Paradise World
Page 10
Chapter 7 - Food, Song and Joy
My father and I joined a group that was already preparing lunch under a shady tree. After some more Paradise greetings, we went to a nearby creek to wash our hands. Even though there were no longer any harmful bacteria or viruses around, we still washed the soil from our hands. Shortly thereafter, the others arrived. We then ate and drank, talked and laughed, all grateful to be alive in a wonder world as this.
Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable sound of someone tuning a guitar. It was Carlos. He then strummed an introductory chord progression and all became silent as we watched and heard him sing. After the first verse, others began to accompany him, and by the third, almost all had joined the hymn of praise. After the hymn and applause, Carlos stared directly at me, a teasing yet gentle smile on his face. "Ah, David, we've heard that you're a very good guitarist. I'm sure everybody would love to hear you play." After a chorus of encouragements, Carlos invitingly held out his guitar.
Being long accustomed to performing, I readily got up to play. However, I winced when I saw that the guitar was made from pinewood, a wood no luthier worthy of his name would ever have used. Yet, on closer inspection, I could see no signs of imperfection. The neck was straight and true, its fingerboard hard and perfectly smooth. I fingered an E major chord and slowly let my thumb glide over the nylon-like strings. The guitar was perfectly tuned, only far too flat for concert pitch. I asked Carlos whether the guitar could withstand a tightening of the strings. He assured me that it could. Accepting his confidence, I thus tuned the guitar to the desired pitch. I played the E chord again, this time genuinely amazed by the sweetness of its tone. I then played a C major scale and was similarly impressed by both its action and the trueness of each note. I shook my head in wonder and then looked up at him.
"This is a surprisingly good guitar!" I declared. "But how in the world could it be made from pinewood but still have such a beautiful tone?"
He laughed. "It's a special type of pine only found in Paradise. It has all the sound qualities of rosewood, yet it's also extremely strong."
I shook my head in disbelief. "And you made this guitar yourself?"
He smiled coyly and nodded. "But I think only a fine musician like yourself can make this instrument truly sing."
"But I'm not quite sure what you want me to play."
"Play whatever you like."
I smiled approvingly, then wondered what music from my classical repertoire would be appropriate for a gathering such as this. I decided on something light-hearted, romantic and familiar, and then immediately thought of Sebastian Yradier's famous habanera.
"What about La Paloma?" I asked.
Carlos beamed his approval. "Of course, that's a wonderful song!"
I loosened the low E bass string to a D, and then for a brief moment rehearsed in my mind Francisco Tarrega's guitar arrangement for this song. It had been a long time since I played it, yet it was not difficult, and I was confident that I could still play it well. Like nearly all classically trained guitarists, I normally played on a chair, and used a footstool to elevate my leg where the guitar would rest. However, here in this picnic setting I had to improvise. I thus crouched with one knee onto the ground, leaving the other elevated to support the guitar. I rechecked the tuning and then quickly played some scales to loosen up. Then, with my right hand fingers hovering over the strings, and my left hand fingers and thumb supporting the neck, I was ready to play.
I started with a glissando, firmly striking the fourth string and letting my little left hand finger slide from F# to an A. There then followed a tango-like habanera rhythm in the bass, a captivating rhythm that flowed through much of the song. Meanwhile, the melody continued to sing out from the treble strings. Already, during the first few bars, I noticed the looks of recognition from the audience. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the smiles of delight as I reached the middle section, my left hand fingering the lower neck of the guitar whilst plucking the strings hard with my right. Then, the third part, I played rubato, slower, more subdued. Finally, the melody ended, although the habanera rhythm played by my thumb continued for another three bars before I ended with a slow, drawn-out diminuendo cadence. There it was done.
My audience clapped and cheered, seemingly genuinely moved by my performance. Dad rushed up to me, excitedly slapping my back as he blustered, "Wow! Well done, son. That was great!" Others also came, though rather less boisterous and extravagant in their praise.
Carlos was the last to come. He embraced me. "Oh, how beautiful!" he said, genuinely moved. "It brought back so many memories of my family and friends when I was a young man in Mexico. Back then, everybody knew and loved that song."
However, despite all the praise, I thought of my beloved Jenny. It had been her favorite song. I then thought over the song's motive. La Paloma was Spanish, and translated into English as 'The Dove.' However, the motive itself dated back to ancient Greek times, where it was believed that white doves brought back a final message of love of those who were lost at sea.
Carlos saw the tears in my eyes. He tapped me gently on the shoulder. "Perhaps we are both thinking of the same thing. I'm waiting for my loved ones to return, and you of yours. Is that not true, amigo?"
I solemnly nodded, then whispered, "My wife."
He then gently held my arm. "My wife and child are already here, as are two of my sisters, but not yet my mother and father, nor my five brothers." He then paused and gave another one of his wide grins. "But let's not be so sad. Let's cheer ourselves up, hey! You know how to play the accompaniment to La Paloma?"
"Yes."
"Good! So what about you playing it and allowing me to sing along with the original Spanish lyrics?"
For a moment I remained silent, but through the urgings of the others, I finally agreed. I again squatted down and began the habanera rhythm, romantic and sedate.
Carlos laughed. "Play quicker, my friend. Let's make this song now happy!"
I increased the tempo significantly as Carlos began to sing in his rich baritone voice:
"Cuando sal? de la Habana;
Valgame Dios!
Nadie me ha visto salir
Si no fu? yo..."
After the song and the expected acclaim, Carlos and I sat down next to my parents and simply relaxed. I was happy again. The sun shone radiantly over our heads, the birds sang and the wind blew refreshingly upon us. I began to recline on the soft green grass, looking idly into the vivid blue sky that was speckled with small, puffy white clouds. I now heard somebody else playing music, a very simple tune on a simple bamboo flute, yet contributing perfectly to the ambience of tranquility and contentment we all felt. No, I could not be sad for long in a beautiful world like this, a world where all sorrows would be healed. Closing my eyes, I now thought of Jenny once more, my beautiful Jenny with her long blond hair, and of La Paloma, that beautiful dove relaying my own message of love to her. How perfect life now would be, I thought to myself, if she could also be here with us to revel in the delights of Paradise. I repeated the name 'Jenny' several times to myself as I listened to the soporific music, letting it all waft over me like a hot shower on a cold winter's night. Then gradually, I drifted off to sleep.