How many countless students had given up violin because of Schradieck?
Shizuka smiled politely, the turned toward pond and ducks. There was no sense in making the girl nervous. The Queen of Hell opened the bag of hot dog buns, tore off a big chunk, and steeled herself for whatever horrible sound she was about to hear.
Shizuka was a child, on her way to school. During the winter mornings, especially around February, there was ice everywhere … on rain puddles, on windshields.
Today, the grass crunched underfoot. Even the air seemed frozen.
Julie Kiyama was holding her fingers to her mouth, exhaling into the frost and shouting, “Look at me, I’m smoking!”
“Smoking is bad for you,” Julie’s sister Sally yelled.
“Smoke rings! Smoke rings!”
“If you don’t stop smoking, I’m te—lling!”
And then they ran off. She tried to keep up with them. She ran as fast as she could.
But they had their hands free, and she had her violin.
Shizuka found herself breaking each bun into ever smaller pieces, so she could listen just a little more.
And as the girl finished Schradieck, Shizuka watched Julie and Sally Kiyama, her last childhood friends, disappear into the icy February mist.
* * *
In a Faded Box Marked “FREE”
School was over. As usual, Katrina was walking home alone. And, as usual, she wandered, meandered, trying to prolong each moment before she had to face her parents.
There was a store that sold used refrigerators and washing machines. There was what was left of a public phone nobody used.
And there was a used bookstore, and in front was a faded box marked “FREE.”
Katrina browsed through the box, full of the usual torn periodicals, self-help books, fad diets, computer manuals for long-dead machines.
And then she stopped.
School of Violin Technics, by Henry Schradieck. First published in 1901.
The book was probably there because all the markings, annotations, scribbles, and teacher’s notes made the book unsellable.
But for Katrina, each suggested fingering, each message penciled over notes or inked into a margin offered an encouragement and direction that she had never before seen.
Katrina had always loved music, especially the violin. Long ago, she had even taken lessons.
But she was queer, and living in a small town east of Oakland.
The afternoon that he found her makeup, Katrina’s father had punched her so hard that the entire side of her face turned black and blue. As word got around, her family, her church, the people at school hurled insults, shame.
You should act like a boy.
You should repent.
You should apologize.
You should die.
But here, all around the music, someone’s teacher wrote: Relax. Keep your fingers open and light.
Someone’s teacher wrote:
Think of sunshine. You don’t need to rush.
Just follow the notes.
Trust yourself.
Good job!!
And there, someone’s teacher had drawn happy faces.
And there, someone’s teacher had pasted stars.
* * *
“Who’s your teacher?” Shizuka finally said.
“Um, no one.” The girl was munching on a hot dog bun.
This made no sense. How does someone with no teacher encounter Schradieck?
“I took violin in school once, when I was seven. But my father stopped the lessons.”
“Why?” Shizuka was even more confused. Anyone could hear this was a gifted musician.
“He said it was making me a faggot,” the girl said.
The girl rubbed her eye and winced. Shizuka inhaled sharply. Some of her makeup had smeared off, to reveal the bruised skin underneath.
The bag fell from Shizuka’s hands. Ducks flew at the fallen hot dog buns, tearing everything she had brought with her to shreds.
“I think I had better go,” Katrina said.
“No, wait.”
With a speed that surprised her, the woman grabbed Katrina’s arm.
Crap! Katrina froze. She could probably break the woman’s grip, but if she caused a commotion, she would get in trouble for sure. Stupid, Katrina, stupid! What if she thinks I’m a boy? What if she calls the police?
“Let me see your violin,” the woman said gently.
“Huh?”
“Your violin. Please.”
Waitwaitwait … what was this?
Katrina was in shock. The woman was playing the same Schradieck … wasn’t she?
But how could Schradieck sound like that? So quick, yet so even, it seemed almost a blur. But this was no blur. Each note was per fectly formed, perfectly spaced, and fully developed. How could hands move that way?