Luthier's Apprentice, The Read Online Free Page B

compared to men violinists, but there were even fewer women luthiers.
    One night, Grandpa had explained to her how each violin had a soul, a distinctive spirit like no other. Not two violins could ever sound alike, just like two singers, no matter how similar their voices, could ever sound alike. His voice had been so mysterious… The violin had a body, and within the empty space of that body, lay the sound post, or soul, the delicate piece of wood that transmitted vibrations and made the whole sound box resonate. Since that night, Emma had been hooked forever into the world of violins.
    Now, sitting quietly at the small kitchen table with Grandpa, eating an early dinner of canned vegetable soup and ham and cheese sandwiches, Emma remembered all this when he suddenly asked her, “Did you do your homework?”
    It was only a little after five, but Grandpa never had his meals at regular hours. Working on the violins made him forget the time, so he ate only when he got lightheaded or when his stomach grumbled.
    Emma nodded, chewing her food. “Uh-huh.”
    “I haven’t heard you playing yet,” he observed critically. He spoke good English and also a bit of French, both laced with a strong Italian accent.
    “I was just going to. I like to eat first. Helps me concentrate.”
    “ Ricordati , you’ll have to work extra hard now that your teacher isn’t here.”
    Emma nodded.
    “ Buono ,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint Dupriez after all the time he’s spent with you this year working on the concerto. Afterwards, you might as well join me at the workshop,” he added grudgingly.
    Emma sighed. She didn’t understand why Grandpa always seemed so hostile about violin-making and her apprenticeship, even though he obviously loved the craft and she had become such a skilled assistant. She did everything he demanded and more. She always pushed herself that mile further. But nothing she did brought out words of encouragement. At times she had an eerie feeling that he hated having her in the workshop. But if he did, then why persist on training her? Why insist on her becoming an expert luthier? What was his problem? She just didn’t get it.
    Grandpa lifted his sandwich to his mouth and his hands caught her attention. They were thin and large and marred with age spots, bulging veins, and scratches. He worked so hard from dawn till dusk. Grandma had died thirteen years ago and he had no friends that Emma knew of. He was always alone, slaving over the violins in spite of his tortured back.
    “Grandpa… What do you think happened to Monsieur Dupriez, and to all the other violinists?”
    Grandpa poured himself some coffee. Lifting it to his mouth, he took a sip, looking at Emma over the rim of the mug. Finally, with a small thud, he put the mug on the table. For a moment his dark bushy eyebrows furrowed. “Let me share a little segreto with you, Emma,” he said. “This isn’t the first time violinists have vanished, never to be seen again. Violinists have been disappearing since the time of Paganini, in the early eighteen hundreds.”
    Emma stopped chewing. “Really?”
    “It hasn’t happened every year, only a few times in each century, but it has happened.”
    “Wouldn’t the police know this?”
    “Oh, I’m sure they eventually will… if they haven’t figured it out already. It’s not something you would find in all the history books, you see, only in a few selected memoirs written by old violinists.”
    “But what does it mean? Is it some kind of a curse?” Emma couldn’t help a twinge of fear. After all, both Grandpa and she played the violin.
    “You don’t have to be afraid,” he said. “Nothing will ever happen to you… or to me.”
    “How can you be so sure?”
    A sudden, subtle sound came from above. Startled, Emma lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “What was that?”
    “ Ratti . It’s an old house. You need not concern yourself with those noises.”
    Rats? It didn’t sound like