many are living?’
‘All of them.’
‘It’s a miracle.’
‘Depends on how you look at it. Theodor is lame, Hermes can’t think straight but he’s got a big heart and Bettina, the littlest, my dear sweet Bettina, is blind.’
‘Your poor mother.’
‘She’s dead. She died giving birth to a boy who died too.’
Brother Gabriel was silent, perhaps in the memory of that martyr. Then, to lighten up the conversation, ‘You haven’t told me what wood you used for the instruments. Which one is it?’
‘The fine instruments created by the master luthiers of Cremona are made with a combination of woods.’
‘You don’t want to tell me.’
‘No.’
‘It doesn’t matter: I’ll work it out.’
‘How?’
Brother Gabriel winked and went back to the monastery, taking advantage of the fact that the bricklayers and their mates, knackered after a day of sorting through stones and bringing them up with the pulley, had come down from thescaffolding to wait for nightfall, for the little food they had and for rest, preferably without many dreams.
‘Someday I’ll bring the Storioni to class.’
‘Poor you. If you do, you’ll find out what a good hard cuff is.’
‘So what do we have it for?’
Father left the violin on the table and looked at me with his hands on his hips.
‘What do we have it for, what do we have it for …’ he mimicked me.
‘Yes.’ Now I was peeved. ‘What do we have it for if it’s always in its case inside the safe and we can’t even look at it?’
‘I have it to have it. Do you understand?’
‘No.’
‘E bony, a fir we don’t have around here and maple.’
‘Who told you?’ asked Jachiam of Pardàc, impressed.
Brother Gabriel brought him to the monastery’s sacristy. In one corner, protected by a sheath, there was a viola da gamba made of light wood.
‘What’s it doing here?’
‘Resting.’
‘In a monastery?’
Brother Gabriel made a vague gesture that said he wasn’t in the mood to go into more details.
‘But how did you work it out?’
‘By smelling the wood.’
‘Impossible. It’s very dry and the varnish covers up the scent.’
That day, safe in the sacristy, Jachiam Mureda learned to distinguish woods by their odour and he thought what a shame, what a shame, not being able to share what he’d learned with his family, starting with his father, who was apt to die of sadness if he were to hear that anything had happened to him. And Agno, too, Jenn and Max who haven’t lived at home for years now, Hermes the dim-witted, Josef, Theodor the lame, Micurà, Ilse and Erica, who are already married, Katharina, Matilde, Gretchen and little Bettina, mylittle blind one who gave me Mum’s medallion, which is the bit of Pardàc that I always carry with me.
I t wasn’t until six weeks later, when they began to take down the scaffolding, that Brother Gabriel said that he knew something I think you’ll find very interesting.
‘What’s that?’
He led him far away from the men who were dismantling the scaffolding and he whispered in his ear that he knew of an old, abandoned monastery, in the middle of nowhere, with a forest of fir trees beside it; that red fir that you like.
‘A forest?’
‘A fir grove. About twenty firs and a majestic maple tree. And the wood doesn’t belong to anyone. No one has even touched it in five years.’
‘Why doesn’t it belong to anyone?’
‘It’s beside an abandoned monastery.’ In a whisper: ‘La Grassa and Santa Maria de Gerri won’t miss a couple of trees.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Don’t you want to go back with your family?’
‘Of course. I want to go back to my father, who I hope is still alive. And I want to see Agno again, and Jenn and Max who no longer live at home, and Hermes the dim-witted …’
‘Yes, yes, yes, I know. And Josef and all the others, yes. And with a load of wood that will be of help to you all.’
Jachiam of Pardàc didn’t return to Carcassona.
‘All of them.’
‘It’s a miracle.’
‘Depends on how you look at it. Theodor is lame, Hermes can’t think straight but he’s got a big heart and Bettina, the littlest, my dear sweet Bettina, is blind.’
‘Your poor mother.’
‘She’s dead. She died giving birth to a boy who died too.’
Brother Gabriel was silent, perhaps in the memory of that martyr. Then, to lighten up the conversation, ‘You haven’t told me what wood you used for the instruments. Which one is it?’
‘The fine instruments created by the master luthiers of Cremona are made with a combination of woods.’
‘You don’t want to tell me.’
‘No.’
‘It doesn’t matter: I’ll work it out.’
‘How?’
Brother Gabriel winked and went back to the monastery, taking advantage of the fact that the bricklayers and their mates, knackered after a day of sorting through stones and bringing them up with the pulley, had come down from thescaffolding to wait for nightfall, for the little food they had and for rest, preferably without many dreams.
‘Someday I’ll bring the Storioni to class.’
‘Poor you. If you do, you’ll find out what a good hard cuff is.’
‘So what do we have it for?’
Father left the violin on the table and looked at me with his hands on his hips.
‘What do we have it for, what do we have it for …’ he mimicked me.
‘Yes.’ Now I was peeved. ‘What do we have it for if it’s always in its case inside the safe and we can’t even look at it?’
‘I have it to have it. Do you understand?’
‘No.’
‘E bony, a fir we don’t have around here and maple.’
‘Who told you?’ asked Jachiam of Pardàc, impressed.
Brother Gabriel brought him to the monastery’s sacristy. In one corner, protected by a sheath, there was a viola da gamba made of light wood.
‘What’s it doing here?’
‘Resting.’
‘In a monastery?’
Brother Gabriel made a vague gesture that said he wasn’t in the mood to go into more details.
‘But how did you work it out?’
‘By smelling the wood.’
‘Impossible. It’s very dry and the varnish covers up the scent.’
That day, safe in the sacristy, Jachiam Mureda learned to distinguish woods by their odour and he thought what a shame, what a shame, not being able to share what he’d learned with his family, starting with his father, who was apt to die of sadness if he were to hear that anything had happened to him. And Agno, too, Jenn and Max who haven’t lived at home for years now, Hermes the dim-witted, Josef, Theodor the lame, Micurà, Ilse and Erica, who are already married, Katharina, Matilde, Gretchen and little Bettina, mylittle blind one who gave me Mum’s medallion, which is the bit of Pardàc that I always carry with me.
I t wasn’t until six weeks later, when they began to take down the scaffolding, that Brother Gabriel said that he knew something I think you’ll find very interesting.
‘What’s that?’
He led him far away from the men who were dismantling the scaffolding and he whispered in his ear that he knew of an old, abandoned monastery, in the middle of nowhere, with a forest of fir trees beside it; that red fir that you like.
‘A forest?’
‘A fir grove. About twenty firs and a majestic maple tree. And the wood doesn’t belong to anyone. No one has even touched it in five years.’
‘Why doesn’t it belong to anyone?’
‘It’s beside an abandoned monastery.’ In a whisper: ‘La Grassa and Santa Maria de Gerri won’t miss a couple of trees.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Don’t you want to go back with your family?’
‘Of course. I want to go back to my father, who I hope is still alive. And I want to see Agno again, and Jenn and Max who no longer live at home, and Hermes the dim-witted …’
‘Yes, yes, yes, I know. And Josef and all the others, yes. And with a load of wood that will be of help to you all.’
Jachiam of Pardàc didn’t return to Carcassona.
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