Would you rather love the more, and suffer the more;
Or love the less, and suffer the less?
That is, I think, finally, the only real question
The Only Story – Julian Barnes
Dear Grandson,
The cover is made of black linen, feeling pleasantly fuzzy to the touch. His grandson, a blue-eyed, brown-haired body of energy and imagination just shy of two years old, hadn’t yet mastered the zipper that would open and close the case, struggling to pull the interlocking teeth that traveled around both corners. His grandpa, smiling, wrapped his wrinkled hands around the toddler’s fingers and helped him pull the zipper around until, to the delight and surprise of its young handler, it magically opened. Wide-eyed, the grandson, who everyone remarked looked just like his father and grandfather, would give a quick “oooh” as the prize inside was revealed.
The cover of the case displayed the white embossed name of the German inventor and creator of the mini-Twinkie sized magic encased inside. Since 1857, Matthias Hohner had been making whimsical musical instruments such as the kazoo, accordions, recorder flutes, and this four inch Progressive Special 20 in the key of C, described as producing a “dark, rounded sound that has inspired professional musicians for decades.”
There was a tagline below the name Hohner that said “Enjoy Music.” The tagline was either a fanciful wish of the inventor bestowed to its user or a marketing device meant to plant the seed of what, with practice and patience, it could do for its owner.
Music, however, was not the goal of grandpa and grandson, at least not with these first few encounters. The goal was to simply create; Noise. Make noise! Use your breath and agency to one day create something musical, an intentional magnum opus that will go out into the world and bring joy or comfort or memories to whomever will need the healing of its hearing.
But not today! Today the only goal is Noise!
The grandpa blew into the device and the grandson looked up in wonder. The grandson had never heard such a sound. It was new and exciting and when the grandpa blew into it again, it was LOUD! Whatever grandpas do, it’s LOUD and reverberating, bouncing off walls with echoes of largeness and majesty. Removing the device from his mouth, the grandpa held it to his grandson’s mouth, nodding his head with encouragement to do the same, that HE, grandson, had the power to make the same sound that was larger than his little world had ever known.
The grandson breathed his normal breath and, miraculously, that same LOUD, EXHILARATING racket came out of the device! How did that happen? He was only doing what came natural without thought or intent, yet, with his own exhaling breath came a resounding magical achievement of sound. The grandpa rocked back in his chair and laughed with his own childlike glee and the grandson saw the pleasure he had created on his grandpa’s face.
It was the same look of delight that this grandpa remembered displayed on HIS grandpa’s face after his younger self won a game of checkers or crokinole board game. Reaching back numerous decades, the pleasure of noise and laughter carried on into a multi-decade future, all connected, all a single thread of human existence. It was all here in this moment of noise, creation, and delight.
The grandpa blew into the device again, the noise coming forth as before, and the grandson reached up, his eyes intent and blazing because he wanted to make the noise again too. The grandpa held the device to the grandson’s mouth and – again – miraculously, the intonation came flowing out over and over again.
How can something as natural as breathing create a noise that filled this grandpa’s eyes with such love and contentment? The grandson may not have had the cognitive mechanics to explain the relationship between grandpa and grandson, but he instinctively deduced cause and effect. Blow into the device. Make noise. Watch grandpa smile.
The grandpa then blew out, breathed in and sliding his mouth across the ten tabs of chords, he created multiple levels of sound, tone, volume and inflection, exaggerating the movement of his lips and cheeks to show the grandson how this was accomplished. Now the grandson wants to hold the device himself, to extend his personal power even further. He blows, he inhales, he swipes the device back and forth in mimicking rhythm, duplicating all those same, self-generated sounds!
What a discovery! At less than two years old, he has the ability to make noise that pleases his young soul as well as someone outside himself. He comprehends the ability and power that resides in his own natural, unconscious breath.
After several runs and substantial saliva dripping from the reed and mouthpiece, he hands the device back to his grandpa, silently indicating,“It’s your turn, grandpa. You make noise.” And grandpa does. Back and forth they go, the grandson now in complete control of the device, alternately holding it to his own mouth, breathing in and out, running up and down the scales and then reaching up to hold the device to his grandpa’s mouth, his turn to breath in and out, making the same boisterous clamor that generates laughter in both toddler and grandad equally.
Time, in this singular moment, has traversed the universe to form an unbreakable bond. The discovery of sound and the personal power it holds to bring joy in others has been transferred from one generation to another. It echoes with the pain of urgency and desire.
As the weeks and months pass, the ritual is repeated. The grandson runs to the grandpa for a quick embrace and kiss before quickly looking for the black case, hidden every time in the same upper pocket of the red Roots backpack. Hoisting the grandson onto his lap, the grandpa gladly assists with the zipper that will allow the excited grandson to open its case and reveal the power within, a shiny, silver harmonica, engraved with the name of its inventor and producer, M. Hohner, once again reaching through the unfathomable physics of time to allow one small boy to make noise and bring joy into the world while sitting on the lap of his grateful grandpa.
They both make noise, sharing the device. They both giggle without embarrassment. They both live in this moment, neither one knowing their time has an expiration date. In their naive, blissfulness, they squeak and squawk back and forth, looking into each other’s eyes with love and contentment. Nothing else matters. There is no war or politics, famine or loneliness. There is no fear nor insecurity. In the absence of the world’s pounding resentments, there is only these two and the noise they make together.
If only time could be suspended in this moment of unconditional joy. If only a fragile and broken reality did not have the power to intrude on the love between this grandson and his grandpa and the noise they made by just breathing in and out, in and out, in and out in soft rhythms and inflections.
“If only” exists in fantasies and fairy tales.
Because on March 6th, the noise stopped.
And the grandson didn’t understand why it was so quiet.
Goodnight, my angel
Now it’s time to dream
And dream how wonderful
Your life will be
Someday, your child may cry
And if you sing this lullaby
Then in your heart
There will always be a part of me
Lullaby – Billy Joel
Comments are closed.