'Well, now she's at Juilliard,' I said. A slight smile crossed Delilah Lancaster's lips.
'She's the most talented individual I've ever had the pleasure of working with,' Delilah said. 'The moment I walked into the Oliveira home for the first time and listened to that girl play, the French bow moving in her hand like the wind, I knew it. French bows are mainly used by soloists, and most young students don't even know the difference. But Michelle, she made her father buy a French bow. Nothing else would suffice. Most young girls have posters on their walls of their favorite bands, their favorite athletes, boys they have crushes on. Do you know what
Michelle Oliveira had posted on her wall?'
I said I didn't.
'You're aware that most girls that age don't have posters, or much of anything on their walls. They haven't yet begun to have crushes, and wouldn't know who
Orlando Bloom was compared to Barack Obama. But
Michelle, she had a poster on her wall. I don't even know where she got it, or how. But right on her wall, above her bed, was a picture of Charles IX.'
I waited for an explanation. 'Is that a King of England or something?'
Delilah shook her head. 'Charles IX is the oldest violin in existence. It was made in 1716 by Antonio Stradivari.
It is kept in pristine condition at the Ashmolean museum in Oxford. You can imagine this is not exactly a common item for a five-year-old to worship.'
'Stradivari-is he related to the Stradivarius?'
'The same,' she said.
'For a young child to hold such an instrument in this regard, it simply made my heart float. When she disappeared-' Delilah lowered her head, clasped her hands together '-I felt like I'd lost a kindred spirit. Someone who understood the beauty and passion of music like so few do in their lives. And to lose her at such a young age-I thought a great student had been taken. A shame in so many ways. And when Michelle came back, I thanked God for keeping one of his finest creatures on this earth.'
'You really cared for Michelle, didn't you?' I asked.
Delilah looked at me. ' Still care. I do care for her the way a teacher looks at a prized pupil, yes. But our bond went deeper than that. I cared more for Michelle than I did most of my friends and-' she sighed '-perhaps most of my family.'
I looked at Delilah's hand, barren of any rings. She noticed this.
'My husband died three years ago. Pulmonary embolism. Life hits you when you never expect it. But I still have my music. That, at least, is everlasting. And one day
Michelle will create a composition that will stand the test of time. That students, like she once was, will study.'
Delilah looked out over her town, the barren building in front of her.
'This city has changed so much. So many people left after what happened to Michelle. I didn't blame them. I have no children, but if I did I couldn't justify raising them here. Now young families, dare I say yuppies, have moved into those houses. Rats joining a ship. I never thought I would see that in Meriden.'
'You're against gentrification?' I asked.
'It pays my bills,' she said. 'And allows me more leisure time than I previously had. But Lord, if I could find one truly talented student in the bunch, it would make my year.'
'Not many children like Michelle come along,' I said.
'No,' she agreed. 'No, they don't.'
'Aside from the obvious, was there anything about
Michelle that was different when she came back? Did she ever mention a family member, a friend, somebody you didn't recognize?'
Delilah shook her head. 'Michelle didn't have many friends. The gifted ones never do.'
'Did she strike you as different in any way? After she returned?'
Delilah thought for a moment. 'She became more withdrawn. Michelle was once a vibrant, popular girl, but she never fit in again. You can't explain to a young girl why people are staring at her, knowing she can't possibly understand exactly what happened. One night, a few days after she came back, I thought I saw scarring on her arm, but I decided it was just a pimple, some kind of adolescent puberty thing. It saddened me to see such a lovely girl just have her soul sucked away. But what person wouldn't after going through something like that?'
'Did she ever say anything to you that gave any clue as to where she might have been all those years?'
Delilah shook her head. Stared ahead of her. I looked at the tape recorder. Afraid this was all I was going to get from Delilah Lancaster.
Another song came on the radio, the violin strings prominent. Delilah's fingers flowed with the sound. Then they abruptly stopped.
'What?' I asked. 'What is it?'
She cocked her head, looked deep in thought.
'Beethoven's sonata,' she said.
'Is that what's playing right now?' I asked.
'No,' Delilah answered, her voice soft. There was a tinge of fright in there that made my pulse begin to race.
'Beethoven's Sonata no. 6. It's an incredibly difficult piece. It can take months, if not years, to master. Oh, God,
I remember that night.'
'What happened?'
'It was only the second or third lesson after she returned,' Delilah said. 'Michelle was so down. Depressed. I asked her to play something that made her happy. And she picked up her bow and began to play…oh,
God…'
'What?' I said. 'What happened?'
'The sonata. Michelle played it for me that night. I left the house cold, shivering. I didn't sleep for a week.'
'Why?' I said, a shiver running down my back.
Delilah Lancaster turned toward me. 'In the dozens of lessons I had with Michelle Oliveira, never once had she even attempted to play Beethoven. She had never tried to play that symphony. That sonata was not even in any of the books I purchased for her. Somehow she'd learned to play that piece in between the time she disappeared…'
'…and when she came back.'
I looked at Delilah Lancaster. She was trembling, her hands gripping the wheel so hard they'd become white.
'Somebody else taught her how to play that sonata.'
14
I marched into Wallace Langston's office and sat down.
He was poring over a pile of loose pages. He simply looked up and stared at me.
'I don't recall that chair offering you a seat,' he said. I stood back up. Without missing a beat, Wallace said, 'Now you can sit down, Henry. What's up?'
I took out the tape recorder, put it on the desk in front of
Wallace. 'I just spent the day in Meriden talking to Michelle
Oliveira's old music teacher, Delilah Lancaster. She-'
'Michelle who?' he said. I forgot for a moment that
Wallace had dozens of other stories being run past him, and that even though this was hugely important to me, I needed to show him that I was right about my suspicions.
