Aydy's Fiddle - The Memory Thief

by Edward Curnutte

  “I do, Maestro, and I would really like to visit you three times a week if that’s possible, if that’s not too much trouble,” she enquired as they stepped in the side door.

  Without saying a word, the professor handed the bouquet to Cora, who promptly disappeared with it to another room. Alexandra imagined this situation had repeated itself many times in the past. She also pondered again why the professor had never married. How wonderful it would be, she thought, to have such a man who’d be in a position to give flowers to his wife every day! She also wondered how he could live in such a magnificent home and on such lovely property yet have no one to share it with. Again, the thought of that made her rather sad.

  “Miss Alexandra, did you hear me?”

  Alexandra blinked her eyes. “Yes, Maestro?”

  “Well my dear, I just said that we can meet Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays right after you finish school. Also, you needn’t bring your violin because I have several here and you can choose one of them to play.”

  “Thank you ever so much, Maestro!” she said, resisting the urge to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Let’s not waste an opportunity,” said the professor. “We can play something together now.”

  * * *

  Early the following morning Joseph was sitting at his usual table sipping coffee when Alexandra came trundling down the stairs.

  “Good morning, Papa! I’m bringing Nellie to school today because I’m going to play a song for the class. Sister Rose found out about the competition, and so she wants me to play.”

  “Oh it’s today that she wants you to play, is it? Sit down, please, and tell me more.”

  Alexandra took a seat opposite him at the table. She leaned forward, pressing her chest against the table, hands in her lap.

  “Yes, Papa, Sister Rose seemed quite insistent. She wanted me to play a duet with Owen, but I’m not sure he will do it. I saw her talking to him during lunch, but that’s all.”

  “Well, perhaps that’s all the better and divine intervention will prevent him from going to school today. We do remember what happened at the competition, right?”

  “Of course, Papa, but I also think Uncle George left the competition early because he didn’t want to be involved in any more visions I had. Maybe it was too much for him.”

  “Or maybe he has difficulty in accepting a loss at a competition,” Joseph said. “Anyway, you should eat your breakfast. Marcie is going to be here soon.”

  Joseph went to the kitchen and after several minutes returned with a plate of pancakes. Alexandra began gobbling them down as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

  “I’ve also revised my music schedule with the Maestro,” she said between bites. “I’ll be going three days a week after school. By the way, do you like my bouquet?”

  “Those are yours?” he asked, leaning over to sniff them. “They’re really pretty. I thought Marcie brought them. I didn’t know you have a suitor! Am I going to lose you already?”

  “Well, Papa, I don’t think you’d approve of the Maestro being my suitor,” she said, laughing. “He’s so old and gnarly. He’s also a gardener!”

  Joseph burst out laughing and Alexandra smiled impishly as she finished her breakfast. Just before going out the door, she turned back as if she had forgotten something.

  “Papa, can you make a braid in my hair? You do such a good job! I dare not try Sister Rose’s patience!”

  “Certainly I can.”

  Alexandra retrieved the necessary brushes and combs for the task and sat down on a chair with her back toward her father. He brushed her straight back, making strands on each side and weaving them this way and that. He did this many times before and had become quite good at it. People often wondered if he hired a hairdresser, as certainly a man would not know the first thing about styling a girl’s hair. On the whole, he felt an overall level of pride in raising a daughter alone. He had already spoken with her about the changes she could expect with her body, such matters as what happens to a woman every month. Most Catholic parents did not discuss such topics with their children, thus leaving them to discover these things on their own. Since Helen had left, the responsibility fell to him. He addressed the topic of reproduction one day after church when Alexandra was asking questions about a pregnant woman.

  “There you go my dear, all done!”

  “Thank you, Papa!” Promptly standing up, she turned round, kissed him on the cheek, gathered her books and violin and was gone, leaving the little brass bell on the door clattering and echoing through the empty café.

  Joseph returned to his favourite table and sat down, his legs crossed. The whole café seemed drained of life after the girl left. He looked down at Alexandra’s brush and comb lying on the table. Taking a sip of his coffee, he absorbed the silence of his surroundings. He again looked at the finely decorated hairbrush, the pearly handle, the bristles with stray hairs wound and caught through them. He remembered his wife using this same brush eight, almost nine, years before. He himself had no use for such things and wondered how much longer such feminine objects would remain in his life. Such items were also a painful reminder of Helen and her departure – and his failure. He thought about how busy he always was, how he hadn’t spent enough time with his wife, his two-week absence while he worked on the farm struggling against the weather to collect the last harvest. Most of all, he remembered the fateful words of her goodbye note which still continued to torment him.

  Life was passing by each day at a time and he wondered what it would be like in the future, in the distant future when Alexandra either moved away to attend some distant music school, or got married and started a family of her own. In either case, the result would be the same – he would be alone. He would be alone even if the café were full of noisy people and he was doing any sort of busywork. No matter what, each morning would find him here, at this table, drinking his coffee, missing his wife, missing his daughter, pondering the future and regretting the past.

  At that moment, the brass bell announced the entrance of Marcie and the end of the day’s silence. She wasted no time in setting about getting things ready.

  “Good morning, Joseph!” she said as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Hello, Marcie. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you yesterday. How was everything?” He had to project his voice so she could hear him.

  Marcie emerged from the kitchen. “Well, Joseph, there was a man here to see you yesterday. I told him to come back in the morning, so I expect he’ll be here soon.”

  “Oh really? Did he leave his name?”

  “As a matter of fact, he did. He said his name was Sir Charles Stanley.”

  Chapter 19

  While Joseph was helping with the rush of morning customers, he spotted a familiar figure walking in the door. He washed his hands and greeted the new guest, who had taken a seat at the counter.

  “Welcome, Sir Charles!” said Joseph, reaching out a damp hand. “What brings you into town?”

  “Good to be here, Joseph,” Stanley said. “I do hope you and young Alexandra have been well. How is the dear young lady?”

  “She’s been quite well, thank you. She suffered a couple more days with her cold, but she’s been fit as her fiddle ever since,” he laughed. “She really had a wonderful time in London and regrets not being able to stay longer. She does hope the competition will be held at your estate next year, too.”

  “Well, I would love to have her, of course, but unfortunately that won’t happen. Joseph, I’ve come to Windsor to say goodbye as circumstances have dictated my return to England. Before I leave, though, I have some things I want to tell you which are of an extremely urgent nature. I also need to pay a visit to your brother.”

  Joseph looked at him in alarm.

  “I hope I will not offend you with my words, Joseph, because that’s not my intention. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to tell you in person and to make a confession as well. I was involved in some business dealings in which your brothe
r did the legal work. He helped me through a great many things, Joseph, pulled lots of strings for me, got me on my feet and helped me to become quite wealthy. I really owed him a favour, and on the day of the competition, he wanted to collect.”

  Joseph focused his gaze suspiciously at Stanley.

  “Look, Joseph, your brother George has some serious personal matters which are deeply troubling to him. I don’t know how to tell you this other than to say it bluntly: he wants to harm your daughter. He wanted me to do it during the competition by giving her a rare, highly potent formulation from my pharmaceutical company. He said we could easily get away with it because she was already ill and so any deterioration in her condition could be blamed on her system reacting adversely to it. However, Joseph, I’m convinced that what he wanted me to give her would’ve been nearly fatal, or at least severely debilitating. I couldn’t do such a horrific thing, Joseph. I couldn’t do it for any price or under any threat.”

  Joseph continued to stand motionless, his eyes fixed on Stanley’s moving mouth.

  “Mr. Delmott, are you all right?”

  “I need some air. Let’s sit outside,” said Joseph.

  The two stepped out into the crisp October morning and sat at a table under the awning. The fresh air had an immediate and positive impact on Joseph. He raised his hands to his face, rubbed his eyes, and swept his hair straight back. He now realized that his brother would no longer be satisfied with taking the violin; that he was now threatening Alexandra’s life – or at least trying to harm her so she could no longer pose any threat to him.

  Marcie stepped outside. She ignored Stanley and spoke to Joseph.

  “Joseph, you don’t look so well. Can I get you something?”

  “I’ll be fine, but could you bring me a glass of water, please?”

  In a few moments she returned with the requested glass of water, complete with a slice of lemon.

  “Let me know if you need anything else, Joseph,” she said as she handed him the glass and returned inside.

  Joseph took a sip and looked out at the sidewalk and street. Gentlemen walked arm-in-arm with their ladies in the autumn sunshine. He heard the metallic sounds of the streetcars, saw the horses and carriages, and even the street cleaners. The world carried on as usual, but to him it would never be the same again.

  “Stanley, there’s a question that nags me. Why does my brother want to harm, or even kill, my daughter? Why did you agree, at first, to help him?”

  Stanley focused squarely on him. “Joseph, honestly now, your brother didn’t tell me why he wanted to hurt her. ‘None of your concern,’ he said – or something like that. He was very angry. He even called Alexandra a witch! Has Alexandra said anything to you about her uncle?”

  “Yes, but I don’t want to discuss that with you.”

  “Very well.”

  “Now, please answer my other question,” said Joseph. “Why did you agree to harm her?”

  “Your brother threatened to report me to the tax department, get me audited, and told me I’d lose everything. However, I never had any intention of doing as he bid, and realized full well what the personal ramifications would be. In the days following the competition, I decided to sell my stake in the company and put my house on the market. It’s time to retire anyway, Joseph, and to return home. I suppose you could say this whole ordeal was my impetus. In any event, believe me when I tell you I could never harm anyone, especially an innocent child. But be careful, Joseph, your brother is a very dangerous man.”

  “Thank you, Stanley, for this information,” said Joseph, standing up. “My brother is going to get a little visit – from me.” He left Stanley alone at his table and set out for the law offices of Delmott, Cord & Brewster.

  ***

  Alexandra took her place in Sister Rose’s classroom, where the desks were filled with well-disciplined little students immaculately dressed for school. They were about as well disciplined as they could be, for everyone knew the old nun would have it no other way. However, there was an air of anxiety that day as Alexandra brought her violin. Obviously a performance was in the offing, a rare musical treat from Aydy and her fiddle, officially requested and sanctioned by none other than the good sister herself.

  For her part, Alexandra did not want to be in a position where the other students would think she was better than they were, thus making them envious or jealous. The whole thought made her uneasy. She thought she had come up with the perfect idea – perfect until she noticed Owen with their pépé’s violin.

  The first part of the morning was dedicated to their catechism lesson, but after the morning recess Sister Rose took Alexandra and Owen aside and spoke to them in the corridor.

  “I would like you two to play the duet for the class when we go inside,” she insisted in her parched voice.

  “We could try,” said Alexandra, “though we’ve never practiced together and I can’t be sure how it will all come out.”

  “Well!” huffed the nun. “We shall soon see.”

  “Sister Rose, perhaps we could have a few minutes to tune our instruments and warm up?” said Owen.

  The nun paused, examining the boy as if she were actually considering his request.

  “Very well then,” she said, begrudgingly. “Take a few minutes at the back of the classroom to get ready.”

  Alexandra watched as Owen opened the case with D.C.D. embossed on the lid. Inside, she saw the small cloth, still folded over the instrument exactly as it was when she gave it to Owen. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps this was the first time he had opened the case at all.

  Naturally, heads turned towards the back of the room to see what the two were doing. Alexandra picked and plucked at the strings of her instrument. Owen took their pépé’s violin from its case and did likewise.

  Alexandra played a short excerpt from one of her many classical pieces as the old nun looked on.

  Owen put their pépé’s violin on his shoulder. But when he tried pulling the bow across the strings, there was nothing more than a leaden, hollow sound. Alexandra looked at him and he glared at her before trying again. The result was no better.

  “Is something the matter, Owen?” The old nun appeared irritated.

  “I’m not sure, Sister Rose. There seems to be something wrong with my violin,” he said before trying again. His efforts were rewarded with nothing more than dry, shapeless sounds and ghostly whispers. The students snickered.

  Alexandra could see Owen becoming visibly upset and worried he would smash this violin like the previous one. She knew there was nothing wrong with the instrument. The thought dawned on her that if it were a magic violin, maybe it refused to play for Owen and would only play for her. She briefly entertained the idea of taking it from the boy’s hands and playing it herself, but if it played for her and not him, it would humiliate the boy and goodness knows what he’d do then.

  “Sister Rose, I think something really is wrong with Owen’s violin. Perhaps he can return another day with his other violin and we can play our duet then. I can play a solo now if it pleases you.”

  “Very well. Master Delmott, please take your seat.” Owen took his seat next to Pierre amid the muffled snickers of his classmates.

  Alexandra, instrument in hand, walked to the front of the class. She stood straight and tall, positioning herself to play her song.

  “Sister Rose, I wish to dedicate this song to you, to Owen, and to my classmates.”

  The old nun nodded from behind her desk.

  Alexandra played a fine rendition of “Ave Maria,” a song she thought the old nun would like, and not too long. She played it with feeling and reverence, moving her body in small, graceful motions with the highs and lows of the music.

  When she sounded the final note, she looked at the nun and was startled to see her face with some real human colour to it, and even more than that, she was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. The students clapped their hands – all of them except Owen. He sat slouched i
n his seat, arms crossed.

  “Thank you very much Alexandra for that enlightening and moving performance,” said the nun. She rose from her desk and stood next to Alexandra.

  “You’re welcome, Sister Rose, and thank you for letting me play for you and my classmates.”

  Everything was going as planned until Sister Rose spoke again. “Owen, wasn’t that a wonderful performance? Don’t you wish you could play as well as your cousin?” Turning to the rest of the class the nun smiled. “Don’t you all wish you were good at something like our dear talented soloist Alexandra?”

  Listening to the nun’s words, Alexandra was mortified. Here she was – placed on a pedestal by the starchy old nun, on exhibit for all to see, an unwilling prima donna and worst of all, a teacher’s pet. All her hard work at navigating her way around and through the classroom politics while dealing with Owen had been ruined by the nun, spiralling round and vanishing down the drain forever.