazy, I wanted to say we’re breaking ground on the new house today. Everything is all staked out. Here, have a look at this,” he said, motioning toward a large paper spread out across the table.
“Our new house! Oh Papa, it’s so exciting! I can’t wait for it to be built!”
“Look here,” he said, pointing at the blueprints. “Do you see this? This is where your bedroom will be, and it’s twice the size of the one you have now. This is also our kitchen, a real kitchen, so we won’t be sharing it with the restaurant any longer, and this is the parlour. Also, on this next blueprint we have the new restaurant. It, too, is twice the size of this one and it even has a special section where you and other musicians can play.”
“Papa, really, this is like a dream come true and I can hardly believe it. I’d like to go there after
school with Robbie and Emma. Maybe even Owen could join us, though he hasn’t been to school at all this week. Would you mind?”
“Well, of course you may! But I think there won’t be much to see except for workers digging a hole in the ground, but you’re welcome to go.”
“I will. When I go, I’ll take a mind-photo so that I can remember it always. I’ll stand across the street, look at the empty lot and remember exactly what it looks like. Then, I’ll close my eyes. In a few months, when it’s all complete, I’ll return to that exact same spot and again I’ll close my eyes. When I open them, everything will be finished!”
“You’re just as crazy as I am, girl,” he said, chuckling. “Now I know where you get it from. By the way, you’ve received a letter in the mail, and a parcel,” said Joseph as he walked behind the counter and retrieved the items.
Aydy's Fiddle - The Memory Thief Page 24