White Violin

18. Miracle

It was just another day of practice. Tonight I wanted to see the white violin for one more time, perhaps touch it-if I could-and see if my fingers really penetrated through it or only my imagination.

These nights I walked along the corridor without much fear. Everyone was sleeping too soundly to be bothered, and I had grown accustomed to the dark corridors and the little amount of moonlight casting through the windows.

The white violin sat in the music room, as usual, exuding a mystic glow to its peripheries. I opened the glass cover with both of my hands and lowered it on the ground. I took a short breathe and slowly coiled my hands around the neck of the violin.

Oh, I can feel its cold body. My fingers didn't penetrate through the violin. My last experience must have been a dream, then. Coiling tight around its neck, I pulled it up and held it in place with my other hand at its bottom. It was very light.

I raised it and arched it on my shoulders and I felt not weight at all. I decided to take my own bow to tune it-there was no need, it was in perfect tune. There was a certain crudeness in the sound of the instrument, but it was a soothing sound, like a natural vibrato.

I proceeded to play several pieces and all of them went very smoothly. The natural vibrato in the violin was guiding me to the melody I should conduct. Despite its lightness, its sound was compressed loud and strong within its interiors. Far different from the squiggling, itchy high pitches one would expect from a violin, this in reverse had the volume of a cello but the clarity of a xylophone. It was the most enjoyable music I had played in my entire life. I could never imagine I could play in such a fine tune. Was it my skills? Was it the quiet night that my kindled my passion? Or was it simply the instrument? It didn't matter. I played to my heart's content until I was alarmed by daylight and annoying birds cracking at each other.