Clarinete

This photo was the inspiration for this short story I wrote for a Spanish class in college. I believe it should be attributed to Sebastião Salgado. (If I'm wrong please let me know) 

Rigoberto, mi niño mayor de cuatro años, corre a sentarse a mi lado para la cena.  Él casi se cae en su ánimo al levantarse en el banco.  Esperamos a la comida.  Yo con una paciencia que sólo viene del cansancio y el con una falta total de paciencia mientras sus pies baten en las patas de la mesa.  Mi suegro queda sentado en el sofá atrás con nada en la boca para impedirlo a hablar; habiendo ya comido debido a su diabetes.  No sé qué comentarios de él tendré que sufrir durante mi refección.  Pensando en los juzgamientos de los familiares de mi esposa yo coloco mi mentón arriba de mis manos juntadas y miro a mi esposa juntando la comida. Hoy comeremos arroz con frijoles cubierto de una salsa picante junto a una sopa hecho de los restos del pollo que comemos ayer.  Hoy no hay más pan.

Muy temprano por la mañana me levanté y, sin comer, fue de autobús hasta la ciudad para buscar un lugar en la nueva banda que tocaba en los grandes clubes cada noche.  Pensé que poca gente tocaba clarinete, pero además de los tocadores de trompeta, éramos el grupo mayor.  Yo me sentía que hubiera tocado bien, pero al comprar mi pasaje de retorno con el resto de nuestro dinero sabía que no era el caso.

Mientras mi esposa coloca la comida en la mesa siento el mirar de Rigoberto.  Quiero mirarlo y darle una sonrisa pero no tengo más sonrisas para dar.

- Papi, antes de comer puedes tocar su clarinete para nosotros - dice él con un deseo que nunca he escuchado.

- Estoy cansado hijo, ahora no.

- Pero papi, personas que no conoces pueden escucharte tocando y nunca yo.

No sé que decir a el en respuesta.  Coloco mi mano sobre el clarinete.  Pauso pensando.  – Toque por su hijo, querido –dice mi esposa mientras ella pasa un plato lleno enfrente de mí.

Levantando el instrumento yo paso saliva con mi lengua sobre mis labios y doy un paso sobre la boquilla.  Con un respiro profundo comienzo a tocar.  Los primeros sonidos son flojos, pero aumentan en fuerza hasta una altura que pienso que talvez se quebrará la campana de la clarinete.  Con una rapidez ganado por mucha practica comienzo a dejar mis frustraciones salir en un ruido violento.  Al las notas arribar y descender yo vejo el susto en los ojos de Rigoberto.  La música pasa a perder su violencia y toma una forma animada corriendo por toda parte de las escalas musicales.  Cambiando el tono el sentido pasa a mi tristeza y notas más lentos causando lágrimas en los ojos de mi esposa. De vez cambio dirección  y toco algo a dar todas las respuestas que nunca pude decir a mi suegro.  Toco con sonidos muy feos los comentarios del viejo y doy respuesta de mi alma aun que el no llega a comprender.

De repente yo paro de tocar al ver la cara de mi esposa.  Doy un sonriso y un guiño a ella y retorno a tocar música conocida por Rigoberto convidándolo a cantar conmigo.  Mi hija Clarín junta su voz con la de su hermano y yo toco ritmos que van al contrario de lo que cantan.  Después de acabar con la canción yo toco una variación de un himno favorito de la familia y con el último sonido mi familia queda quieto. 

La primera a hablar es mi esposa –Papá, –hablando a mi suegro –puedes hacer la reza sobre la comida.

Todos bajamos nuestros cabezas y cerramos nuestros ojos.  Abro un ojo y miro a Rigoberto que no ha parado de mirarme aun con cabeza bajada.  Doy una sonrisa a él y él cierre sus ojos. 

Mañana hablaré con el jefe de construcción.  Oí que necesita trabajadores. Talvez un día encuentro audiencias que puedan pagarme con más que sonrisas, abrazos y besos para tocar mi clarinete.

Preleminary Research 1

His name, Humbert, while unfortunate was worsened by the name he gained by virtue of the family of which he not so virtuously became a part. With no hope of receiving a better last name than that of his mother, Humbert Baukunin might have only had to deal with occasional glances as people read his name for the first time. His eventual adoption at the age of three by his late mother’s uncle would place a breadth and depth to bad names that, had poor Humbert done nothing else in his life, he would have at least been immortalized through the passing comments of people who shared their knowledge of his name.

Young Master Axelrod - as his private school professors called him; that being the name he gained from his uncle - demonstrated a proclivity to the visual arts that drew the attention of his school’s largest benefactor. The eponymous Philmore Baxter rewarded the boy Humbert with various scholarships, and upon Humbert’s advancement from the ranks at the Baxter School for Boys (now simply the Baxter School due to the integration of the sexes and the further opportunities for income that came with larger enrollment), he was afforded one of few seats available at the New London Secondary School for Artistic Development .

The years Humbert spent at New London were by all reports enjoyable. His professors and mentors report him to have been a quiet yet cheerful lad. He was loath to speak in class, but with some prodding would express himself with sufficient eloquence. Rather than separate himself from his fellow students, where one could have then called him a loner, Humbert managed to blend into the, albeit small, crowd of his peers. The only manner of expression where this boy removed himself from the crowd and, in his own way shouted out loud, was in his drawing and paint classes.

It was in those same classes that Humbert Baukunin Axelrod began to sign his work with the simple H. B. Axelrod. Before the end of his first term he had simplified it further by signing his initials only. Interestingly, on the works some call his best Humbert never actually signed them. Identification of these works from his name written on the back side of the frames by Rigoberto Jimenez, the frame shop owner who framed every smaller scale work of Mr. Axelrod.

I mention scale at this time, as it was while at the New London School that Humbert discovered the mural. His first mural was surprising in both its scope as well as its location. Humbert painted not only the walls, but also the floor and ceiling of the boys’ restroom on the school’s third story. Why his fellow students, as well as the school janitorial staff, maintained the secrecy of his project is not easily understood until one sees the quality of the work he performed.
With the completion of his first work and the local fame derived there from, Humbert began to work as a mural painter in ______. To this day, the town and its surrounding area continue to have the largest concentration of murals by any artist and especially those of Humbert Baukunin Axelrod.

The first, and only page, of the biography of Humbert Baukunin Axelrod by Jonathan Yarbrough IV, himself a graduate of the Baxter School and later Harvard University. Before more could be written by Mr. Yarbrough, he was killed in a freak accident when H.B.A.’s work Forest 128 fell from the upper wall in the foyer of Mr. Yarbrough’s home and crushed his skull. Despite the large blood stain on the lower right corner of the work, it sold for nearly $100,000 at an estate auction held by the widow Yarbrough: Eugenia Elizabeth Elena. She was interestingly brought up on charges of murder due to the value of the estate she inherited, but was later acquitted when it was revealed she had in fact been at the home of her long time lover Senator Julius Jackson of the State Senate. He lost his re-election campaign due to the exposure of these facts. In a strange expression of gratitude, the newly elected Senator, Tabitha Farnsworth, worked to acquire federal grants on behalf of the _______ University Art Museum where the work The Sea Maiden is now displayed – in part, because of the grants.