Laying back on her pillows of stuffed horses, lambs, and bears, Gigi looks up at the ceiling, trying to see a pattern in the plaster swirls. “That one looks like mommy,” she says to no one but her dolls. Now talking to the stuffed Aussie dog,“And there’s daddy, walking Ozzy. Do you see them?”
she says squeezing the dog, squeezing out a tear. The tear leaked out and joined a bead of sweat at her temple.
“It’s so hot out. How can you stand all that fur? I’ll turn on a fan since Grandpa won’t turn on the Air Conditioner.
Gigi gathered all the animals around her on the bed for a full chat. “Do you know I rode my bike a thousand miles today? It’s true. And I like the doll house Grandma got me, but I played with it all morning. All the dolls need a nap – even they are tired of me! I like shelling peas with Grandma while Grandma talked about the ‘old days’ of when daddy was my age or about my aunties and uncles, or when she was a girl. She said,‘When I was a girl, we all took naps after lunch on a day like this – outside mostly. We called it a sleeping porch. It had a hammock and ceiling fan on the east side of the building, all screened in from the bugs. I keep asking Grandpa to make me one here for you kids…, me too!’”
Gigi pushed all the critters to the floor. Then she pushed her pillows there too. Maybe it would be cooler, or not so boring, on the floor. She rolled from the bed to the floor, landing handily on the pillows, and giggled as her stomach flip-flopped. “Won’t someone play with me? I just want to have some fun: sing, dance, climb, run – have some fun.”
The coo-coo-clock struck 3:00. She opened her door and tiptoed down the steps to the parlor, noticing the collection of pictures on the mantle above the fireplace for the first time. “There’s daddy as a boy. Even then with a dog – dressed up for Halloween – like a Viking. And here like a knight. I like his cardboard armor. And there’s mommy and daddy in their wedding clothes, dancing. No dog! And there’s Grandma and Grandpa at their wedding. And both their parents. I wonder what they were like?”
Gigi began to hum as she picked up and put down each picture.”Here’s Grandpa playing a violin. And Uncle Marty with a guitar. And mommy at the piano.
She hummed some more: “Hmm Hmm Hmm.”
A sound vibrated into the wood of the mantle. It was a humming noise, with a distinct musical quality. Gigi hummed with it automatically matching its tone, rhythm, and beat. She then hummed a few notes from “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” The humming noise responded with the next stanza, but with a higher level of sound complexity – beyond the humming, and changed to a new tune. Giggi put her finger to her lips:
“I know that song,” she said, “it’s Twinkle Twinkle Little Star!” And she began looking around for the source of the sound. Gigi looked behind Grandpa’s stack of tractor magazines. Nothing. And the music stopped.
She hummed “Twinkle” again. The mystery music hummed back. Gigi put her ear to the wall, then the sliding oak door. She could feel the sound buzzing through the walls. “You’re behind the wall! But wait, there’s no room back there…is there? You’re inside the wall?”
“Who are you talking to, young lady?” asked Grandpa. He came into the parlor.
“Grandpa! There’s a musical noise coming from behind this wall. What’s back there?”
“Oh, that’s my secret compartment where I keep my Batman suit in case Bruce Wayne isn’t available.”
“Who’s Batman and Bruce Wayne?”
“Never mind,” he said as he touched the mantle and the wall simultaneously, “Let’s see what’s back there.” The wall opened, pushing out the wood-burning stove insert and revealing a steel door with a combination lock. Grandpa entered the code.
The door opened to a small room of boxes, papers, a safe, some coins and paintings, a gun safe, a water barrel, and stacked 5-gallon plastic buckets. The labels read wheat berries, rice, beans, milk powder, powdered eggs, and so on. “Look behind that painting of ‘Our Lady of Guadalupe.’ What do you see?” Gigi crept past the dusty buckets and boxes. She leaned ‘Our Lady’ gently against the buckets. The light revealed a violin case.
“Can we open the violin case, please, Grandpa? Do you know how to play? I saw your picture. Does it play by itself like a player piano? Is it old? How old is it?,” and other questions spilled from Gigi’s mouth as she dusted and blew on the case, lifting it gently toward Grandpa.
“Sure. We can look at it. I can’t play much more than “Twinkle, Twinkle,” and maybe “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” My left shoulder prevents me from holding the violin for maximum efficiency. Or at least that’s my excuse. Maybe you’ll have better luck. Want to try?”
“Can I?”
Old violin and bow in violin case on white background
“Sure! Let me show you. It’s a might big for you but will work.”
Grandpa lifted the instrument and fitted it under his chin, wincing as he extended his left hand to the fret of the violin. “Just put this black thing under your chin. Hold this part (the neck) in your palm; low enough to put each finger on each string. Now you try it.”
Gigi did as Grandpa directed. He moved her hand, gently placing each finger on each string. “You can do it. There you go. You’ll use each finger on each string to make the violin sing.
“Now, this thing,” he held up a stick with fibers running down its length, pushed out by a few inches from the base of the stick, “is called a bow. It’s made of the hair of a horse’s tail. You tighten it up down here at the base. Then the hairs get tight and when you put the hairs on the violin strings and pull up and push back, it makes noise! Isn’t that brilliant?”
Gigi did as Grandpa directed. She sawed with the violin and its bow back and forth. The instrument emitted a screech and a mawing sound. Both Gigi and Grandpa grimaced.
“It takes practice, Gigi. Lots of practice. A whole summer of practice. I can help you.
“Want to take it to the front porch so you can play with it?”
“Yes, please.”
Gigi reverently placed the violin in its case and closed the hasp with a ‘click.’