The Tale of the Violin-Maker

[unixronin]

There was once a violin-maker, you see ... well, not just violins, he did cellos, violas, any of the bowed string instruments.

But I digress.

The violin-maker had a little shop on the main square of town, right by the town’s main cistern.  The area got little rain, and all water was precious.  Every drop of rain had to be saved in cisterns and catch-basins to get through the year.

One year, there was an earthquake.  Many buildings were damaged, and no few people killed in buildings that collapsed, but worst of all, the main cistern was cracked badly.  Not only were the cracks leaking, but a large section of the cistern wall between two deep cracks was unstable, and was threatening to give way under the water pressure.

Of course, the town guards’ first priority was to shore up the cistern wall.  To this end, seeking the closest source of makeshift repair materials, they went around all the shops on the square, grabbing everything that wasn’t bolted down to support the wall ... tearing off doors and shutters, taking barrels, sacks of flour, the violinmaker’s supplies of wood, even the instruments he was working on and several finished instruments awaiting collection.

The violin-maker protested bitterly at them taking the finished and nearly-finished instruments, having put hundreds of hours of work into them, but needs must when the devil drives.  The cistern wall had to be saved at any cost.

The violin-maker warned them, though, “You’ll regret taking those.  It’s a very bad idea.  You’ll see.”

Well, they successfully shored up the wall, and all was well until three days later, when a strong windstorm sprang up.  The town was no stranger to wind storms, but this time the town square was filled with the most unearthly shrieking.  It sounded like a hundred cats being skinned alive.  It sounded like demons pulling each others’ fingernails out.

People leapt from their beds and ran into the square, looking around for the source of the terrible, wailing sounds.  But the violin-maker walked calmly out into the middle of the square and pointed at the cistern, where the fierce wind was blowing through gaps and openings in the improvised shoring.

“See, I warned you!”, he said.  “NOW you hear the violins embedded in the cistern!”