The Forbidden Red Violin By: Swetha Vishwanath Submitted to: Mr. Craven Course Code: Eng2D1-01 Date: Sept. 22 nd 2003 1
The Red Violin, an exquisite piece of art, preciously gleaming in full glory, stood behind a transparent glass to be viewed by the many spectators that marveled at its beauty. Many of the viewers who had come to see it just wanted a peek at one of the ancient treasures of Lorenzo De Roman, a brilliant 15 th century Italian violinist. I had just bought it from an auction for one hundred grand. It is a lot, but I think it was absolutely worth every penny. Who else can say that they are the proud owner of The Red Violin? What truly amuses me about this famous Red Violin is that it has traveled across the world, belonging to several owners. All the way from the death of Lorenzo De Romanus, this violin has been to England, then to France. Next it is said to have traveled back, to Russia and then to China. Those are not the only places that it has probably been to. It is said that whoever should own this Red Violin is cursed and will die if they claim it for their own. But I believe that this is a hoax. My lack of belief in this superstition has led me to being the proud owner of this fragile legend. It was late after the auction and all the reporters had left about half an hour ago. I was the only one in the room, making sure that the violin was safe in the four white walls that I was about to leave it in for just one more night. It was close to midnight and I decided that I had better get back home. I walked out the doors, waving goodbye to the guard and stepped out to a cold, crisp January night. It was pretty quiet and deserted on the streets of Manhattan, which is a surprise because this is supposed to be a city of life. I felt a shiver go down my spine. Probably because it was cold or maybe it was just the unnerving silence. I walked down the steps and went to my car. Behind me I heard some shuffling. Startled, I turned around, but no one was there. I heard something move in the same direction and I turned around again, this time my hand moving to the gun that I always had inside my jacket. To my relief I realized that it was only a couple of rats. Still a little shaken, I fumbled with my keys but managed to open the door of my black Porsche. It looked like a sleek 2
dragon waiting in the darkness for a kill in the dim lights. I got in, closed the door and turned on the heat as soon as the engine was running. I had driven about half the way to my condo in Brooklyn when I saw Louie s Café, my favourite place to just step by occasionally and decided to get something to eat since I hadn t had a morsel since six o clock that evening. I parked my car on the side of the street and got out of my car. I walked in and the little bell rang, telling Louie that there was business that he needed to tend to. It was warm and cozy inside with the Christmas tree and all decorations still in place. There were small, round tables and seats, all arranged in a very orderly manner with a fresh rose on every table top. The floor never seemed to stop sparkling here. It was always so clean and well kept. I was the only one in the café with Louie, and decided to have a small meal since he was probably trying to close up for the day. He was always staying up late at night, I guess because he knew that his service could get costumers at any time of the day. Hey Louie, how s it all going? Oh Mark! It s all been good. Lots of costumers, as usual. Hows you doin? Louie always had that strong The Godfather kind of accent, basically a typical New Yorker. Great, actually! Guess what I did tonight! I just bought a famous violin from an auction. Its supposed to be five hundred years old by this famous Italian violinist. Wow, bets you paid big bucks for it, as you always end up doin, eh Mark? It s worth it Lou. It s a masterpiece. You d think so too if you saw it. Maybe I ll take you down to Brooklyn someday to see it. Hey, that ll be great! I gots to see about some business down there too. 3
Louie poured me a cup of some steaming hot coffee and the heat that emanated from the cup made me feel warm all over. We sat there talking until we heard the jingling of the door bell again. I turned around and saw a man with a mask over his face and a gun, pointed in my direction. Now, I don t want any trouble so if you could kindly fill this bag with the cash that you have then I will be off on my way. His voice was low and raspy. It was so calm in this sudden intense situation that it was almost insane. The scoundrel thrust the sack that he carried in the other hand towards Louie and Louie grabbed it from him. I heard him open the cashier and start to take out everything that he had in there. I didn t want to move, not with a gun aimed at my forehead and nothing top protect myself with. I then remembered the gun that I always carried with me. It was in my coat pocket this time, and all I had to do was distract him and that would give me enough time to pull it out. COPS! I yelled and pointed at the window behind the rogue. He turned to look immediately and I pulled out the gun from my pocket and aimed it at him. But Louie, being the smart man that he is, took advantage of what I had done and jumped over the counter top and tried to pry the gun away from the thief. But instead, he knocked my gun and it went flying out my hand. A shot rang out, followed by a scream and the jingling of the door bell again. Everything was quiet again except for the distant sound of sirens, approaching steadily to its destination. It was a bright sunny April day in Milano, Italy with the birds and the bees prepping up for a new season of summer. The roads were paved with stones and the corners were filled with flowers and vines that grew out from either the pots that belonged to the street cafés or just from the cracks in the ground. The streets were also crowded with many people, especially with news reporters and photographers clicking on their cameras to capture the pictures for the daily media around this extravagant building. A bright man, with shoulder-length blonde hair walked out of a stone building, 4
smiling and talking to all the reporters that were throwing their questions at him. Behind him, came out two men carrying a case which beheld a violin that was gleaming a dark red, an almost blood like colour in the Italian sun. Sì, sono il proprietario orgoglioso Del Violino Rosso, ** said the blonde-haired man to all the reporters and with that he smiled one last smile and got into the limousine, followed by the violin and the men who carried it for him. The End ** Sì, sono il proprietario orgoglioso Del Violino Rosso: Italian for Yes, I am the proud owner of The Red Violin. 5