White Violin

1. Up and Down

The carriage shook forward and backwards and sometimes sideways.  But when I look at Marie who was sitting opposite of me, sometimes I wonder if it was my body that was shaking and not the carriage. I clutched the violin case on my lap tightly with my hands. It had rained for several days, but now it became hot and stuffy again. Sweat gathered under the garments of my tight uniform, especially my arms, but it was all right as long as my violin case was within my reach. 

I kept my head low and looked at Marie. She was looking at the window and didn't seem to notice me. She had really thin arms and legs. I envy her. Maybe if there were servants in my house who would take care of all my housework, I could have sat at home all day reading or sleeping, and that would have made my skin as young and infant-like as hers. She had a perfect complexion. Her skin was finer and more exquisite than the best doll I had seen. Her fingers were thin and delicate too. How come? She was the best violin player in the entire academy and had a constant high level performance. I heard she even played for an entire orchestra when she was nine, way before she entered the academy. Wouldn't all those years of practice ruin her fingers? I spread my fingers wide and stared at them. They were ugly and tainted with years of physical labour and violin practicing. They were not artistic fingers at all—they were not fingers that could produce art, nor where they an art to look at. 

Sweat is gliding along my thighs again. I couldn't hold this any longer. I needed something to distract myself. I reached for my pocket and took out some sandwiches I prepared. Wrapped in plastic foil, they still appeared fresh to me. I was quite proud of the sandwiches I made. I could always use any leftovers or scrap food I could find in the house to produce something nice and tasty. Maybe I should have saved up some money to open a cafe, or maybe I should have worked as an apprentice in a restaurant. I took one bite and chewed as slowly as possible, hoping that Marie wouldn't notice me. I could hear myself eating though—was it my own imagination? I heard that you hear your eating sound louder than what others hear because your ear bones are connected to your skull and jaws. I prayed for that to be true. 

In short, Marie turned to look at me at the worst moment possible. My cheeks were bloated with balls of food, and I quickly tried to stop chewing and wished that time would stop. Fortunately, she didn't really seem to be  distracted by my vulgar affair. She glanced momentarily towards my direction, after which she continued to stare beyond the window. I took another bite, as stealthily as I could this time, praying desperately that her eyes would remain glued to the window. When the slightest audible sound slipped from my mouth, however, she looked at me again. And now she just stared at me. I looked back at her eyes in a fearless attempt to see what message she might be conveying. Her eyes were absent of disdain or displeasure. In fact, I felt, oddly, no pressure from her sight. She was actually staring at my sandwich, not me. "Do you...want a sandwich?" I asked with an initial stutter. Immediately I was disgusted by my shamelessness. "No thanks," she replied bluntly. Still, her eyes were locked onto my sandwich. "Are you sure?" I asked again, feeling more regretful than ever. "Tch," she clicked her tongue and looked away, "I might be asking too much from you, but can you be more vigilant? There are things going on here that unsettles me." I stopped eating and put the other sandwich away. Probably she didn't like me eating the sandwich. 

"That Miss got a point," the driver joined the conversation abruptly with his husky male voice, "You'd better be careful. The villagers here don't have the guts to tell you, but they all know it."

"Can you tell us?" I inquired just so he could say what he needed. I wasn't curious at all of what he was going to tell us.

The driver hesitated and smirked, saying, "I got no guts either. You'll understand very soon. We're almost there."

I wonder what Marie was thinking. For several times I was on the edge of opening a conversation with her, but her apathetic look constantly reminded me that every word I spit would be an evidence of my carelessness and insensitiveness to my surroundings. Chances slipped away and soon I realised the carriage had ceased its shaking and came to a stop. The driver opened the door to take our hands and help us get off the carriage. 

"May God be with you," he bowed, tipping his hat, and hopped back on the carriage, leaving us in the arms of a large, black castle. I held my head against this imposing castle. My mind was still rocking up and down in unstoppable tides of momentum. I pray this was only the aftermath of the cart ride.