Part 7: Farewell, Cremona

Mamma, me and you.
Barcarola: ...!
Barcarola: There's still time.
She steps over the threshold, walks out onto the deck, and descends the gangplank.
Turning back, she gazes at the place she is leaving behind.
We sit in a dark corner.
Take another good look at this city.
Its crowded squares and its ancient alleys, all so full of music.
Its gentle breath before dawn, its heartbeat resonating in the air, pulsing with the crowd.
Barcarola: Mamma ... Papà ...
Barcarola: There are seeds sprouting on my windowsill.
I wish I could share with you the story of a bird returning to its roost.
Barcarola's Mother: ...
The hostess sits at the table and turns on a machine.
The tape begins to play, faithfully recounting all it has recorded.
Barcarola: This is your Stellina's farewell message.
Barcarola: I know I won't be gone for long, but I already feel homesick.
Barcarola: Papà and Mamma are busy at work, and it's really not my style to express these sentiments.
Barcarola: So, I'll let this cassette tape—one of the greatest inventions in history—do the talking.
Like a quiet, drawn-out melody.
Barcarola: The sounds from within and outside of Cremona are all recorded on it.
Barcarola: You can listen to them when you have the time.
Barcarola: I love you.
Like a soft and endless melody. Like my dearest, oldest friend.
The old town seems so empty in the early dawn. All is silent and still.
When it is so silent, the clatter off cobblestones ring out especially loud.
Barcarola: Not far now.
Barcarola: Just two more alleys to go.
For a brief moment, she wishes she could take back every decision she'd made up till this point.
Let time move to that distant, sunny afternoon.
The first time she tried mixing varnish for a violin, she used it to paint the wooden cabinet.
Back to a childhood where no road led forward.
Like a weary bird returning to its nest just as life's journey now beckons me onward.
Her pace leaves her breathless.
Or perhaps it's the thought of arriving at her destination that makes her hesitate.
Is this yet another choice she will ultimately abandon?
Will she really turn her back on the "Free Breeze"?
Barcarola: The ship doesn't leave until noon. I can still go back, pack, and explain everything to the captain and my friends.
Barcarola: There's still time. If I'm quick, I'll be home in time for breakfast.
Barcarola: Homemade jam and sausages ... fresh bread with golden crust ...
Barcarola: ...
She dabs her tear-filled eyes with her sleeve.
The morning light passes over her, but she still can't bring herself to make a choice.
My place isn't here in Cremona. I must journey into the vast unknown.
Even in the dawn, the piazza is as lively as ever, each corner claimed by merchants, visitors, and townsfolk.
Same as it ever was—it's just another day.
Barcarola: Cremona ...
Barcarola: The same old street musicians are still here, playing the same old songs.
She moves closer, unable to resist, and one of the girls recognizes her.
Street Artist: Barcarola! The genius violinist with her head in the clouds!
Street Artist: Where are you off to now? Another performance, or are you working on something with your father?
Street Artist: Care to play a song? Come on, it's been ages.
The girl affectionately drapes her arm over Barcarola's shoulder and hands her the violin.
She leans in and lowers her voice.
Street Artist: Lend me a hand, will you? For old times' sake. Use your name to back me up here. Remember all the times we played together when we were kids?
Street Artist: Look how busy the street is. It's the perfect time to pull in a crowd.
Street Artist: Hey—Isn't that one of the Stradivaris?
Street Artist: She's come down here just to play for us!
With all the commotion, many eyes had been drawn their way.
But that famous name being roared aloud is enough to spur them into motion, gathering around.
Barcarola: I'll play just one piece.
Barcarola: Though I'm kind of busy right now, so ... va bene, I'll get started.

The applause is exactly as she anticipated.
Tourist: Lucky me! I've been in Cremona for days now, but this is the first time I've seen a show like this!
Hawker: Too right, signore, too right. And why not take this chance to pick up an instrument just as amazing as hers? Maybe your own darling child will grow up to be a gifted violinist!
Tourist: Oh, really! You know, I've always hoped something would catch the little ones' attention!
Barcarola: ...
No one mentions the music, no one praises the melody—not a single note of it.
All they do is babble on about the violin she's holding.
They try to guess what kind of wood was used, how it was crafted, and which luthier's name is etched into the sound box.
Barcarola: Here you go.
Barcarola: It's been a while since we hung out, what with classes and practice keeping me busy all the time.
Street Artist: What's with this all of a sudden?
Street Artist: Thanks. You're not the only one at fault here, I mean—I haven't come knocking for you either, recently.
Street Artist: To tell the truth, I felt kind of embarrassed. Your family's so famous, so I was always worried I might be disturbing you.
Street Artist: But then I heard you were planning to leave Cremona to join a cruise ship. Now that really took me by surprise.
Street Artist: Anyways, I'm glad you're still here! You're a Stradivari! You couldn't possibly go off and do something so ridiculous.
She gives Barcarola's shoulder a relieved pat.
The girl's delicate shoulder trembles under the weight of each pat.
Barcarola: ...
Street Artist: Come on. It's alright. We all do stupid things sometimes, don't we?
Street Artist: The past is the past, my dear friend.
Barcarola: Yeah, that's all over now.
Barcarola: Addio. I'll see you later.
She walks toward the alley.
She retraces her steps across the ground, passing the stone steps where she briefly stopped.
She finds a quiet spot and lowers herself to the ground.
Barcarola: The monotony ... It's unbearable ...
Barcarola: ...
I fear the coming daylight might just keep me here.
Life's journey offers me poetry and song.