Maude was walking down the street around Naviglio, her fingers tightened around her mother’s hands. The canal was to her left and the water shone in the afternoon sunlight. The streets were bustling, with people moving around - a mix of locals and tourists, some going about their daily work and some there to absorb the beauty and radiance of the place. Many artists set up their shops in the street to impress the people walking by, in the hopes to make some money. Maude and her mother frequently walked along the canal to feed the swans that waited patiently for their arrival.

“Look Mom,.Daisy is here. How beautiful she looks today!”

Said Maude as she saw the swans recognize their presence. They all swam towards them, as if to pay them their respects. Despite having no bread with them today, they had decided to visit the swans today. The surroundings had a magical influence, one that could heal any mental anguish. And they were very much in need of that

“Maude, be careful not to lean too much, you’ll fall in.”

Her mother pulled her back and to the other side of the road outlooking the canal.

“It’s time to go home.”

Maude looked dejected but did not argue. She followed her mother as they started walking back to their cottage. Maude was only eight years old and was often attracted by the various interesting people she met on the street of Naviglio. She remembered one time meeting an Englishman with her mother. None of them spoke much English, so they couldn’t communicate well with him. It was apparent however that he was hungry and tired and had nowhere to go. Her mother had guided him home and given him something to eat. She remembered the look on the man’s face, it was one of a gratitude that could not be expressed.

As she thought, she heard a soft, sharp and vibrant growing sound behind her. She turned around to identify the sound and saw a young woman who had her eyes closed, and held upon her neck, a violin. It felt like the violin in her hands had a life of its own. She had just chanced upon the young woman having an engaging conversation with the instrument. In that moment, the whole world seemed to fade away for Maude, she had disappeared into the world that was created by the eloquent music. She was carried away by the river of sound, gleefully drowning in its melody. When it ended, she wished for it again, but respected the silence that came after the performance, in respect to what she had got to witness.

“Miss, you play really well! I wish I could play like you!”

“Thank you little girl, what is your name?”

The lady asked her upon noticing her.

“Maude.”

“Anyone can play the violin, Maude, it’s not about the difficulty, it is about the heart and how you talk to your violin.”

Maude went closer to her as she demonstrated a few long woven notes to her. They were so fantastic and wonderful to her that she could have sat there all day and just listened to them. The wonder in her eyes was apparent and the lady noticed it as well.

“You know what, let’s see you try playing, shall we?”

Maude’s eyes lit up and she jumped up and down. She was eager to get her hands on the magical instrument, to be able to put a spell on every one who heard her playing.

The lady guided Maude and how to hold the violin and to play a note.To her surprise, Maude was very quick to understand and played it almost to perfection.

For Maude, it was a match made in heaven. From the moment she held the violin, it felt to her like it was a part of her body. It seemed like her body was ingrained to play the violin.

“You’re a natural! You should really try to become a violin player.”

Maude nodded enthusiastically. She was reluctant in parting with the instrument, which she had fallen in love with. The lady spoke to Maude’s mother who had been watching from the back. Maude fidgeted with her skirt.

They seemed to be talking about Maude but she stood far enough to not be able to hear what they were talking about. When they were done, her mother grabbed her hand and indicated to her to follow her back home.

Many days passed, but Maude could not forget the feeling of the violin. It was etched in her skin. She used to imitate the lady and her intricate movements, without the violin. Her mother smiled whenever she saw her daughter so passionate, for she never seemed to be interested in much else. Maude’s birthday was after five days. Her mother had decided what she wanted to get her. Presently, she needed to go to purchase it.

Maude always loved her birthdays, as it was a change from her usual routine and a celebration of her, where people actually noticed her. Being a shy girl with a non talkative personality, one would think she would have been afraid of the attention, but she liked it. She had the exact attributes of an artist.

And the five days went by as Maude’s birthday arrived. She did not expect anything for her birthday, for she knew that they had modest means. Yet she desired the feel of the instrument she had played that day, an experience that she was never going to forget. She knew she couldn’t ask her mother for it, but she dreamed of owning one herself. When she saw her mother carrying a case that had the shape of a violin, she thanked God and ran to her mother.

“Now Maude, I have seen how much you like the violin, and I want you to be able to play the real thing and not just an imaginary one. But I want you to remember, this cost a lot of money, so take care of it and handle it responsibly. If you treat it with love, it will also treat you the same.”

She handed Maude the case, and as she did so Maude’s heart leapt with joy.

“Now play Mom a little melody.”

Maude had been very impressed by the lady who had performed that day. A child-like obsession often leads one to miraculous tasks. Although she did not know much about what the lady had played, she had seen the way her fingers moved and her body moved. That was what she would reconstruct in her mind when she played with her imaginary violin. When she picked up the violin, it seemed like her hands already knew what to do and got to business. She set the violin against her neck and struck the bow onto the strings. At that moment her mother knew, she had an angel for a daughter.

Maude got engrossed in her violin practice and nothing else seemed to matter to her anymore. Everything other than that seemed so unmusical and unexciting to her. She spent hours at an end just cleaning her violin, to make sure it was in pristine shape to respond to her needs. Maude had not seen any other violin player besides the lady on the street, so she envisioned herself to become as good as her. She played in a similar style as well. Relaxed but poignant, enthralling yet elegant. To one observing her it would look like they had chanced upon a lovely conversation between a girl and a violin.

The days flew by and turned to months and then to years, as Maude rapidly improve at playing the violin. She had no real way to learn, so she tried to remake the songs she heard on the street or the ones her mother sang to her, by experimenting the ways her violin could mimic the sounds. She became so proficient at it that when she started playing, irrespective of where she was, there was a dead silence, to hear her violin sing. It felt as if the birds itself would stop singing to learn from this combination of a girl and a violin.

Maude had risen to performing in the streets.The looker- byes stopped by when they were having bad days, and felt their spirit rejuvenated. Children flocked to her in multitude, charmed by her magic. She drowned further and further, falling deep into the sound of her violin.

Her parents were not the happiest couple in the world. She had known from a young age that their marriage was not one they were both satisfied with. Lately, they had been having arguments that grew to be both more violent and frequent. Maude never said much to either of them, as she felt like she could not really connect with them anymore. In fact, she didn’t feel like she was able to connect with anyone anymore.

Why should she care when she could just talk to her violin instead?

Her mother had had a very serious conversation with her about the state of her marriage with her father. Maude’s experiences never affected her playing of the violin, but that day was different. As she looked at the crowd in front of her, waiting to be blessed by her music, her mind went back to what her mother had said to her. She picked up her violin and set it up against her neck.

She played one note and this time it was different. It didn’t resonate an ethereal tone of happiness, rather it suggested to explain to the audience what she felt like, through the power of her violin. The audience seemed to understand as Maude thought back to what her mother had said to her,

“Maude. Listen to me Maude. Sit down. I need to tell you something, put the violin down.”

She knew then and there that something big was the problem, her mother had never asked her to put her violin down.

“You know very well that me and papa have not been having the best time together…”

As her mind focused on that one sentence, her song grew more intense, a heartthrob, as many in the audience broke down. Her pain, her vulnerability and helplessness could be felt through the melody that pierced the heart of all that listened to it.

“Papa and Mama have decided to go different ways Maude. You must understand that nothing will change for you. We will both always be there for you. Just not together.”

Just not together.

The line seemed to seep into Maude’s existence. Her notes grew long and stretched, as the beautiful melody, while remaining elegant, turned melancholic and simulating a cry of pain. The violin seemed to understand her misery and her violin played a tone to resemble it. It was like they were connected with each other. A girl and a violin.

“But, I still have my violin.”

As her thoughts went back to the song, the melody completed itself by returning to the jubilant, joyful and exuberant tone that filled the earlier wounds that had been caused by the anguish. The audience were in tears, the power of music holding their emotions hostage. Maude ended her song by a rapid succession of intricate notes, followed by a long enveloping one, like the last bit of sorrow being sucked out of her body. She let out a breath and put her violin down.

Thunderous applause rained down on her. What the people had witnessed was more than just a performance, it was a story. A story without words, but one with enough emotion to fill the gap. Many people came up to her and thanked her saying to her that the performance made them think about their loss and suffering, to put a light on its significance and then to blow it away, to remind them that despite that, life was beautiful. Maude was glad. This was the first time her music had such an effect. The fact that she could touch the broken hearts of people and repair them through her music made her grateful. She really was an angel.

Maude became renowned for her skills and her majestic performances. Through her parents divorce, the anguish in her heart grew more and more, and her performances translated that. She put all of her pain into her playing and it healed her and everyone who had the luck to hear it. Her music grew more and more ambitious and so did the way she played. Although she loved performing at big music halls and venues, she preferred to play on the street, where the world heard her violin sing.

Maude had turned twenty that day, when she was playing at the same spot that she had seen the lady perform when she was small. Among all the melodies she played, she still loved the one that she had heard all that time ago, and reconstructed through her memory. She was in the middle of playing the song, when a young girl ran up to her and watched her closely. She respected the song, and waited till the end to talk to her.

“Missy, that was beautiful! How did you learn to play?

I wish I could play as well as you!”

Missy smiled and shared her friend with the little girl and watched herself through the girl.

As Maude grew older, her problems in life seemed to grow as well. She struggled to make ends meet. Her mother, who had grown frail and weak, crippled with disease in her old age was worrisome to her. She spent most of her time sitting beside her bedside and playing to her mother, in hopes that the music that had healed so many would play its magic on her mother as well.

Maude had been chosen to perform in the Auditorium Parco della Musica, something she had dreamed of for a long time. The day before she was set to perform, her mother passed away, silently in her sleep. Maude was affected gravely by her death, she felt alone and miserable. She was reluctant to perform the next day, she couldn’t imagine playing the violin the same way. But the moment she stepped onto the stage and put her violin to her neck, the thought returned to her,

But, I still have my violin.

It turned out to be undoubtedly her best ever performance. That day in her performance Maude cried, and her violin cried along with her. The audience felt as if the world did not matter anymore. Everything else faded away. Pain, regret, fear, greed and anything that troubled their souls was washed away. The only thing they could feel was Maude’s heart crying at the loss of her mother. The only thing they could see was Maude and the Bleeding Violin.

Maude’s reputation grew after that performance and her name as the ‘Bleeding Violin’ travelled across the world quickly. Her concerts became world renowned, and her music forever immortal. She remembered what her mother had told her long ago,

“…if you treat it with love, it will also treat you the same…”

Maude had kept her promise. She spent an hour everyday cleaning the violin and fixing any pains it had. The violin had grown with her since her childhood. From a friend to an irreplaceable part of her being, it had been woven into her spirit. She had reached the bottom of the river and yet she had continued to drown deeper, searching for the end.

Maude had aged and she had aged with her friend. She lived alone in a small apartment, for she did not like someone that would disturb her music. The neighbours were blessed, to be able to witness her person in reality.

Maude did not eat enough to support her body, no eating was a break from the violin and any moment that was not filled with her music seemed to be like a void to her. Slowly but surely, a weakness settled into her body and she grew more and more fragile as the days passed by. She remembered the look on the face of her dying mother and was reminded of it whenever she looked at her own face in the mirror. Heaven was calling its angel back, and she knew it. She did not try to run away from it, rather to embrace it in its totality.

She was playing, ‘The song from a secret garden’, one day. She was halfway through the song when she felt herself falling and losing consciousness. She collapsed onto the ground halfway through the song.

Her neighbours found her lying on the floor and rushed to her. They realised that she had no pulse, that she was dead - and had been dead for a while. When she was buried, she was buried with her violin inside her grave. Not even death could separate a girl and her violin.

There was one thing that the neighbours couldn’t understand. According to the doctor’s report, Maude had died a long time earlier than they had thought. Yet, they had heard the song of the violin continue. They couldn’t understand how it was possible. It was just the violin weeping over the loss of its best friend.

And so the end came for Maude and her Bleeding Violin.