The girl with the violin

The Girl with a violin

Work again.

My name is Cecily. My family emigrated from Italy for a better life, but that is not what we got. What we did get is a life of work 10 hours a day, one bed, and no windows. The only joy I get in my life is my violin. One stormy day when I was 4, I was walking along the railroad tracks back in Italy, when suddenly I heard a roar, like a cloud of thunder moving along the earth. I whipped around to face a huge metal beast, approaching hungrily at me. I stood, trapped like a deer in the cold stare of the lights on the front. Then, someone threw a box out of the train. The box hit me from the side and knocked me off the tracks. The wind knocked out of me, I could only watch as the colossus roared by, seeming to express its disappointment of not crushing me in it's clutches. Suddenly my breath came back in a rush, and I lay flat on my back gasping for air. After a few minutes, I turned to the box. It had saved my life. I promised to it that I would forever cherish whatever was inside. With hands shaking more from apprehension then from cold, I lifted the lid of the box.

 Inside lay the most gorgeous violin I had ever seen. It was a deep mahogany color, the varnish gleaming like amber even from the weak sunlight breaking in from the clouds. The curves were beautiful, and the f holes curled like snakes on either side. I turned it over. The stripes on the back glittered, and gave the illusion of movement as I rocked it back and forth in my hands. I hugged it, and the beautiful black bow, to my chest, and ran home. I have had that violin for 12 years now, and it makes the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. I am going to bring it to work today. I tie my long dark hair back in what I hope is an elegant top knot, throw on my heavy coat, and set off down the street. The snowy slush swirls around my boots like a dirty white river. I look up at the identical buildings surrounding me. The snow is drifting down, a bit heavier now, and settling on my violin case like stars on a crow black sky. A rich man in a carriage, his coattails billowing in the wind, splashes me with slush as he rides past. I feel tears well up as the slush slopps all over my dress. I swallow them and move on. The cobblestoned street, ankle deep with slush, stretches forward like a snake, leading to the immense black building. My work. I hated every second of going there, feel my feet drag, itching to turn and race back home. But I force myself to walk to the stony prison. I walk into its gates, and it seems the whole building is whispering you're not welcome here. "I know." I mutter as I walk past. I walk into a vast room, full of people working an assembly line. My boots clicking against the floor echoes around the room as I make my way to my spot. My job is to put rearview mirrors onto the cars. I settle down, grab a mirror, and start attaching.

***

At my lunch break, I'm as bored as bored can be. 5 more hours, 5 more hours. I say to myself, but that is no consolation. I pull out a stale of bread, and start to chew. It tastes like it was baked in ash. I choke down half of it, and then throw half away. I sigh, and trudge back to my machine. The boy who sits next to me, I don't know his name, talks to me for the first time. "God, this whole job is so crappy." I muttered a noise of ascent. He looks at me, then under my chair to where my violin is sitting. A half smile spreads across his lips. "We never get any...say...tone to our life." I look at him quizzically. "You mean...?"

"Yeah" he says. "You brought it didn't you, why not play it?"

I feel a wave of anxiety creep up my throat. I've never played in front of people before. But suddenly, something snaps in me. I am tired of sitting there, every day, doing the same thing every day, living the same life. I've got a gift, and I'm going to use it. I open up my case, take the violin up to my shoulder, and place the bow on the string. Before I start playing, a thought occurs to me. I turn to the boy "What's your name?" I ask.

"Ren" he replies.

"You?"

"Cecily." I say with a smile. Ren mulls the name over. "Cecily....beautiful name.." he says softly, then snaps out of it.  "Well, we know each other's names now, great. Now play the violin." And I do. My pointer finger finds the first note for Swallowtail Jig, and I play. At my first note, all of the workers look around in shock. It's utter silence as I go through the beginning, and as I get to the middle, Ren starts to stamp his foot along to the beat. As I start into the intro again, more people are stamping along. As I get to the end of the second round, the whole factory is stamping a foot to the beat. I grow more confident, and decide to switch the song to one called the wren. I'd have to tell Ren what it's called later. Every face in the factory is beaming, and I feel a warm sense of pride well up. After 2 rounds of the ren, I switch to pop goes the weasel, with a little add in on the second part. A few people are actually dancing at this point, and everyone is singing the lyrics.

All around the ,

The monkey chased the weasel.

The monkey stopped to pull up his sock,

Pop! goes the weasel.

Half a pound of tuppenny rice,

Half a pound of treacle.

Mix it up and make it nice,

Pop!-

Suddenly, the door bangs open. Our boss, an evil man, strides in. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP YOU RATS?? SINGING? THAT'S YOUR LUNCH BREAK FOR THE NEXT MONTH, GONE. I HEARD VIOLIN TOO. THE TROUBLEMAKER WHO STARTED THIS WHOLE THING IS GONNA GET SHOT." He pulls a golden gun from out of his coat pocket. A silence so thick, I feel I could reach out and touch it follows his words. "WELL?" He shouts. "WHOEVER RATS THEM OUT GETS A RAISE." Still, silence. Then one boy, who has sat in the corner the whole time, says in a thick scottish accent "That's her, that's the troublemaker." He raises a finger and points it at me. "The Italian one with the dark hair. Nasty girl stopped loads of cars from bein' produced." The boy is turned on with such fierce looks by the other workers, It's a wonder he's not fried up on the spot. But I've got more important problems now. Our boss has his gun cocked and loaded on me, but then Ren steps in front.

"Sir, it was my fault. I told her to play the violin. I should be killed instead of her." I feel a rush of fear for my newfound friend and compassion that after having known me for such a little time, he is willing to sacrifice his life for me. "Ren don't" I say, panicked. "Why would you sacrifice yourself for me? I've just met you!" He turns to me, and smiles wearily. I notice for the first time the sharp bags under his eyes, and how tired he looks. "Because you brought the only music and joy and love in my life that I have ever had.  Ever since you sat next to me, I have loved you.  I have been working up courage to talk to you for months, and now that I finally did, you're someone I'm ok with dying for.  That hour was the best one I have ever experienced. I want you to live, and share what you can do with other people, and if I have to go for you to do that, I'm ok with that." I feel a rush of tears stream down my face as Ren turns and faced the mouth of the gun. "Get out of the way boy." Our boss growls. "No." Ren says, his face set. "I'll kill you." the man says, taking the gun off safety and inching is hand from above the trigger down to the trigger. "I've had a horrible life in this factory anyway, I'm ready to die." says the boy, tears forming on his lashes. The boss goes as red as a cherry, and fires.

Blood sprays across the wall. Ren slumps, and topples, dead before he hits the stool he has sat in all his life. People jump away in shock and horror. I stay where I am, tears coming down my face like a waterfall. I look down at him, an expression of defiance still etched on his face, and vow never to forget the friend that I knew for an hour but became the best I ever had, who loved me enough that he willing to sacrifice his life for me. I turn to the boss. "Y-you killed him." I whisper, but it seems to travel across the room. The boss smiles. "Yeh, and I'm gonna kill you too." He aims his gun at me, but before he can fire, as if in a single unit, all of the workers jump on him. "We've been reading up on Karl Marx, and we think it's time for an uprising!" Screams an old man, grabbing the Bosses gun and shooting directly in the head. The workers storm upstairs, and I follow suit. Maybe, Just maybe, things are looking up.