A Box of Gargoyles by Anne Nesbet Page B

when she said it, too, as if the very thought of the violin was something too elevating to discuss while seated at a table. “I play the violin! It is my true passion. And I know—I’ve heard—your cousin told me earlier—that you are an excellent violinist and could help me with my practice. Oh, madame , I hope you will.”
    Maya’s mother’s pale face looked quite taken aback.
    â€œOh, dear,” she said. “It has been such a long time, Pauline. I’m afraid I hardly have the strength for it, these days. You must have a real teacher, don’t you?”
    â€œI’ve done a great deal of research online,” said Pauline, her chin somewhat higher in the air. “I have read a number of books.”
    â€œShe is so busy, with her math and her science and her history,” said Pauline’s grandfather. For the first time, he looked distinctly uncomfortable. “And you know, madame , how children have these ideas, these passing enthusiasms.”
    â€œPapi is unhappy because I will be a violinist, and not a physicist,” said Pauline. “Or even a historian. The talents of four continents, wasted. That’s what he always says.”
    There was a slightly too loud whispering from the corner, while James asked his mother whether continents really have talents.
    â€œNo, they do not,” said Pauline, not pretending not to have overheard. She gave James a long, serious stare. “Papi means my various grandparents come from many different places in the world, and that that must be better than having grandparents who come from one single place in the world, but of course that is not necessarily true. Perhaps I myself will marry a penguin from Antarctica and have little chick-children with five continents in their background, but that will not make them better or worse than anyone else.”
    Even when telling a joke (surely this was a joke?), Pauline did not crack a smile. Maya could not help being rather impressed.
    But Pauline’s grandfather looked, if that was possible, even more uncomfortable than he had looked ten seconds before.
    â€œThey might be really good swimmers,” said James, filled with sudden enthusiasm for penguin/human offspring. “But they wouldn’t be able to fly. What’s in that black suitcase thing?”
    Maya’s mother followed James’s pointing finger, and her face lit up.
    â€œYou brought your violin, Pauline. How thoughtful of you.”
    â€œSo play us something, please!” said Maya’s father in his cheerful, funny-sounding French. “A party like this should have lots of music!”
    Pauline apparently did not require a lot of encouragement when it came to performing on the violin. She was already across the room, taking the instrument out of its case and tightening the bow, while her grandfather took a few tight-lipped sips from his wineglass.
    â€œThere is something I have just started,” said Pauline, as she stood back up and tested the tuning of the strings. “It is not very like birthday music, I’m afraid. It is the beginning of a piece by the great French composer Saint-Saëns. His macabre dance.”
    â€œThe Danse macabre ,” whispered Maya’s mother. She seemed to recognize the title.
    â€œWhat’s a makabber?” asked James.
    â€œShh,” said Maya. “It means something good for Halloween.”
    Then they really could not say anything at all, because Pauline had stopped messing with the violin pegs and was bringing her bow crashing down on the strings.
    Makabber indeed! This had to be the most makabber thing Maya had ever heard.
    She knew something was wrong even before the first notes came screeching out into the air. She had watched her mother play violin for many years, and she knew that your hand wasn’t supposed to look stiff like that and that the violin shouldn’t come shooting out from under your chin at that