The Memory Painter

It was not a glamorous or well-paying trade; Katarina and Giuseppe struggled with finances their whole life. She would have been shocked to know that one of the violins he’d created had survived history and become the most expensive musical instrument in the world.

For two hours, Linz stayed in her bedroom, giving the memories time to settle in her mind. Now she was not only fluent in German and Italian but was also the only person in the world who knew that Katarina had helped her husband make his violins in the years toward the end of his life.

Desperately needing to hear one of his instruments, Linz got out her iPod and shuffled through her collection, studying it in a new light. Over the years, she had unknowingly purchased recordings that had a violinist who had played a del Gesù. It seemed that her subconscious mind could still recognize her husband’s violins three hundred years later.

She put on Vivaldi’s Concerto in G Minor and closed her eyes. It had been one of Giuseppe’s favorite scores. He would often test his instruments by having a violinist come to his workshop, and he would always request that the violinist play something by Vivaldi.

Vivaldi had been a contemporary and was a violin virtuoso, and he had understood just what the instrument could do. Giuseppe would hand the newly made instrument over to the violinist like a parent who was letting his child leave home for the first time. He would then watch the performance with a sharp eye and a stern face and only when he began to close his eyes would Katarina know he was satisfied.

A true perfectionist, Giuseppe always told Katarina that some trees had more music in them than others, and he would devote huge amounts of their resources to purchasing the finest wood. He had a well-connected brother in Venice who helped him get access to select maple and spruce from Eastern Europe. Giuseppe believed that, by giving his love and passion equally to the wood itself, he could coax the soul of the instrument to sing.

Over the years, he also made creative adjustments to his families’ violin-making traditions. His grandfather had apprenticed with the great Nicolò Amati, and the Guarneri family of violin makers adhered to the “Grand Amati” design. But as he grew in his artistry, Giuseppe chose to deviate from his lifelong training by letting the wood decide the violin’s shape. In that way, each of his violins was an original. They were full of power, able to withstand the greatest strain from the hand-driving passion of any player. His varnish was another one of his great secrets, and he took its recipe with him to the grave.

When he became too ill to work, Katarina would have someone come to his bedside each day to play Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. While she tidied up his workshop, she would listen to the passages from “Spring,” “Summer,” “Autumn,” and “Winter” coming from the bedroom and pray once more for God to give them more time. No one in the world could ever replace Giuseppe, with his incredible genius, his reckless passion, and his artistry. The Lord had put him on this earth to make instruments that could play heaven’s music. And here God was taking him away, with no one to inherit his workshop or his secrets.

Katarina didn’t know what to do. The unfinished violin sitting on Giuseppe’s workbench echoed her silent grief. She went over to it and sat down, wiped away her tears, and got to work.

On the day he died, she roused him and put the last violin in his hands. “Bartolomeo,” she whispered. It was what she called him in their most tender and private moments.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, then turned to the violin, studying its craftsmanship, and laid it on his chest with a sigh. “Grazie, amore mio,” he whispered.

The violin rose and fell with his breath until he drew his last, and Katarina knew his spirit was gone. Every instrument has a story to tell, and this violin would tell Giuseppe’s.

*

Linz killed the music, ruthlessly pushing Katarina’s memories aside. She didn’t want to remember her life or mourn the loss of Giuseppe. Neither held answers to the one question burning in her heart: Did her father kill Michael and Diana?

In frustration, she reached for the vial again, refusing to think about what a triple dose might do. She knew she should call Bryan to let him know what she was doing; otherwise, no one would think to check on her for days. She imagined her father walking in to find her dead on the floor with the vial beside her. She didn’t know why the thought gave her satisfaction, but it did.

Linz lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, waiting for the Renovo to take effect. Twenty minutes passed and still nothing happened. Maybe she would take a nap instead. Her breathing slowed, and her body began to feel heavy as sleep drew its blanket around her. She was wondering if the third dose would even do anything when she was hit by a stomach cramp.

Linz moaned and rolled off the bed. She felt dizzy and nauseated as the pain inside her grew.

She remained on the floor and slowly crawled to the bathroom. Her only concern was that she didn’t throw up the drug.



JAPAN