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I, Ophelia Florence MacPhee, being of sound mind and purpose, do hereby swear a sacred oath to accept and discharge all obligations, tangible and intangible, related to the post of luthier.
Musicians, and those who make instruments, are a superstitious lot.
Even musicians who would be appalled at the idea of selling their souls have odd little rituals they perform before every concert, ceremonies of candles and foods and music that closely resemble incantations.
Adventure Angels Manifesto I hereby commit to falling in love with life in all of its manifestations of trouble and triumph, joy and grief, boredom and excitement. I will treat each day as an adventure, full of possibility, and I will seek to be present for every moment, whether pleasant or unpleasant. I will resist the lure of alcohol, always vigilant against its many deceptions. I commit to the pursuit of honesty regarding my relationship with alcohol. If I should be overcome by temptation, I promise to share my struggle with the Adventure Angels group and allow them to support me back into
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Always, she has made sense of her world through music. When she was a little girl, it was the notes her father played that sorted her emotions. When she was five, she could see colors in the music, could watch it carry away the black and the harsh red, bring out her favorite hues—the vibrant blues and purples and greens—sometimes a pure, bright yellow, the color of happiness. Ever since she learned to play her first song, the cello has been her refuge. And now she doesn’t deserve that comfort ever again.
Her old life, her old self, seem like tangible objects she should be able to reach out and touch. That self, the old Allie, would not be having this conversation. Wouldn’t be here, in this room, in this bed, having regrets about unprotected sex and wondering when was the last time these sheets were washed. Her old self would be disgusted and frightened and revolted, and crazy in love with Ethan all at the same time. She can’t feel any of these things. It’s like they’re behind glass in a museum. What she does feel is something different. Recklessness. Anger. Resentment. And a loss so
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Maybe it’s not something to fear and hate, but the ultimate experience.” Or, Allie thinks, if death is anything like what just didn’t happen here, maybe it’s not even an event. More like an afterthought. Life is like the buildup, all of the expectations and sensations and anticipation, and then all of the juice goes out of everything, and pffffft. You’re flat.
“It’s not the music that’s a curse, it’s the absence thereof,”
A list: make life fun; accountability; meaning; give back somehow. And then in handwriting I didn’t recognize—adventure’s the word.
“‘This cello carries the soul of a woman murdered in the gas chamber, the soul of a gypsy shot like a dog in the street. She has been beloved, she has been abused, she has suffered the touch of evil. I promised her, when I coaxed the pieces into one, that she would be ever loved, that if she would give of her music, she would not be passed from hand to hand but cherished by one musician and one only. And so I made the boy swear an oath to me when he bought her.’”
The cello is a thing of wood and strings with no emotions to be wounded. She does not carry the souls of musicians broken and murdered during the war. His hands will not be magically healed. The disaster and tragedy in his life has not been caused by a curse. The disembodied music he keeps hearing must be stress-induced psychosis or some weird form of alcohol withdrawal.
“I think you need to trust that people are strong enough to carry the truth.”
people have to carry their own burdens, that they’re responsible for their own emotional journeys.
