The broken key

In the autumn days of that hideous year of eighteen eighty seven, when the last little red starlet of veined paper-like-flakes drifted down from the trees as if suppressed by a forceful hand, bringing it to rest upon a dry cold pavement or a browning lawn, there live a father of five.  It was a time when trees destined to loose their substance to the coldness of winter’s bite, saw their withering leaves “crackle” and “pop” between the teeth of rakes and mowers.  Those were days when man and machine wedded in a forging of intelligence and sophistication, and society produced men like Remly E. who controlled the art of motion.  It was there that this man, an engineer by trade, musician and father of five mastering in the art of physics and numbers but hero to none, dropped his rulers and pencils, utensils in his office of designer and craftsman of autos and complex machines, to dream of success. Needless to say it was not unusual for his love for his work to have conquered his love of his family.  His artistry and creativity in the construction of complex convolutions was highly admired by his colleges, to whom it was also doubtful that he possessed the ability to devote a similar degree of attention to child rearing as to mathematical permutations.  He had committed countless hours of his life to this wondrous art of numerology and logistics, to the degree that nothing on this earth could otherwise successfully escape his detailed eye, or draw him from it.  1

He drank daily of machinery and screaming children, of a brew tasting of precision and neglect.  He was, after all a man to whom God had predestined every step toward success.  Remly E. the man, the engineer, the musician, now, took upon himself the colossal task of perfecting his youngest son.  The success of his first four sons had brought him much sorrow, and now at the prime age of forty, he recognized his folly in fatherhood and the disdain of that dreadful bunch.  The love of his children toward him waxed cold and their hate surpassed their gratitude.  His high paying job had demanded dedication and commitment and in its stronghold, it had stolen the first four of his sons and now demanded the love of his fifth. 2

On a hot afternoon when little Jimmy sat playing at the piano, Remly reflected on the child’s playing strategy.  It seemed to him that his child was engaged in a struggled with his machine.  “Jimmy,” he said, “I have been noticing that whenever you hit the C clef a most hideous sound emanates from your instrument.  Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps you are being harsh with the keys?”  “No sir” he said with a drooping smile across his face.  “There must be something wrong with the keys”, he muttered softly dropping his chin to his chest his eyes quickly glancing up at his father.  “Well I’m flabbergasted son. Its got to be that you are not practicing enough these days, for an implement like this, could never make such horrific sounds as has entered my ears this day, lest it be played by any other son.  No perfect talent endowed by God upon a mind as yours should ever quench the fire of music by erroneous toying with the keys, much less, poor playing be attributed to a faulty mechanism of His handy work.”3

“Poor playing father!” cried little Jimmy, touched by the scorn of his dad.  Feeling smaller than his current stature, he burst into tears.  “Then why should you bear to sit and listen to me?“ he exclaimed with tiny sobs as he rubbed his eyes with his tiny hands.4

It should be elucidated at this point, that the boy had practiced long hours each day.  After arriving from his work, Remly would find the child wrestling with the machine like a person struggling through a nightmare during sleep.  His little arms flailed about as if trying to protect himself from the monstrosity, striking at the lip of the instrument with outstretched arms, and his little head tilted back, eyes fully pealed and jaw sinking downward.  The sheer size of the monster exceeded the boy’s stature a tenth fold, and seemed to engulf the child.  Jimmy sat on a black leather stool with his feet hanging and appeared confronted by a large mouth with black and white teeth.  The creature’s legs were titanic pillars of support for an open body above the child’s knees, thereby present the potential for crashing down upon the boy.5

His playing divulged the struggle of an unlearned pianist in the making, and to Remly’s ears, the intonations brought waves of imperfect pain to his very soul.  Perfect notes played by uncalculating hands that devastated the richness of the intricate world in which he lived.  It was only expected therefore to hear from visiting colleges, professionals, who upon arriving at his home that evening and hearing the child play the masters, affirmed critically that the boy needed much practice.  Most malicious of all were the visits of their musically talented children who jeered upon the child with derision.   The most odious visitors of all were the parents, whom incapable of extolling the child, gave heed to his debasement lest God’s work be undermined through childish error. The inexperience of the child played havoc upon Remly’s mind, and difficult pieces became an ever torment to his spirit.  It seemed to Remly that the professionalism of his music varied depending on the degree of criticism from his peers, and parents would profess that additional practice might not be all the boy required, but perhaps, talent itself.  Remly often wondered how his Jimmy could ever survive in the complexity of the world in which he lived.  Memories of previous efforts in child rearing with his first five children flooded his vision.  Many of whom little could be spoken of and who should have given anything in this world to sit on that stool and demonstrate to the world what an awesome job their father had done.  Remly had decided within himself, that this one would succeed.  The errors of this child, he suddenly realized, were growing more horrific with the passing of time, and it was almost conceivable to him that it might be attributed to a fatal flaw in the mechanism of this young creation.6

One evening when Remly had taken the boy to his weekly classes, and Jimmy was playing a Russian polka, a misapplication of the tempo had set Remly into a rage.  It was after all, one of Remly’s favorite pieces, which he himself had learned as a child, but it seemed now to oscillate within his brain as a non-melodic rhapsody.  The pressure in his veins followed the erratic crescendo with which Jimmy manipulated the piece.  An andante became allegretto, and allegretto became moderato.  “What contriving was this that little Jimmy was constructing?” he thought.  Staccatos were like deathblows to his heart.  He felt palpitations.  Here was the child of his flesh, masterminding the destruction of the very Russian history that the song represented.  He saw the impurity in the boy and it caused him to shudder.  “I will surely die,” he thought.  He approached the professor and conversed over matters of refinement and talent.  It seemed to Remly that Jimmy’s talents were growing coarser and not being perfected with the course of time.  Every confrontation with Jimmy on his performance ended with a discussion over the need for endurance and commitment.  It seemed to him, that most conversations with his boy always ended on the same note; that of Jimmy’s inaptitude.  He walked with the boy to the patio of the house; arm over shoulder and with an encouraging look.  Jimmy was silent.  “Father, I need your help to get better at my music, have you any ideas for me?” asked the boy with a look of desperation.   “I have seen you in deep thought lately, and I know that you must be making plans for me.”  Remly was touched.  “Only to see you practice your scales my beloved Jimmy,” replied the father fearing disclosure of his deep concerns for the boy’s future as a famous pianist, for it had been said, that out of the mouth the heart speaks.7

The senses can be dulled in times of meditation.  Remly often spend many hours thinking about what to do about his boy Jimmy.  He wanted to develop the child’s memory to the capacity of a Hayden.  He wanted for Jimmy’s fingers to depress keys with the tactile pressure of a Chopin, for the rhythm of his body to be emotionally charged with allegretto, for the passion of lovers to emanate from his vibratos and captivation from his Bizet.  He wanted for the fury of the suites to resound throughout the house with fantastic Tzchakovskyan firebirds taking flight over his listener’s heads.  He so desired to see Jimmy succeed that often in his thinking he would find himself at his butler Naason’s side discussing and devising methods to bring his Jimmy’s talents into fruition.8

It was therefore over tea in the den of their house that he disclosed his grandest plan to little Jimmy as to how to best drive life into him.  It seemed to Remly that if the boy could but sustain a little more pressure, that the demonic subversive hands at work in the boy’s talents would loosen their grip.  Alas, the solution was clear in Remly’s mind. He felt as if he were the only one left on earth capable of resolving this boy’s imperfections.   He came before Jimmy and presented his print.  “My dear Jimmy, I have spent much though regarding the matter of your talents.  I am resolved to help you become the best you can be in this art.”  Remly spoke carefully to the lad fearing the grip on him be too much and thus choke what passion remained in the boy.  “Father, if there be any means by which I can perfect my art, then take comfort to know that I am all for it” resounded the boy with determination in this voice.  Jimmy’s words seemed to choke Remly.  He suddenly wondered whether the strain on the boy was the source of his errors, perhaps limiting his true talent, but he quickly dismissed the horrid thought.  He fancied that a course of action should be taken immediately to bring the element of enthusiasm to the music of his Jimmy, and he was committed to do whatsoever he could to bring the child to a mastery of the piano.  He marveled at the efficiency with which the mind of a man could construct and unite thoughts.  “My beloved Jimmy, I see that the best method of improving your talent is to surround you with an ambience of music and art.  You are to move immediately into my library room and remain there until the perfecting of your art is resulted upon. Here you will practice many hours during the day and soon you will see your talent improved and perfected,” exclaimed Remly, excited and filled with pride in his wit and his logic of the situation.  Jimmy was confused but amazed at his father, for he had always admired him for his ingenuity and had heard him speak many times of his great successes, and his inventions.  He submitted without hesitation.  “Then is should be done my father, lest my weakness in this art take the best part of me and bring us both to a state of sorrow and regret,” retorted Jimmy.9

Remly took hold of the boy’s small hand, and shook it wildly with great enthusiasm at the prospect of seeing his Jimmy succeed in this masterful plan.  As an engineer and professional would do, Remly closed the deal with his son. 10

The boy was to enter into Remly’s study room for the week.  Within the confines of that space, Jimmy would mature into a fine pianist.  All the instruments of success would be there at his disposal, a baby grand, sheets, metronomes, and much more to stimulate the musical senses.  This was the same study room, where Remly had done much of his study into the sciences and engineering.  Here he had envisioned and innovated machines and crafts for physical mobility of society’s common man. Human wisdom and science had merged in that room to produce the masterpieces of motion to facilitate populous dispersion throughout the entire world; Mechanical structures suitable for transportation in a modern world.  Remly walked Jimmy to the study room.  Jimmy had always stayed out of his father’s study room.  He had been forbidden to enter it lest his presence might corrupt a though, or an idea in Remly’s mind.  As they entered the space, young Jimmy saw elaborate winged boxes hanging from the ceiling by a thin thread.  Sheet music hung from the faces of the walls as if they had been thrown onto them while the paint was yet wet.  Musical notes had been cutout of cardboard and draped over every edge of a mahogany grand piano in the center of the room, as if in adoration.   The exorbitant array of books that lined the wall and the dangling of the notes were too much for little Jimmy.  He had practiced all day from early morning to night, and this extra push toward the brim of success had been too much for one day.  Little Jimmy felt dazed and fainted.11

“Naason! Naason!” screamed Remly, grasping his sideburns and slapping his arms downward onto his side.   12

Out of the darkness of the hall, appeared a meager shape of a man. The coldness of his face could scare the living out any man should he look upon him.  Naason had been Remly’s butler since childhood, and he had been by his side serving his beck and call throughout his scientific experience in his home.  His face was a white washed sepulcher with locks of hair down the sides, and moisture over his brow.  He was hunched and walked with a sideward slant. His head moved about quickly and his eyes darted to and fro as he walked and a swing to his left arm by his side he made his approach upon Remly.   13

“Pick up the child Naason, and bring him into the study hall,” said Remly feeling exasperated over the situation, “and for heavens sake turn on some music!”14

“Yes Mr. Remly, right away sir-r-r,” grunted the butler.  With two large callous hands and gargantuan arms, seemingly longer than his legs, he picked up Jimmy and swung him over and onto his kyphotic back.  Little Jimmy’s arms and head dangled as he was carried into the room.  The plebian had worked, cranked, and carved machines and models with his bare hands, so the task was easy for him.  He had been bestowed with little imagination but great durability, and his strength was a sharp contrast to Remly’s sophistication.  There by the piano, he laid the lad to rest and softly but audibly, should one have pressed an ear to his lips to hear his muttered grunts, “If this was my boy, he would never be a pianist.”  15

When Jimmy awoke, he saw above him faces of concern, with eyes intense and penetrating.  They were those of his father and the butler.  Glancing around him he could hear melodies and tunes that relaxed him.  The air smelled of cinnamon, and frankincense.   Remly had arranged the study to be a pleasing atmosphere for a child like Jimmy.  The walls about him looked newly painted with a coat of light blue and a touch of gray at the ceiling edges.  Musical imprints scattered as if thrown to dance on the surface of the walls.  Framed paintings of green fields with horses and foxes hung high above his head.  Golden sheets of light entering the room from a hexagonal window, splashed across him and over objects spilling onto a mahogany Wurlitzer piano.  Tall bookcases firm and straight lined some of the walls like those of a castle fortress.  He was dazzled by the brilliance and organization of the room, and he saw the signature of his father’s genius in everywhere.16

“How marvelous are your works father,” he said softly not daring to give glory to any other and slowly propping himself up. 17

“Its all for you son.  Make the most of it,” replied Remly.18

The boy walked over to the piano, reached over and struck a shiny white key on the piano.  “Dangg!” an ugly sound broke the atmosphere and the boy stepped back from the machine scanning sideward toward his father.  Remly, walked rapidly to a drawer and pulled two sheets, and placed it upon the piano.  “Here, compositions…play for me.  Play son… play,” he requested of the boy.  Little Jimmy climbed the stool before the machine and commenced to bang away at the keys, the sound of which tried to suffocate Remly.  Remly reached over and before the boy could finish the last measure, grabbed the sheet and tossed them back into the drawer.  The boy was excited to be in that wonderful room.  Jimmy moved about it with great curiosity.  Remly bewildered by the happenings quickly forced himself to overlook them altogether, lest he not survive a breakdown of his weak heart.  He began a discourse with the boy on the history of music.  He explored the wonders of the musical world, and contemplated on the physical effects such sounds would have on the human physiology.  He wondered if his plan would succeed. 19

“Father is it possible that I could one day be a famous musician?” asked little Jimmy.  “Most of those famous men died so young.”   “Don’t worry son, the work we are about to endure will be nothing compared to what those men experienced during their training.”  20

As usual, the boy became weak during such talks regarding his talents and training.21

Remly began the laborious work of carrying out his plan with the boy.  He stepped out of the room and little Jimmy could hear his father calling out sharp commands to Naason, whose responsive and fearsome grunts and growls grew more audible throughout the entire house.22

Outside, in the confines of mansion’s basement Remly prepared and constructed a musical machine, one that if successful would invigorate his little Jimmy.  He created a wondrous work of interconnecting machinery, one that when attached to the piano via drive and motor, would cause the keys below the boys hands, to lower and rise.  Thus the boy would have but to follow along to produce the masterpiece that Remly was sure to receive.23

In his curiosity, the boy walked within the room discovering models of machines indescribable to an unlearned eye.  Objects whose purpose and use escaped little Jimmy’s understanding.24

Underneath a pile of books, he discovered a most curious looking logbook.  It was leather bound with many pockets holding rulers, and strips of bluish paper.  Within these, his father had kept a log of all his innovations.  Here Remly had recorded every scientific calculation meticulously and documented every result of his experiments.  To Jimmy’s amazement, he found that most of the contraptions that his father had created had been actual failures and disappointments.  They were machines and clusters of metal useless to any average thinking mind, as such was recorded.  Machines that when put together had resulted in either fire or smoke, or both. 25

Little Jimmy was move to find that many of his father’s successes had resulted in catastrophes.  He thought that he understood his father a bit more, and so he wept.26

His father upon reentering the room and seeing the child weeping became displeased. “Jimmy, you have no business looking through those log books.  You might become discouraged.”27

“Father I am more proud of you now because of them,” said little Jimmy.  “Wait until you have matured in your music.  Then you can praise me for my work,” he retorted dashing out of the study room and out of the boy’s sight.28

Excited to learn more of his father, little Jimmy followed Remly out of the study room and into the basement where he and the butler had been working.  There he saw the two men hunched over what looked to be a miniature piano sitting atop a refrigerator like box.  Remly was feverishly scribbling notes upon a bluish paper.  Metal sheets overlaid a box like contraption, the edges of which looked corrosive and sharp.  Little Jimmy was specially drawn to the look on his father’s face as he conversed furiously with the butler over measures and weights.  “Moderato Naason, it must not run too slow nor too fast, lest with the turn of the spokes the legs might be broken,” he spoke loudly and with great vigor to his butler.  The air in the room smelled stale, of sweat and of metal.29

Upon seen little Jimmy in the basement, Remly ran and took hold of the boy’s arm, shaking him once. “Why have you left your studio and come down here boy? Do you wish to torment me yet in these hellish depths as well?  Leave this basement immediately and get to your playing above!”30

“But father, I just wanted to know more details of your plan to improve my talent, why do you hide your face from me when the pressure upon me is now the greatest?”31

“My dear Jimmy, there is but one result that I wish to produce. This magnificent machine will assist you in the perfecting of your talent, but I must reveal to you that there is some danger to the mechanism.”32

“I know of your genius father, and I will allow nothing to keep us from accomplishing our plan lest we both come to failure in our vocations!” cried little Jimmy.  “I had not known the depth of your commitment to my work son.  There is only one more thing to try and it is my invention, which will propel you into success lest it crush you under its weight if it should fail.  Now go on up back to the study room, and continue with your practice,” said Remly reassuringly.  33

Little Jimmy felt better about his future than he had felt before.  Knowing now what was at stake drove him to work yet harder in his practice.  His little heart leaped for joy at the though that soon his father’s invention would drive him to higher levels of perfection where his father awaited.  But the lack of rest for his little body had weakened his heart muscles and he felt a tingling sensation in his left fingers. 34

The sound of Remly’s steps awakened the boy form a drifting of his mind.  He could feel success approaching, and he wanted nothing more than to please his father.35

With the butlers help, they brought in and mounted what looked at a harness of blades and spokes below the piano.  They hoisted and welded the machines into position.36

There remained but two small slots whereby a small person could enter his legs to reach the pedals.  Remly placed little Jimmy in the contraption and proceeded to have the butler crank the machinery to a slow running hum.  Remly reached over and pressed one of the black keys on the keyboard, and to everyone’s amazement, there arose a most beautiful sound that radiated about the room.  A second key could be seen dropping on its own as the machinery below little Jimmy’s body turned gears and spokes, thus presenting the boy with the next key to follow. 37

“There, you see my Jimmy, it is a success, and nothing less could be expected from this remarkable Godly invention.  The sounds, the melody, the tempo, your playing is almost angelic.  No heavenly creature will ever cease to rejoice over the sound of this machine!” 38

“Oh, good daddy!” muttered little Jimmy.39

“Good? No, awesome, exhilarating, most wonderful creation!” exclaimed he.40

“Father, this is truly a remarkable invention, I admit, the sound of which is incomparable any other that I have ever heard.  How easy it is now for me to play my keys.  But, the machine, father, it is giving way and my legs have become the support for its weight.”  Little Jimmy was too exhausted to fight the pain.  He had worked tirelessly at keeping up with the machine.  Unseen to either of them, a segment of the sheet metal that covered the concoction had loosened from its bowels, and its corrosive edge had penetrated both of the boy’s legs.  Slowly, and with the rhythmic motion of the machine and activation of the keys, the metal continued farther into the tender thighs of the child.  The bleeding although not visible to Remly from above the piano was profuse and unceasing.  Remly could not tear himself from the melodious enchantment of the music than titillated the cochlear hairs of his ears.41

“My dear father, I am dying, I am dying!” exclaimed the boy.  The paleness of the boy’s face revealed that something had gone terribly wrong with the experiment.  Beautiful music could finally be heard throughout the house, as two little hands swept gently and deliberately over a row of black and whites.  Enraptured by the music and unable to either release the mechanism or correct the boys bleeding, Remly could only admire the depth of the piece which, he himself had composed that awful day.  But the words of his child tugged at his heart frantically; they demanded reality from him, and he snapped back.  In the clearness of the room, he saw his the life of his beloved child like a flower dwindling away.  Yet did Remly grow the wiser, but he need not have bargained poorly for his dream with the life of his son.  This was truly the first time in the history of his home that one of his sons would have played the masters. The melodious notes which had so difficult a time in birthing, now died as they entered past his ears and into the perfect profundity of his mind.42