Читать книгу Stradivarius - Donald P. Ladew - Страница 13

Chapter 9

Miss Iris Bentley taught Elementary school in Luthersville. Every summer around the first of August she went over the county lists and wrote down the names of children ready for the first grade. She made it a point to go to the home of every family on the list and make certain the parents sent their children at the appointed time.

Sitting as erect as a soldier, her hands squarely at the three-quarter points on the steering wheel of a 1963 ford station wagon, she drove through the ripening fields of corn, tobacco and beans to the Barkwood farm.

When she arrived, Ailey was in the barn practicing. Granpa Joe Barkwood had gone to Elkins to buy feed, which left only Sammy Sue.

Miss Bentley sat on the porch with Sammy Sue and drank lemonade. Sammy Sue wore her Sunday dress. In the hills the older people still had great respect for a teacher.

“Who’s that playin the fiddle?” Miss Iris asked.

Sammy Sue smiled. “Oh, that be little Ailey, Ma’am. Ain’t he somethin’? Ole Joe, that’s Ailey’s Granpa, give him that fiddle on his fourth birthday, him wantin’ one so bad ‘n all.”

“Who’s his teacher?” Miss Iris asked.

Sammy Sue laughed. “Sakes alive, Miss Iris, he don’t have no teacher. We’s poor folks, ma’am. He done taught himself. Ever Sunday he listen to that WNEW from New York, then he go to the barn and try to play everthing he hear.”

“That’s amazing. Do you suppose you could ask him to come over here, I’d like to meet him.”

“Uh, Miss Iris, ah cain’t do that. He won’t come. When he like that, he won’t come till he done, and that could be three, four hours.” Sammy Sue was apologetic.

“I see. Well, you see that he is ready for school come September, Sammy Sue.” She gave Sammy Sue a list of what Ailey was to bring with him. “Maybe someday he’ll be a great violinist, but he can’t do that unless he learns to read and write.”

On the first of September, Ailey stood by the road to Luthersville with his Granpa and waited for the bus. His clothes were worn, but clean. He carried a cigar box with two pieces of chicken, an apple, and a wedge of sweet potato pie. He had one new yellow pencil and lined notebook. He was frightened and he didn’t want anything to do with school.

On the bus the little girls giggled at his clothes and the boys teased him. He didn’t say a word. Sammy Sue said into each life a little rain must fall, which he understood very well. School, however, was a thunderstorm.

Ailey was a poor student. He understood what school was. Torture. He learned right and wrong from Sammy Sue and Granpa Joe. Sammy Sue was shoutin’ Baptist with a real colorful idea of heaven and hell. Granpa Joe had a more quiet view of things, but even so he had a pretty severe picture of the punishment awaiting man or woman after life.

Ailey went over everything bad he’d ever done, even the things he’d thought of doing. Throwing rocks at the chickens and cows, spearing frogs in the brook, stealing molasses cookies from Sammy Sue. But that was a game. She hid them and he was suppose to find them. The list grew and grew, and he was sure he was a very bad boy. Why else would God punish him?

Miss Bentley tried to understand, but he wasn’t talking. She told the class how he played a fine fiddle, and asked him if he wouldn’t bring his fiddle in and play for the class. He was too embarrassed to even consider that, so the children chased him around the schoolyard shouting at the top of their voices.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

He didn’t understand, only that it hurt. In his second year he fell far behind the other students and Miss Bentley wondered if she would have to hold him back. He was smarter than anyone in the school, but he hated being there so bad, he didn’t try.

Ailey didn’t go out to play with the other children. At lunch time he wandered off by himself or stayed in the school room and looked at pictures in the encyclopedia. The other teachers got so used to seeing Ailey wandering around, they stopped paying attention to him.

He found a closet in the basement, full of used books, sporting equipment, and broken musical instruments, among them a violin. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, there just hadn’t been anyone to teach it for years. His own violin had been without strings for a month and Granpa Joe didn’t have money for new ones.

Ailey wanted that violin more than anything. He thought about taking it, but couldn’t face the idea. That was a sin for which he might never be forgiven. He thought about it for days and finally admitted he would have to ask Miss Bentley.

What if she says no, he thought.

He wandered through the halls to Miss Bentley’s classroom where he and fourteen other second-graders were punished. He stood on his tip toes and looked through a pane of glass in the door into the room. She sat at the desk grading papers. She looked alien, a stranger, someone who wouldn’t want to talk to a little boy.

He wished he were as old as his grandfather. Everybody liked to talk to Granpa Joe Barkwood. He didn’t say much, but he was nice and people just wanted to talk to him. Old people didn’t want to talk to children, not about things that mattered. Ailey wondered why.

His ankles got tired and he stood flat-footed outside the door, frustrated, desperate. Old Moses, the handy man, said he intended to clean out that closet and throw all the junk away. Ailey didn’t realize Moses had been saying that for ten years.

Recess would be over soon and he would have to go back to making perfect circles and lines that slanted at perfect angles.

“Who cares, dumb circles, dumb straight lines,” Ailey muttered.

The bell rang. Torture again. “Class, this afternoon we will learn about the directions. We must know them or we’d never get home, would we?” Some of the students giggled obediently.

Mercifully, an hour and a half later the school day was over. Ailey hung around, fussing with his copybook until the other students left. He had twenty minutes before the bus came. He had to choose the exact correct moment. He would do it! He would ask her now. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to guess if it was time.

Just when he thought the moment was right, the principal came into the room. They started talking about the school garden, the Principal’s favorite project.

Ailey scowled with frustration. Why don’t you go away you old goat, he thought. You look like a goat with that white hair on your chin. Ailey drummed on the desk with his yellow pencil. Finally the Principal left.

Ailey started to get up. Miss Bentley glanced up and gave him the “look”. It startled him and he headed for the door, forgetting what he wanted.

“Ailey?” He looked back at her fearfully.

“Have a seat, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Ailey sat, wishing he’d just left with the other kids. She came back in a minute.

“Now, Ailey, we can talk.”

“I’ll miss the bus.” Last chance.

“No, I told the driver to tell Sammy Sue I’d drive you home, that you and I were doing some extra work.” She sat quietly and said nothing, waiting for Ailey to speak.

“Ailey, this isn’t punishment. You wanted to tell me something, didn’t you?” she asked.

How did she know? “Yes’m”, his voice descended to a whisper.

She waited for him to go on. He took deep breath.

“Miss Bentley, you know the closet where the old music things are?” She nodded. “There’s a violin there. It’s been there a long, long, forever long time. No one uses it. No one cares about it.”

“There is? Well I’ll be, I didn’t know that.” She smiled, and to Ailey it was a real nice smile.

“Is that it? You want to use the violin. Of course you do. Is something wrong with yours?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s busted, the strings all broke except the big one.”

“You should say, ‘the strings are broken,’ Ailey,” she reminded him. “Alright, let’s go look at your violin.” She got up and walked out of the room. Ailey followed like a shadow.

At the closet she told Ailey to get it. He brought out the case and held it protectively against his chest. “Wait a minute.” She went in the closet and rummaged through a stack of paper. Finally she found what she wanted.

“Bring it along, Ailey.”

Back in the classroom Miss Bentley sat at her desk. Ailey stood in front still holding the case. It was very large next to his small body.

“Do you know what is in these books, Ailey?”

“No, Miss Bentley.” He held the violin tighter, afraid she’d change her mind.

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

When he stood by her side she opened one of the books. He leaned forward. Suddenly he was very interested. There was a picture of a man holding a violin. He forgot that this was Miss Bentley, master of punishment.

She turned to the next page. It showed a large picture of a hand holding the bow in different positions. Ailey’s eyes were wide and his attention total.

“Oh, I don’t do it right.” Without thinking he put the case down carefully and moved in close to Miss Bentley’s side.

She opened another book of songs. He looked at the lines and notes, trying to imagine what they meant.

“What is it?” Ailey asked, not realizing he’d actually talked to Miss Bentley.

“This is music,” she said.

“Shoot, you’re funnin’ me.” He looked at her with disbelief.

“Here, I’ll read it for you.” She put her finger under the words at the top of the page. “The name of this song is, ‘Black, Black, Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair.’ ” She sang the words in a high, sweet voice, following along with her finger under each note.

When she finished the first verse he understood. On his face was a look of such delight and astonishment as one would expect from the most profound religious experience.

“Would you like to be able to read this so you can play all these songs?” She touched the stack of sheet music with her finger.

“Yes.” Total commitment.

“Good. I can teach you how to read music, but if I do, you must do something for me,” Miss Bentley said.

Ailey looked wary. Is she going to take back the violin if I don’t do something, he worried.

“What do I have to do.”

“Learn to read and write better than anyone else in the class. I know you can, Ailey. I know how smart you are. Up till now you haven’t been trying because you don’t want to be here.”

Ailey looked at the stack of books and sheet music longingly. He looked at and saw a friendly woman, much younger than Sammy Sue, but like her in many ways. He knew if he said yes, it would be a promise.

“Do I have to promise?”

“No Ailey, you do not. I want you to learn to read and write, but I cannot make you do it if you don’t really want to. But, I believe in being fair, do you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, I thought you did.”

“I will learn to read and write and all the other stuff.” There it was, he’d promised to do it.

She put out her hand. “Let’s shake on it. This is our bargain.”

Her hand felt warm and dry. She smelled faintly of lilac. It was nice. She handed him the stack of sheet music.

Alright, you will stay every Thursday evening for an extra hour. I’ll drive you home afterward. I’ll tell you something else Ailey. In this book,” -- she pointed to the book with the picture of the man playing the violin-- “in this book the words you learn to read tell you how to play the violin better.”

Ailey felt suddenly shy, like when his grandfather gave him his first violin.

“Thank you, Miz Bentley.”

“You are very welcome, Ailey Barkwood.”