by Isabel Callejo-Brighton

 

            Before stepping up to “Ifshin’s Violin Store,” Mary paused and took a deep breath.  “Same as usual” she thought to herself.  Mary had been hired by Ifshin himself only a few months before to be the stores book keeper and desk secretary.  She didn’t know what had happened to the one before her, but Ifshin warned her when she first started that they don’t seem to stick around for very long.  She had jumped at this job opportunity since she had just graduated from Mills College, and didn’t really have any plans.

            As Mary started up the long flight of stairs to the store’s entrance, she noticed a “squeak” when she placed her foot on the last stair.  “That’s weird” she thought to herself, “I’ll have to call Ifshin about that.”  Opening the heavy mahogany door, Mary glanced at the old grandfather clock in the corner of the entryway.  The early morning light was streaming into the shop, illuminating the dust particles floating through the air.    She was a little bit earlier than normal this morning.

            She placed her backpack and purse on the chair at the front desk and quickly glanced at the oversized yellow post-it attached to her computer monitor.  It was the usual “Today’s TO-DO” list from Ifshin: 

¨     Make faxes

¨     Place phone calls about new shipment of violins

¨     Organize practice music

¨     Test out new violas 

 

He always wrote out a list of things for her to do every evening before he left the shop, even though it was roughly the same every day.  She picked up the phone to make her first call, but noticed that today there was an arrow pointing for a continuation on the back of the note.  Excited at the opportunity of something different, Mary placed the receiver back on the desk and flipped the note over with a jerking motion that startled Stewie, Ifshin’s resident cat.

 

            PS- Please clean out the storage room.  It’s almost 100 years worth of stuff, so get                        started early.  I want it done by tomorrow.

                                                                                                -Richard J. Ifshin

            Curious about her new assignment, she gave Stewie a pat on the head and headed to the storage room.  He hopped off his perch on the file cabinet above her desk, close at her heels. Pushing a large shipment of old violin cases to the side to get to the storage room.  “Jesus,” she thought to herself with a huff, “Do you think he could have a little more stuff back here?” Stewie had followed her into the room and meowed loudly in response.  Mary looked down to see him sniffing suspiciously at the corner of one of the boxes.  “Yeah I know big guy, I dunno about it either.”

            Once she finally moved the heavy boxes out of her way, Mary took a deep breath and looked up.  She had never realized the enormity of the door she faced.  It was covered with dust and cobwebs; a caked conglomerate of filth.  The door was intricately engraved with a huge “I” at the center.  Curlicues and decorations of all sorts covered the door, but it was severed by a huge crack that split the wood from the top corner to the doorknob. Mary knelt down to be eye-level with the ancient lock and peered through the keyhole.  Nothing.  She grasped the door handle and tugged.  As she expected, the door didn’t budge.  She slumped down against the wall and remembered the pair of keys on top of the old grandfather clock.  She had noticed them her first day of work at Violin Shop when Ifshin had instructed her to clean the windows, but hadn’t thought of them since.  With enthusiasm, she sprung to her feet and ran to the clock.  12:30? There’s no way its 12:30, she thought looking at the clock.  Ifshin’s gonna have to fix this and the stair, and he’s not gonna be happy about it.   Ifshin was very particular about the appearance of his shop, and insisted that it be immaculately cared for.  Stewie looked up at her and then trotted back to the storage room.  Right, back to work.  Mary grabbed the keys off the top but their weight made them slip out of her fingers, and they landed with a “CLANG” on the floor.  She jumped at the loud noise, and hastily picked them up.  They were surprisingly heavy so she decided to examine their shape and detailing a little further before going back to the door. 

            They were very long and had a triangular shape at the top.  Right below the ring hole, she saw words “Ifshin’s” engraved in a curly cursive style.  The other key was a little smaller than a house key, and not nearly as elegant-looking.

            Arriving at the storage room door, Mary inserted the large key into the lock and with a screeching sound, the doorknob turned. She slowly opened the heavy wooden door.  Mary was able to open it only a couple of inches before it stuck with a thud.  It appeared to be locked from the inside as well.  Mary grabbed a flashlight from the front office and returned to the door, her mind now set on opening it and exploring through the old documents and paraphernalia.  Jamming her arm through the crack, she felt around inside the room, her fingertips brushing over dust and cobwebs.  After searching for the bolt, she realized that there wasn’t one, but a pad-lock and chain instead.  Mary took the other smaller key and the lock opened after she moved it around a bit.  Success, she thought to herself. 

            Before she had a chance to stop him, Stewie squeezed inside the room, and was gone, out of sight.  “STEWIE!! What are you Doing!” This time, there was no response. 

Panicked about losing Ifshin’s cat, Mary pulled as hard as she could against the door and it slowly began to move.  Come on door! Work with me! Mary was finally able to get it open enough to where she could squeeze through.  She grabbed her flashlight and went in after Stewie.

            Once inside, Mary searched for a light switch.  She scanned the walls that were crammed with old decrepit boxes, music stands, and picture frames.  She saw gas lit sconces on the walls with glass to contain the light.  They hadn’t been used in a very long time.  The beautiful wooden floors in the rest of the shop had disappeared, and were replaced with concrete.  It was much cooler in this room, and Mary suddenly felt very alone.  There was a small window on the far side of the room which she decided to try to open to air out the place.  “Stewie,” she called.  “Steeeewwie, come ‘ere boy.”  She heard a faint meow come from the opposite corner.  Forgetting about the window, Mary scanned the area she thought she’d heard his voice, with her flashlight.

            Calling out to him again, Mary saw him huddled up against an old music stand, looking very confused.  “Come here Stewie, lets get you out of here.”  She picked him up and set him outside the storage room completely.  “You stay here, mister.” 

            Mary went back inside the room and started culling through an old document box.  The newspapers were crumbling and disintegrating into pieces.  She noticed the headline to one of them titled, “San Francisco Chronicle.”  It was dated July 14^th, 1907.  Knowing the Chronicle to be a local paper, she picked up what was left of it and saw the bold, capital letters: “GUARNARIE VIOLIN MISSING AFTER CONCERT.”  What? She thought to herself.  This has got to be a mistake.  They’re only a dozen of those violins left in the entire world.  No way I didn’t know about one missing. I know everything about these violins.  Mary was dumbfounded.  There were only a few sentences of the article left.  With it was a tattered photograph of the violinist, the Guarnarie in his hand, glistening with a freshly applied coat of polish, and it’s beautiful case opened to expose a velvet interior and an “I” imprinted on it’s top. 

            Mary sat down to try to make sense of the newspaper.  At Mills, she had studied the line of Guarnarie violins in great detail, and never remembered hearing of this infamous event.  Sighing, Mary looked up and propped her weight back onto her hands. 

            The light from the store was now streaming into the storage room, the first natural light to enter the room in decades.  Something black caught her eye, illuminated by the sunlight.  It was in the rafters of the storage room, and it looked like an instrument case.  Immediately intrigued by the only sign of a musical instrument so far, Mary retrieved a stepping stool from the front office and positioned it directly under the case.  She was able to elevate herself just enough to touch the case with her fingertips.  After manipulating the case back and forth, she was able to dislodge the instrument from the rafters, and it came tumbling down.  Mary lost her footing on the step stool and landed with the case on the ground.  Stricken with horror, she looked over to see the case had popped open.  To her surprise, there wasn’t a violin inside, but a tattered lining, with the faint impression of an “I”.  With astonishment and disbelief she held up the photograph next to the case and was positive it was the same. Mary picked up the photograph, put it in the case and finished cleaning out the room.

            After finishing up her job, Mary gathered up her things and on her way out, paused at the front desk and scribbled a note. 

            Ifshin:

                        I Quit.  The storage room is finished. Don’t send me my last paycheck. 

                                                                                    -Mary

 

            As Mary walked toward the entrance of the store, she glanced one last time at the old grandfather clock.  She closed the heavy door behind her, the cold metal in one hand, and the case’s handle in the other.