16 June 2012
20th Jan. 2002 Dear Mother,
He's wonderful. Our beautiful baby boy. He's called Carter, after dad. Carter John McKeown. I wish you could see him, he's got the wisdom of an old man in eyes barely two months old. You can tell he'll be one of those great individuals, a genius. I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself, but I feel it in my water. He's a miracle. You'd love him. Can't wait for you to visit. All our love, Linda.
1st Feb. 2005 Dear Mother,
I hate to say I told you so but well, I told you so. We should have called him Carter Mozart never mind John. We got him a little violin for his birthday, he'd been begging us for one. Mark says its just a phase but I know better. He's already plucking away at it, he'll be a pro soon. He's a natural, Mother, I tell you. Carter says thanks for the jumper too, and the card. All our love, Linda.
13th Aug. 2005 Dear Mother,
He only started his lessons a month ago and they already have him on grade seven material! It's astonishing, our little Carter a prodigy. He never stops, just rondos and minuets all day. He loves it and Professor Hayworth wants to take him on tour! Our baby, a touring violinist before he's even in nursery! They say they'll have to wait a few years, mind to sort some stuff out but just think of it Mother. Little Carter! All our love, Linda
1st Jan. 2008 Dear Mother,
This is Vienna calling! Yes, Carter just played the New Year's concert in Vienna! He looked so dapper bless him, in his little tux and all. Like a mini-me of his father. I've sent a picture of the two of them. Professor Hayworth says he's doing remarkably well, the public adore him. He's just so darn cute. We'll be touring for another nine months or so before heading home. All our love, Linda.
20th July 2008 Dear Mother,
Oh mum we don't know what to do. We're at our wits' end over here. The tour ended prematurely. He was doing so well, our little baby. He was selling out all over the world. It was The Sydney Opera House. I couldn't tell you for the life of me which piece it was, shows you how much I know. Carter was playing so beautifully. Then all of a sudden, the bow slipped, there was a squeal. He'd missed the note. The poor thing stopped completely, just froze like a rabbit in the headlights. We had to take him home, the professor would have nothing to do with him after that. When we got home he just went straight to his room, punishing himself over this one note. We haven't seen him for weeks. He won't let us in, he won't come out. He won't eat or sleep, like he's in purgatory or something. He just keeps playing that one piece, over and over, double time, triple time, in reverse. It's all he does. It rings out like the frantic call of some demented bird, constantly sounding an alarm. He's hell-bent on getting it right. Mother, I'm so worried. Not our little Carter. Please not him. Yours, Linda.
20th Aug. 2008 Dear Mother,
I was always so sure of our Carter. I never worried about him, not once. Not until recently of course. It was a week ago. We'd got so used to hearing that damned melody all the time. And suddenly, it just stopped. He just stopped. Mark went mad. We rushed up the stairs and he bashed the door in. I don't know how he didn't have the strength until now but he did. The room was pitch black, we couldn't see anything. We bumped into his little bed and fell over his toys and the dress shoes he wore that night in Sydney. We couldn't find our little boy anywhere. And then we looked down. It was still warm. Steaming, on the rug in the middle of the room. A violin. Not any ordinary violin. The base was made of a small ribcage, the neck had the distinct curvature of a spine. The tuning pegs were fashioned from toe and finger bones, the ivory glistening in the moonlight and the strings were ligaments and sinews. The bow was an ulna, the strings of the bow fine, blonde hair. the body was inlaid with an intricate pattern made of teeth and painted with blood, roses and their thorns. And our boy was nowhere to be found...
Based on Lot 13: The Bone Violin by Doug Wright
Fingers To The Bone • Opuss № I