The Music Man Page 14

  Slowly, despite the immense pain in my frame, I start getting to my feet. I reach out and grab the guitar, and then I take a step forward.

  Glass is staring at me, as if he doesn't quite believe what he's seeing.

  Ignoring him, I limp over toward the young boy and take a seat next to him, and then I take a moment to adjust the guitar. And then, finally, after all this time, I play my final piece of music.

  Thirty-Six

  “There,” I say finally, as my fingers brush against the strings and no more music emerges, “it's over. I'm done.”

  I lower the guitar against my lap.

  I managed about five minutes of playing, which is more than I expected. At first, the sound was strong and beautiful, and I must admit that for a moment I began to think that I might be immune to everything that has happened. Then I felt myself starting to falter and I realized that I was, as they used to say, 'running out' of music. I kept that music safe for more than five years, ever since that evening with Giancarlo when the music first went away, but now it's spent.

  I'm empty.

  Suddenly Glass starts clapping.

  Turning to him, I see that there are tears in his eyes. I hate the fact that he's so happy, so I look instead at the young boy, and I see that he's staring at me with a slightly bemused expression. I don't know how I expected him to react, but he's certainly not jumping for joy. If anything, he seems rather confused.

  “Bravo!” Glass says as he comes over to us, still clapping. “Maestro, that was magnificent! It was almost worth the wait! Well, not exactly, not given the circumstances, but I'm sure you can appreciate the sentiment. You absolutely out-did yourself.”

  “Did you like it?” I ask the boy. “Did you feel anything?”

  He stares at me for a moment, before looking down at the guitar.

  “It probably sounded quite strange,” I continue. “It was an old piece from Spain. I don't know why I chose that, really. I think I just wanted to show off.”

  He peers at the guitar for a few seconds, and then he reaches out and tries to play the strings. Of course, no music emerges.

  “I'm not sure what's worse,” I tell him. “Never having heard music, or having heard it and lost it. I'm afraid that's something that you shall have to decide.”

  He plucks the strings again, as if he's convinced that eventually he'll be able to tease out some music. I don't blame him, but it's rather sad to see his continued efforts.

  “Doesn't that feel better?” Glass asks, kneeling next to his son. There are tears in the man's eyes, as if he's immensely proud of his son. “Was it like you imagined? No, that's impossible. No-one could imagine music if they hadn't heard it before. Isn't your heart buoyed now, to know that there's such beauty in the world? And I know you can't hear it in your head, the way we all used to hear music, but you can at least remember what it was like to feel so happy.” He hesitates, as if he's waiting for his son to speak. “Say something,” he adds finally. “Surely you can finally speak again?”

  “Does he not talk at all?” I ask.

  “Not since his mother died,” he replies through gritted teeth, and now he seems a little disappointed. “I thought this might break him out of his rut, but...”

  He watches as the boy continues to pluck the guitar strings.

  “I should have known that it would take more than this,” he continues finally. “The boy is smart, he takes after me, but he needs toughening up. If I keep him wrapped in cotton wool like this, he's never going to learn. That's something I realized a while ago. Sometimes I have conversations with myself about what to do, and finally I came up with a solution.”

  “You're completely insane, aren't you?” I reply as he gets to his feet and heads back toward the laptop. “Tell me, was it the loss of music that ruined your mind, or were you like this before?”

  He mutters something, but I can't quite make out the words.

  “I think you were like this before,” I continue, passing the guitar to the boy and getting to my feet. “You're a fool, Mr. Glass. You know nothing about music. I bet you didn't even give a damn about it before it was gone, you just saw it as something you could buy.”

  Spotting the Italian guitar in the corner, I head over and pick it up. Five years ago, I would have been stunned to hold such a beautiful instrument; my hands would have trembled and I would have been nervous at the thought of trying to play the thing. Now, however, this pristine guitar suddenly feels like an emblem of everything that's wrong with men such as Joshua Glass. Indeed, my hands begin to tremble, but not because of nerves. They're trembling because I'm angry.

  “You don't understand,” Glass says calmly. “There's no -”

  “I don't understand?” I roar, turning to him. “I'm a musician, and I'm the one who doesn't understand? Well, let's see if you understand this!”

  I raise the guitar above my head and then bring it crashing down, smashing it against the ground. The neck fractures but doesn't break, so I hit it again and again, eventually using my feet to stamp on the wretched thing until it breaks clean apart. The back is also coming loose, and for a moment I bring down my full fury and contempt on the guitar, until finally I step back and breathlessly admire the damage that I've caused.

  “Are you happy now?” I gasp. “Everyone when I was younger told me to be a rock n'roll rebel, but I never wanted to be like that. I just wanted to play. But now that I've played my last, maybe the rebel side should come out a little, huh?”

  “That was a very expensive guitar,” Glass replies.

  “It could no longer be played. It was just a lump of wood and strings.”

  I hesitate, before kicking the remains of the guitar. A futile gesture, of course, and one that doesn't really make me feel any better. Still, the anger has passed and now I feel exhausted. I just want to crawl away somewhere, curl up under a rock, and never see another soul again.

  “And now that I've performed for you,” I continue, “I think it's time for me to leave. I don't want anything from you, Glass. I just want to get out of here.” I turn to walk away, but then I stop as I see him tapping at his laptop. “I played because I chose to,” I add, hoping to regain a little dignity, “not because of your threats. Remember that as you disarm your ridiculous bombs.”

  “Why would I disarm them?” he replies. “I'm just making sure that they're synchronized.”

  “What do you...” I pause for a moment. “I did what you wanted.”

  “I know you did.”

  “Then why would you -”

  “The bombs weren't a threat,” he says. “They're a celebration! If you'd refused to play, I'd have shut them down.” He turns to me. “Did you not understand?” he adds, with a maniacal glint in his eyes. “The bombs are a celebration! They're like fireworks! And they're going to toughen Joshua Jr. up. I've set them so that he should easily survive, but he'll emerge with a tougher skin. Trust me, he really needs that.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, taking a step toward the madman. “Why -”

  Suddenly I spot something moving outside the window, and I realize I can see all those guards and goons hurrying away across the causeway. I stare at them for a few seconds, and then I turn to see Glass grinning as he taps one final time on the laptop.

  I think maybe I understand why all of Glass's men suddenly deserted him.

  The explosion sends me crashing across the room, slamming into a window that's already in the process of getting blown apart. I fall out of the room and come crashing down onto the grass, and I let out a gasp of pain as I feel hundreds and thousands of glass shards cutting my hands and face.

  Behind me, there's another loud boom. Not all of the devices went off at once, and I can hear a couple more being detonated now. I haul myself up and turn to look, but suddenly another huge blast sends me bumping across the lawn until I hit the slope at the edge, at which point I begin to roll down. I try to steady myself, but I'm already falling faster and a moment later the ground gives way
beneath me.

  I hit my head on a rock and – as I lose consciousness – the last thing I feel is the sensation of plummeting through the air.

  Thirty-Seven

  When I open my eyes, I find myself on a shore, next to a beach of orange sand. I recognize the place immediately, from a dream I dreamed many years ago, and I immediately sit up and look around.

  The creature is standing nearby.

  A strong wind is blowing, and I can hear the thousands of teeth jostling and rustling inside the creature's body. As the wind picks up a little, the strange sound changes slightly, almost as if the wind – by blowing through the creature – is somehow creating music. I listen for a while longer, as the wind continues to change pitch and direction every few seconds, and finally I allow myself a faint smile as I realize that the sound is actually rather pleasant.

  And then, quite suddenly, the creature steps forward and comes closer.

  “Am I dreaming again?” I ask. “The last thing I remember is...”

  I pause, thinking back to the explosions that rocked the house at Lindisfarne. I was falling, and then I got knocked out, and then I woke up here.

  “I'm not dead, am I?” I continue finally. “Is that what's bloody happened? Did I die and end up here? How would that even happen, unless... You didn't bring me here intentionally, did you?”

  The creature stares at me for a moment and then, slowly, begins to nod.

  “You're the same one, aren't you?” I mutter. “The one from the farm, I mean. It must be five years since I last saw you, but it is you. I'm right, aren't I?”

  He pauses, and then he nods again.

  “Well,” I continue, as I get to my feet and brush more orange sand from my jacket, “thank you for catching me. Or whatever you did. It's really rather sweet to think that you remembered me at all.”

  I wait, but he's staring at me and I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable. Indeed, considering the fact that this chap doesn't even have eyes, I'm finding his stare to be extremely piercing.

  Before I can say anything, however, he holds his right hand out and I see that the little black teeth are swarming in his palm. I feel as if I'm supposed to understand something, but in all honesty I can't imagine what this message might be.

  And then, slowly, I realize that I can hear music coming from the creature's hand. Whereas before I could hear a kind of music when the wind blew through his body, now I can hear something much more complex and much more beautiful. There are proper harmonies, and the overall effect is utterly overwhelming.

  “It has been a while since I heard anything like this,” I say after a moment. “It's wonderful, but I still don't understand why you've brought me back here. Is it just to gloat? To show me what we've lost in my world? Because if that's all this is, then I think it's pretty -”

  Suddenly the creature turns, as if it's alarmed by something. It immediately closes its hand into a fist, cutting off the music, and then we both watch as a swarm of black teeth rushes high above us. I realize after a moment that this must be another creature, heading off somewhere, and it's soon gone. When I look back at the creature in front of me, I swear I can somehow sense that it's worried.

  “What's wrong?” I ask. “Would your friends not approve of the fact that you brought me here?”

  I wait, and the creature slowly turns back to face me.

  “Are you being a bit of a rebel?” I continue, with a faint smile. “Well, congratulations. Real rebels are hard to come by, at least in my world. And I suspect in yours as well.”

  The creature raises its hand again, and this time the sound of music comes much more quickly. This time there's a faint glow, too, as if something is burning beneath the ever-jostling patch of little teeth, and the music sounds a little more urgent.

  “Are you expecting me to do something?” I ask, as the music gets louder. “Listen, you're going to have to have to be more -”

  Before I can finish, I hear a rushing sound over my shoulder. Turning, I'm shocked to see several swarms of black teeth rushing toward us.

  “My friend,” I say cautiously, “I think we might be about to get -”

  Suddenly the creature slams into me, breaking into thousands of sharp little teeth, and I'm lifted up into the air. Crying out, I try to spin around, but already I've been carried high into the auburn sky, and when I look over my shoulder I see that the other swarms are racing after us. I open my mouth to ask what's happening, but at that moment the swarm spins me around and sends me cartwheeling through the sky as if we're trying to lose our pursuers.

  Looking down, I see the vast purple sea far below, and then we race across a patch of land and I spot what seems to be a gleaming domed city. I crane my neck, trying to get a better look, but then the swarm around me changes direction again and we're dive hard, swooping into a deep valley and then racing between several huge boulders. We dip close to the surface of a bright purple river, so close that I could reach out and run my hand through the water, and then we swoop around and when I look ahead I see that we're heading straight toward a huge, rushing purple waterfall.

  I wait for us to change direction, and then I shout a warning as we instead rush directly into the waterfall's path. I'm instantly soaked, and a moment later I'm dropped clumsily against the rocky ground. Gasping and spluttering, I roll onto my side and start to get up, as the creature reforms just a few meters away.

  I slip on the wet rocks, and then as I get back to my feet I look at the creature. In all the drama of the past few minutes, I rather lost track of which creature actually got ahold of me. For a moment I'm worried that one of the pursuers might have grabbed me, but then this creature steps forward and holds its right hand up again, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I realize that this is, indeed, my 'friend'.

  “Did we lose them?” I gasp, before looking toward the waterfall. It's dark here in the cave, and the only light comes through the huge purple cascade.

  I turn back to the creature just as it steps closer, and I realize that – over the roaring sound of crashing water – I can just about make out the sound of music once again emerging from the hand.

  “Why are they chasing us?” I ask. “They really don't like the fact that you brought me here, do they? But why did you bring me here? Why would you take such a huge risk?”

  I hear a rushing sound nearby, and I half-expect to see more swarms rushing through the waterfall and coming to apprehend us. Instead, the sound passes high overhead, and it would seem that the search continues.

  “Well,” I say after a moment, as I turn back to the creature, “I'm afraid I need to -”

  Before I can finish, the creature slams its right hand into my own. There's a bright flash of light and I feel a tremendous vibration bursting through my body, and for a moment my heart seems to stop. I let out a shocked gasp, and then I close my eyes as I feel myself fall back down against the wet rocks.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  When I open my eyes again, I find myself on a shore – again – next to a beach. Again. The sun has risen, so I suppose I must have been here all night. I blink, and then I manage to look up, and I see a steep grassy hill rising up high above. Beyond that, thick black smoke rises from what I assume must be the remains of Mr. Glass's home.

  Looking around, I squint as I try to spot some sign of the creature. I'm no longer in that strange world; I'm back home, that much is clear, and it would seem that the creature didn't come with me. My heart is pounding, and I briefly think back to that moment behind the waterfall. I felt as if the creature actually pushed something into my body, although I know that the idea is absurd.

  I start to get up, but instantly I'm held back by sharp, piercing pains all through my chest. It's as if somebody has implanted razor blades all through my body, and I hear a series of jostling, scraping sounds. Slumping back down, with my back resting against a rock, I realize that my ribs seem to be broken. Next, I try to move my legs, but they fail to work, and when I look down I see that th
ey're both broken. My right leg is twisted almost ninety degrees at the knee, and a section of bloodied bone is poking out through the fabric of my trousers on my left leg.

  Why am I not feeling more pain?

  I should be screaming, I should be in absolute agony. Then again, perhaps deep down I know that there's no point. Perhaps I'm being given one final moment of peace before the end.

  “Damn it,” I mutter finally, as I realize that there's no getting away from this spot.

  I look to my left and see that the causeway is covered at present by the tide. Not that I could even drag myself in that direction anyway. Even in the old world, I'd be in a sticky position. As things stand, I doubt very much that I'm getting away from this rather unfortunate spot.

  I close my eyes, and for a moment I feel perfectly calm. I wait, hoping that perhaps I shall hear a choir of angels waiting to welcome me into the afterlife, but all I hear is the sound of water lapping at the shore. Will I soon find myself walking up to the pearly gates? I would imagine that, if my name is on St. Peter's list at all, there will at the very least be an asterisk. Perhaps the ground will then open up beneath me, and I shall tumble down into Hell. There, I shall be doomed to an eternity listening to modern jazz.

  Suddenly I hear footsteps nearby, and when I open my eyes I see the young Joshua Glass Jr. walking this way along the beach. I blink several times, wondering whether this can be real, but as he gets closer I realize that it really is him. His clothes are torn and slightly blackened from flames, and there's a cut on the side of his face, but overall he seems to have survived the explosion rather well. And in his right hand, he's carrying the Frankenstein guitar that I've had ever since I left my apartment building all those years ago.