Page 12 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt
Upstairs, knowing the maids were still down in the kitchen, drinking some liquor that smelt like petroleum fluid and singing songs that didn’t sound much like carols to me, I put the violin case on my bed and opened it, my heart beating fast against my chest. There inside lay a violin which had been made for a small person like me and its original owner. It would be much easier to handle than the adult version Evelyn had kindly lent me. Drawing it out, I could see the signs of age upon it – the odd scratch on the walnut sheen, and dust covering the strings.
Sitting down, I removed it reverently from its case and held it up to my mouth and blew, watching the dust motes free themselves from their prison and dance around my bedroom. I would open my window and release them tomorrow. Then I took my handkerchief from my pocket and wiped the strings. I removed the bow, then placed the violin under my chin. It could not have felt more comfortable if it had tried. Then I lifted the bow, closed my eyes and played.
My heart danced out of my chest to join the dust motes as I heard the mellow sound of a well-made violin. Yes, the strings needed some adjustment after years of neglect, but that was simple. Inspired by Monsieur Landowski’s story aboutThe Nutcracker, I played the first few bars of the Overture. And then I chuckled out loud, and danced around my room, playing a jolly folk song I’d often played at home when things had been more difficult than usual. Panting with emotion, I felt suddenly faint and had to lie down on my bed, as my head steadied and I drank some water from the flask in the cupboard next to me.
To think that this time last year I’d believed that I’d never see another Christmas, yet here I was with a happy ending, just like Clara when she realises all she had seen was a dream. Or perhaps it was a new beginning.
I gave one last flashy stroke of the bow across...myinstrument, then put it back and stowed it under the bedsheets at the bottom so my toes could reach out and touch the case.
Settling down onto my pillows, I smiled and said, ‘I am Bo, and Iwillhave a happy ending.’
After what was a very jolly time in the Landowski household, especially the party on New Year’s Eve when Monsieur Landowski invited many of his artistic friends, I was counting down the days until my audition with my possible violin tutor. No one had cared to mention his name, and neither did I care, for if he was employed at the conservatoire that Rachmaninoff had been to, he could not be anything but impressive.
I spent as much time as I could practising, so often that I’d been given a scolding by the maids who’d told me my ‘screeching’ on that ‘thing’ meant they both had their pillows up over their heads and, anyway, it was ‘past midnight’!
I had apologised profusely as I checked my clock and realised that they were right; I had lost all track of time.
The great day came and Evelyn bustled into my room to offer me a grey blazer of Marcel’s to put over my shirt and woollen jumper.
‘Right, now we must be leaving. The bus runs to its own timetable, not the one that’s pinned to the stop.’
She chattered on as we walked down the road and into the village, but I wasn’t really with her, even when she began walking up and down in frustration, talking to the other waiting passengers about the unreliability of our buses, andhow ridiculous it was that Boulogne-Billancourt manufactured both cars and planes yet couldn’t run a bus on time. I was in a different place, seeing the notes in my head, trying to remember all those years back what Papa had taught me about ‘living the music’ and feeling its soul. Even as we rode towards Paris, the city Papa had told me so much about, I closed my eyes knowing there would be another time to see it and take in its beauty, but for now all that mattered was the violin that sat on my knee and the notes it would play.
‘Come on, young man, keep up,’ Evelyn reprimanded me because I insisted on holding my violin with both hands tight across my chest, so she couldn’t hold mine. I noticed there were a lot of people on the wide pavements, and some trees, and... yes! A building that was instantly recognisable! The Eiffel Tower. I could still see it as Evelyn came to a standstill.
‘Here we are, fourteen Rue de Madrid. So, in we go.’
I looked up at the large sandstone building that spanned almost the whole length of the street, and counted three storeys of tall windows, with what looked to be smaller attic levels on the top of them. A brass plaque announced that this was indeed the famous Conservatoire de Paris.
Even though she said we were going in, I had to wait until she’d renewed her lipstick and tidied the hair that sat outside her best hat. Inside was a grand waiting room lined with portraits of old composers. In the middle of the polished wooden floor was a woman at a round reception desk, who Evelyn immediately went to speak to. Light poured in through windows facing the street outside and what looked to be a large park at the back.
I was very pleased when the stern-looking lady on the reception finally nodded and told us to report to room four on the second floor. She pointed us towards what appeared to be a cage that you might put a bear in, and as I veeredoff for the stairs that were next to it, Evelyn pulled me towards the cage and pressed a button on its side.
‘If you think I’m walking up two flights of stairs when there is a lift available, you must be mad.’
I wanted to ask her what a ‘lift’ was, but then I saw another box drop down inside it and the word made sense. Still, even though it looked exciting, I was taking no chances. I pointed to the stairs and began to take them two at a time. There was no sign of Evelyn when I arrived beside another cage that was the same as the one on the ground floor, and I suspected the worst, but then suddenly I heard a whirring and the box inside popped out of the ground. The door opened, and there was Evelyn, pulling back the front of the cage and stepping out as safely as anything.
‘So, you’ve never seen one of those before, eh?’ she asked me.
I shook my head, still marvelling at the miracle.
‘Maybe you’ll join me in it on the way down. That will give you something to look forward to, whatever happens. Now then, we need to find room four.’ Evelyn headed towards a corridor, from which I could hear the sound of different instruments being played from behind closed doors. We stopped in front of room number four, and Evelyn tapped briskly on the door. There was no answer. Giving a good few seconds, she tapped again.
‘No one at home.’ She shrugged, then turned the doorknob as slowly and quietly as she could, and pushed the door until there was room for her head – or should I say her hat – to peer around it.
‘No, nobody there. We’ll just have to wait, won’t we?’
So, wait we did, and I know that people exaggerate when they say something was the happiest or the worst or the longest moment of their life, but really, however long it wasI spent outside room four, waiting for the person who would tell me whether I was good enough for him to teach me, really felt very slow indeed. Even more annoyingly, I could still see the lift from here, and each time it whirred upwards and released its passenger, I’d imagine thatthiswas the person who would decree my fate. However, each time they either walked the other way or straight past us.
‘Oh really,’ Evelyn said, and I could see she was shifting her weight from one leg to the other because it hurt her to stand, ‘whoever this teacher is, his manners are downright rude.’
Finally, just as she was muttering about leaving and that there had obviously been some mistake, a door along the corridor opened. Then a young, slim man with very white skin and dark hair appeared. He walked towards us, looking what I decided was a little bit drunk, and stopped in front of us.
‘Please forgive me, I taught a lesson with a pupil before you, then decided to take a brief rest. I’m afraid I fell asleep.’ He stuck out his hand to Evelyn and she reluctantly released hers.
‘Madame,petit monsieur, please forgive me,’ he said. ‘These are long days I work here and sleep is something that often deserts me at night. Now then, madame, now that you have delivered your precious cargo to me, why don’t you go downstairs in the lift and wait in the entrance hall where there is a comfortable chair? Tell Violetta that Ivan asks her to get you a pot of tea or coffee, whichever may be your pleasure.’
Looking relieved but a little bit reluctant to leave me with what she obviously considered to be quite a strange man, her feet won, and she nodded.
