Anna Maria's Gift

by Janice Shefelman

  Anna Maria pulled the red uniform over her head. The cloth was rough and scratchy. It made her feel like an orphan.

  The other girls were dressed and standing at the foot of their beds. A nun waited silently at the door. Anna Maria pulled the blanket over her pillow and stepped into her place. Then the nun led them downstairs to the chapel.

  Anna Maria bent her knee, signed the cross, and sat down next to Silvia. Along one side of the chapel there was a deep balcony.

  “That’s where we perform,” Silvia whispered.

  Perform! The word sent a thrill of excitement through Anna Maria. She imagined playing her violin up there for all the world to hear. Maybe there was something good about living in this place.

  After Mass, the nun led them into the dining room for chocolate and rolls. There was no talking at breakfast, either.

  Anna Maria looked up and down the table at the other girls. They had ways of talking silently. Mouthed words, rolled eyes, a tilt of the head, an elbow nudge. Paolina was making fun of her. She pretended to play a violin. Then she hugged it and closed her eyes.

  Anna Maria turned to Silvia and mouthed the words I hate her. Silvia nodded.

  Three bells rang. The girls stood and filed out, table by table. At the door a nun smiled and called her over.

  “I am Sister Lidia, your aunt here. Welcome to the Pietà, dear child.”

  Anna Maria could only stare. Sister Lidia’s pale skin and gentle blue eyes stirred up a vivid memory.

  “Are you thinking that I look like your mother?” Sister Lidia asked.

  Anna Maria was surprised. “How did you know?”

  “Because your mother and I were best friends here. Everyone said we could be sisters. And who knows? Maybe we were.”

  Anna Maria flung her arms around Sister Lidia. “You are truly my aunt. I know you are!”

  “Perhaps so, dear child.” Sister Lidia took Anna Maria by the shoulders. “It is time for your class with Maestro Vivaldi. Go fetch your violin, and I’ll meet you on the first floor.”

  Anna Maria ran and got her violin. Sister Lidia led the way to the music room. As girls entered and sat down, she took Anna Maria to meet the maestro.

  He stood at the front of the room, dressed in a priest’s black robe. His red hair sprang out from under his cap like curling flames of fire. The Red Priest, he was called.

  “Maestro Vivaldi, this is Anna Maria Lombardini,” Sister Lidia said.

  “Daughter of the violin maker!” He paused, and his eyes grew serious. “I am sorry to hear of his passing, my dear. He had many violins yet to give the world.”

  Anna Maria looked down, clutching her violin case.

  “Could that be one of them?” he asked.

  She looked up at him. “Sì, Maestro.”

  “Will you play it for us?”

  Anna Maria nodded and took the violin out of the case. “This was my father’s favorite piece.”

  She closed her eyes and began to play the largo from Maestro Vivaldi’s own concerto. Dum dee-dee dum. As Anna Maria played, she was no longer in the music room. She was standing beside Papa’s bed. She played with all the sadness in her heart and heard his voice. Beautiful, Annina, beautiful.

  When she finished, there was complete silence. She opened her eyes and saw the maestro looking at her, nodding.

  “Thank you, my dear. Your teacher in Cremona lost an excellent student. I welcome you to our class.” He reached out his hand. “May I look at the instrument?”

  Anna Maria gave him the violin. He turned it over and back and read the inscription inside.

  “Now I understand why it has such a sweet yet powerful voice.” He handed the violin back. “You may sit here,” he said, “next to Paolina.”

  The hate in Paolina’s face took Anna Maria’s breath away.

  Maestro Vivaldi picked up his violin and bow. “Today, dear girls, we shall work on fingering. The music is before you—a lively little piece of mine. Try to keep the tips of your fingers upright.”

  He tucked the violin under his chin. “I will show you.” He inhaled through his large hooked nose and attacked. His bow rocked up and down. His fingers galloped about like a spider.

  Thoughts of Paolina flew out of Anna Maria’s head. She did not know it was possible to play the violin that way. She vowed to learn how.

  After a few days, Anna Maria knew the routine. Mass every morning and prayers seven times a day. In between were violin class, reading and grammar, arithmetic, religion, study, and practice. Violin classes with the maestro carried her through all the rest.

  Today the girls were working on their staccato—playing short, quick notes. Suddenly Maestro Vivaldi rapped on the music stand with his bow.

  “No, no, no!” he said, shaking his red curls. “Dear girls, you must relax your arm between strokes. I want ta-ta-ta, not ahhh-ahhh-ahhh.”

  The girls giggled.

  “Only Anna Maria is doing it correctly.” He looked at her. “Would you stand and demonstrate, my dear?”

  Her heart leaped with pleasure. She stood, faced the class, and glanced at Paolina. The sneer on her face made Anna Maria pause.

  “Is something wrong?” Maestro Vivaldi asked.

  Anna Maria shook Paolina out of her head. “No, Maestro.”

  With her bow over the violin, she took a quick breath. Stroke, relax, stroke, relax. Her bow bounced on the strings.

  “Brava,” said Maestro Vivaldi. He turned to the rest of the girls. “Did you hear how each stroke was separate—not slurred?”

  Anna Maria took her seat and felt hate radiating from Paolina. It ruined the maestro’s praise.

  That afternoon Anna Maria sat down in the empty courtyard to practice. It was a clear March day. The sun warmed the walls and paving stones. Maestro Vivaldi had given her a violin piece to work on. She placed the music beside her and began to play.

  After the final note, she realized that she was not alone. Sister Lidia sat on the other end of the bench.

  “Oh, Auntie, I didn’t see you,” said Anna Maria.

  “You were quite intent,” Sister Lidia said. “From what Maestro Vivaldi tells me, you are his most promising pupil.”

  Anna Maria nodded without smiling. “I think Paolina hates me for that.”

  “Sì, maybe so,” said the sister. “But you must love her in return.”

  Anna Maria shook her head. “I am not that good, Auntie. I love you, and I love Maestro Vivaldi. But I could never love Paolina.”

  “You must try, Anna Maria. Jesus said to love one another.”

  “He never knew Paolina!” Anna Maria said.

  Sister Lidia smiled, but it was not a joke.

  Late that night while everyone slept, a shadowy figure crept to the foot of Anna Maria’s bed. It opened the trunk, took the violin case, and tiptoed out the door.

  At first light Anna Maria woke and saw that her trunk was open. She crawled to the foot of the bed and looked in.

  “Someone has taken my violin!” she cried.

  Girls sat up in bed. Silvia rushed over and peered in the trunk. “It’s true. Is this someone’s cruel joke?”

  Anna Maria saw the smirk on Paolina’s face. “You took it!” she screamed. “I know you did.” With rage pounding in her chest, Anna Maria ran to Paolina’s bed.

  “Where are you hiding it?” She flung open Paolina’s trunk and began throwing clothes out. No violin there.

  Paolina jumped out of bed and shoved Anna Maria to the floor. “You stop that. I didn’t touch your precious violin.”

  Anna Maria scrambled up. She threw herself at Paolina and grabbed a handful of stringy black hair. “Give it back, or I’ll pull your hair out!”

  Paolina took hold of Anna Maria’s arm and sank her teeth into it. Sharp pain shot up to her shoulder. But Anna Maria did not let go.

  Sister Lidia appeared at the door. “Stop, stop now!” She rushed to the girls and pulled them apart. “Your arm is bleeding, Anna Maria. What happened?”


  “She stole my violin, Auntie. Make her give it back,” said Anna Maria.

  Sister Lidia looked at Paolina. “Is that true?”

  “No, why would I want it, Sister? Maestro Vivaldi lets me play one of his own,” Paolina said.

  The chapel bell began ringing.

  Sister Lidia glanced about the room. “Girls, time for your prayers. Mother Elena will decide what to do about this.”

  The other girls began murmuring their prayers. But they all watched to see what Sister Lidia would do.

  “You two girls get dressed and come with me,” she said. “Anna Maria, wash your arm first.”

  Anna Maria cried silently as she washed the blood from her arm. It stung, but she did not care. She wanted to wash Paolina’s spit off her skin. Most of all, she wanted her violin back.

  The two girls dressed and followed Sister Lidia downstairs. When the prioress opened the door, Anna Maria could not contain herself.

  “Paolina stole my violin, Mother Elena! My father’s gift,” she said.

  The prioress gasped. “Did you, Paolina?”

  The girl shook her head and looked down.

  “She did!” Anna Maria said. “She hates me, and I hate her.”

  Mother Elena put her finger on her lips for silence. She studied Paolina for a moment. “Very well then. Paolina, you will come to me after breakfast. Now it is time for Mass. I suggest you both reflect on what has happened.”

  During Mass Anna Maria reflected. She sat behind Paolina, staring at the back of her head. Papa’s violin. Papa’s voice.

  Suddenly she reached out and jerked Paolina’s hair—hard. Paolina screamed. She turned around and glared at Anna Maria. Mass came to a halt.

  Anna Maria sat with her hands in her lap and glared back.

  “Girls!” said a nun at the end of the row.

  “She pulled my hair!” Paolina said in a loud whisper.

  “She stole my violin!” Anna Maria answered.

  “Quiet!” The nun put a finger over her lips.

  The priest turned back to the altar and resumed his chant.

  At breakfast Anna Maria could not eat. None of the girls spoke their silent language. As they filed out of the dining room, Silvia whispered to her. “Don’t worry. Mother Elena will make her give your violin back.”

  Anna Maria nodded, but she was not so sure. What if Paolina had broken it in a jealous fit?

  In class Maestro Vivaldi said, “I am sorry to hear what happened. But your violin will surely be found.” Then he handed her Paolina’s violin. “For today you may play this one.”

  Anna Maria shook her head. “I cannot, Maestro.”

  “You must, my dear,” he insisted. “I know you are angry, but playing will ease your mind. Try it and see.”

  Anna Maria could not refuse him. She took the violin.

  He nodded and looked around at the girls. “On your music stands, you will find a little exercise I wrote. I hope you practiced your ta-ta-tas.”

  He raised his bow. “Ready?”

  “Sì, Maestro,” the girls said in unison.

  He started the beat. It was true that playing made Anna Maria forget. The notes were so fast that she could think of nothing else.

  When they finished, the girls were gasping or laughing. Some pretended to fall out of their chairs.

  “Maestro Vivaldi, you are trying to kill us!” said one.

  He laughed. “No, dear girls, just challenge you.”

  After class, Sister Lidia was waiting at the door. Anna Maria hurried to her. Maybe my violin has been found, she thought with a thrill.

  But Sister Lidia was not smiling. Her blue eyes were full of concern. “Come, Annina. Mother Elena has sent for you.”

  “Did she find my violin?” Anna Maria asked as they walked.

  “She told me nothing, dear.”

  Mother Elena sat at her desk facing Paolina.

  The prioress motioned for Anna Maria to sit. “Paolina has something to tell you.”

  But Anna Maria could not sit. She could not breathe. She could only stare at Paolina, who covered her face.

  “Come, Paolina, tell Anna Maria what you did with her violin,” Mother Elena urged.

  “I threw it out the window … into the canal,” Paolina said. Her voice was muffled by her hands.

  Anna Maria gasped and put her hand over her heart. No words would come.

  “Paolina will be punished,” the prioress went on. “She is suspended from classes to work in the kitchen.”

  Anna Maria turned and ran out of the room to the front door. She threw back the bolt and burst outside. There was Francesco, sitting in his gondola near the bridge.

  “Oh, Signor Francesco, will you take me to look for my violin? That wretched Paolina threw it into this canal last night!” She took a coin from her pocket. “I can pay.”

  “Put away your money, signorina. Of course I will.”

  He helped her into the gondola and untied the rope. Sister Lidia and Mother Elena rushed out.

  “Anna Maria, come back,” called Sister Lidia.

  “No! I want my violin. We’re going to look for it,” Anna Maria answered.

  Francesco leaned into the oar. “I’ll bring her back safely, Sisters,” he called.

  The gondola moved along below the windows of the Pietà. Anna Maria looked from side to side. She saw nothing. Had her beloved violin sunk to the bottom of the canal?

  “The tide is still in,” Francesco said. “Your violin could have floated farther inland.”

  He rowed on, through the narrow canal. Stone buildings rose up on either side. Finally they reached the north shore of the island, with no sign of her violin.

  “Oh, Signor Francesco, I cannot live without my violin. I shall die.” Anna Maria hid her face in the cushions and began to cry.

  Through her sobs she heard Francesco’s voice. “Why would this Paolina do such a thing, signorina?”

  “Because she hates me,” Anna Maria said into the cushions.

  “And why is that?” asked Francesco.

  Anna Maria sat up. “Because she is afraid I will become Maestro Vivaldi’s favorite instead of her. But I hate her a thousand times more than she hates me.”

  Francesco said nothing. He turned the gondola back toward the Pietà. The dark waters of the canal rippled with the motion of his oar.

  “I hate this canal,” Anna Maria said. “I hate Venice. I hate the Pietà. I hate Paolina.” She leaned against the cushions with a sigh. “I hate everything except you and your gondola and Maestro Vivaldi.”

  “I’m sorry you have lost your violin, signorina. But it is not as bad as hating everything. Without your violin you can still be a musician.”

  Anna Maria shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. It is not just a violin. It’s my father’s voice.”

  When they came up to the bridge, Sister Lidia stood waiting for her.

  “We didn’t find it,” Anna Maria called.

  Francesco tied the gondola and helped her out. “Signorina, you must not lose hope.”

  Sister Lidia looked at Francesco. “Signore, you could have caused trouble for Anna Maria.”

  “Excuse me, Sister.” He took off his red cap and bowed. “But I also could have helped find her violin. It was a risk worth taking.”

  Sister Lidia nodded and took Anna Maria by the hand. “Come, Annina.” She started walking toward the Pietà. “My heart breaks for you, but you must not leave without permission.”

  Anna Maria stopped and pulled her hand away. “I don’t care about the rules. I only care about my violin.”

  “I understand,” said Sister Lidia. “But you could be removed from violin class if it happens again. Your father would not want that and neither would I.”

  It was true.

  During supper Anna Maria stared at her plate of creamy rice. Even though she did not look at Paolina, she felt her presence.

  A nun was reading from the Bible.

  “Then came Peter to him, an
d said,

  ‘Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against

  me, and I forgive him? till seven times?’”

  That is for me, thought Anna Maria, but I’ll never forgive Paolina, not even once. She covered her ears.

  Silvia nudged her and pointed to the rice. Delicious, she mouthed.

  Anna Maria nodded and took a small bite. She had to work at swallowing.

  That night she lay awake as the other girls drew deep breaths of sleep. Help me, Papa, help me. Tell me what to do. She wept silently.

  In her mind’s eye she saw her violin at the bottom of the canal. Drowned. Papa’s voice was gone forever. What possible hope could there be?

  In the morning Anna Maria handed Paolina’s violin to Maestro Vivaldi. “Excuse me, Maestro, I would rather not play this violin,” she said.

  He shook his head sadly. “That Paolina. How could she throw such an instrument into the canal?” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Well then, I must find another for you.”

  The next day, Maestro Vivaldi walked into class with a violin. He set the case on a table and opened the lid. “Anna Maria, come up here, please.” He took out a dark red violin. “Your father made this violin for the Pietà before you were born.” He held it out to her. “I will loan it to you.”

  Anna Maria took the violin and embraced it. “Thank you, Maestro.”

  In the days that followed, she began to play the violin. But it was not the same. She could not hear Papa’s voice.

  Late one night Anna Maria lay awake. She listened to water lapping against the stone walls below. She got up, opened a window, and pushed back its shutters.

  Moonlight danced on the water of the basin. As she watched, she heard the faint sound of a violin. Annina, it seemed to sing. Annina.

  Her heart leaped. Someone in Venice was playing her violin! She leaned out the window.

  The music was coming from the west. I have to follow it now, she thought.

  Anna Maria tiptoed to the stairs. In the dark she could see only her white nightdress. Holding on to the rail, she crept down one step at a time. She knew the front door was locked. But maybe not the chapel.