Lute's Love
Musical instruments created by excellent craftsmen are usually home to fairies. I am one of them.
My home, renaissance lute, was created over the winter by a craftsman named Jun, who had few mouths but was kind. In order to achieve a sound that resonates well, the rounded walls formed by 11 elongated boards are formed by fighting each other with nikawa, which is as thin as possible. In the center of the house is a decorative window called rose, which is delicate like a lace carved hard by Jun. It is my job to finish the sound making while being bathed in the beautiful patterned light that pours down the room through this window. I dance, jump, and dance lightly in the air
while this mellow aeru house plays music. When my movements resonate well with the vibrations that the player creates by playing the strings, a clear sound that no one can imitate is born.
When the sound stops, I gently look out of the decorative window. Usually I only feel the sign of the player behind the window, but the space filled with a clear sound until earlier has a sign of pure air after the rain. The time to relax the body which is tired well, and to look out such a window while keeping the cheeks is filled with the sense of fulfillment which does not become a word.
Sometimes I find customers outside. When customers see lute for the first time, they stare at Rose with a stoop and sigh
with fascinaty at its beauty. It’s as if I’m fascinated by them.
But the greatest joy is to hear the voices of customers who admire our sound. In such a case, I became good at it from the bottom of my heart, and the tiredness of the day was blown away, it responded to the encore, and it was 2008, and it was 2008, and it was 2008.
However, what is not enough these years is that the player practices only the same tune repeatedly. It’s certainly a lovely song. However, the performance that is repeated every day without getting tired has just exceeded 1,000 times. Until the first 100 times, I felt the sound with my whole body, and I tried different breathing and movement every time, but when it came to 300 times, a certain pattern was made. After 500, he found the best breathing, and he was able to grasp the condition of the player at that time and move to achieve the most mellow sound that matched this song. Now, more than 1,000 times, everything about this song has been ingrained deep in my unconscious, and I can create a clear tone with the perfection that there is no more. I’m sure the god of music will be satisfied.
But look, it’s the same song that resonates again today.
I remembered fondly the many songs I danced a long time ago, while instantly making the best sound. To be honest, this song was already full of stomach.
However, the player is an existence which cannot be reversed like God for me.
I must fulfill the mission given to me.
I was about to feel disgusted.
Suddenly, from the bright space beyond Rose, a sound that I had never heard before with light jumped in. It plays a powerful chord at a constant volume and overlaps with our sound.
It sounds fresh, completely different from the series of sounds that are familiar to the body from birth and disappear when it is played. The overlapping of heavy sounds, which seems to have many harmonicas at the same time, plays the melody and richly decorates the familiar songs.
It’s like another song!
I felt the sound, and I continued to dance engrossed as I tasted the joy in my body, with nostalgia and excitement. I can say with conviction that our sound, which was supposed to have been boring over and over again, became a whole new landscape, enveloped me, and resonated with overlapping sounds, was genuine and appropriate to be dedicated to the god of music. I realized that the dreamy session was over when the player stood up with a lute in his hand, the space I was in shook greatly, and the light shining in from
Rose extended for a long time.
Soaking in the afterglow of the song, I go to the decorative window by my usual custom and look outside. The scent of sweet flowers flowed in softly. The space was filled with purer-than-usual air, lively and lively, with light particles of various colors shining brightly.
In it I found a boy holding a red box with a black and white keyboard. The boy is staring straight at this place. I had never stared at me with such straight eyes, but I could only breathe
and stay still, feeling my cheeks turn rosy.
“The accordion is pretty good, isn’t it?”
When the boy smiled, he said so, and when he pressed a few black buttons on his left hand and pulled the box sideways, a bellow appeared with the rhythm, and when he thought that he had unsalted it again, it became quiet.
But my heart is still pounding and rhythming.
Accordion.
I muttered softly, calling the name of my loved one.
There is no sign of a fairy in the boy’s musical instrument.
I who fell in love with that rhythm in an instant in that tone and that boy suddenly recalled the magic of being able to dwell my other part of the body in another musical instrument. It’s a magic you can do only once in a life. In an old saying, a single hair having ed toned from the top of the head is used to prepare the one tied in the shape of a butterfly. Then put the butterfly in the palm of your hand, breathe it with a wish, and send it out to the instrument.
I chose the strongest and straightest hair, pulled it out of the top of my head, and made a butterfly knot and shaped it. And when he gently placed it in the palm of his left hand, he held out his left hand through the gap in the decorative window and turned to the boy’s accordion, praying.
“I wonder if this butterfly will descend on his accordion, and may my other hand live there and serve the God of music with him for many years to come.”
As if to react to the prayer, I watched the butterfly in the palm of my hand begin to flap, and then quietly closed my eyes, and I breathed gently.
