Chapter 1 - Inga finds the Magic Harmonica

Copyright (c) 2010 Victoria Burrell-Hrencecin.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a Sunday. The last day of the summer holidays and freedom. Inga's family were visiting Grandma for Sunday lunch, as they did every month. The best part about visiting Grandma was exploring her lovely old house. It was a pretty white-washed cottage with wooden beams and a straw-thatched roof.  The front door was dark and low and made of a heavy stained wood with a round brass knocker. The inside was so different to Inga's house; it was dark and cozy and full of mysterious smells and sounds. There were many delicate china ornaments everywhere on shelves, reflecting the soft light of the small yellowish lamps. Inga liked the smell of cedar wood and the sound of the many ticking clocks.  She loved it when Grandma served tea in the living room, pouring steaming hot tea into fine bone china tea-cups and passing around little currant cakes on fine bone china plates. It made her feel very grown up.

There was one room in particular in Grandma's house that intrigued Inga more than any other.  Grandma's bedroom. In the ceiling was a mysterious wooden trap-door:- the entrance to the attic, where Grandma's old stuff was stored away.  The word "attic" echoed like a hollow drum in Inga's head. As she said it, her tongue made the tapping sound of someone softly knocking on wood. Since she lived in an apartment, she'd never been inside an attic before, but the word conjured up a bare, empty place with things rattling around in it and a light brown wood color. She wasn't far off, as it happened.

When she was younger, she had pleaded with Grandma to let her go through the trap door and see inside this attic, but Grandma and her mother had always refused, saying it was too dangerous. The attic was a cold, dusty place, with wooden splinters, rusty nails, "fiber-glass insulation", low hanging wooden beams, and unboarded sections of floor

“You could fall right through the ceiling!” her mother had warned.

Inga  used to wonder why attics were this perilous, when people had to store their stuff in them.  She also wondered how Grandma had managed to carry her things up there. Were adults immune to splinters and fiber-glass?  She had imagined Grandma as a wise old Cat-Woman, leaping up the rickety ladder in two springy bounds, landing silently on her soft feet, knees bent, back straight, balancing two heavy boxes deftly in each hand and nimbly tip-toeing across the thin floor-boards, missing all the treacherous gaps and softly laying the boxes down on the floor without puffing or panting.

Now that she was nine, Inga knew she could persuade them to let her go up. On this day, the last before returning to school, she finally got her chance. Grandma had been talking to her mum and dad about some mind-numbing adult stuff: “insurance forms”, "house deeds" or something.  Inga had tuned this out until Grandma said:

“I'm going to have to go up in the attic to get down my box of important documents.”

Inga's ears pricked up, and her heart started beating faster.  She pictured the trap-door opening and swallowing her up inside the dark attic! It made her tremble but she wasn't afraid.  She knew she'd be able to confront whatever dangers were in this attic, and scuttle nimbly across it just like Grandma or any other adult.  She jumped up:

"Mum, Grandma, can I please go up in the attic? You know I'm nine now! I won't touch the splinters or fiber-glass or gaps in the floor-boards, I promise!"

Grandma and her dad laughed and her mother sighed. "Is that OK with you Mum?" her mother asked Grandma,

"Yes... I suppose... Yes, it's OK with me... For a while. She can have a look. I know she's been wanting to." said Grandma.

 "Well, you certainly are a big girl now, Inga... all right then." said her mother. "But put your shoes on - you'll need them up there.  And put your jacket on too - it's cold up there!"

Inga ran to find her shoes and jacket, and followed Grandma eagerly into the bedroom.  She knew there was a ladder behind the trap door, which unfolded down to the floor.  She watched in anticipation as Grandma pulled on the rope handle and slowly swung the door open, with a creak. Her dad stepped forward to help catch the unfolding ladder.  Inga saw dust particles floating down from the ceiling, and gazed up at the newly opened square hole. She couldn't wait to find out what the attic looked like, and what was up there! Grandma climbed up first. She was very fit, especially for her age and, while she wasn't quite Cat-Woman, she took the ladder confidently, not hesitating for a single step.  

As soon as Grandma reached the top, Inga began to climb up the ladder after her.  She clenched her jaw, and gripped firmly as she swung herself up each rung, craning her neck to peek inside the attic.  As she emerged through the square hole, the ceiling of the attic made an upside-down boat above her head; the wooden beams going up from each side and meeting in the middle.  Fluffy pink padding bulged out between the wooden beams.

“Inga, that's the fiber-glass insulation.” said Grandma, pointing. “It's got tiny pieces of glass in it, which could get stuck in your skin if you touch it.”

“OK, Grandma,” said Inga.

She crawled out onto the bare wooden floor boards, her hands scraping their rough surface. As she picked herself up, she spotted some large spiky splinters and nails sticking out of the floor.

'Hmmm, the grown ups were right,' she thought.  'But I'm not going to let this put me off.  I've got so much to explore up here!'

Grandma was off on the other side of the attic, rummaging through old filing cabinets.  Inga cast her eyes around the space, taking in higgledy-piggledy stacks of old furniture, suitcases, trunks and a sea of card-board boxes. She gingerly stepped between the boxes, finding foot-holds and toe-holds, ducking under the cross-beams and clinging on to the vertical beams for balance.  Grandma glanced around and called out:

"Do be careful dear. Just mind where you're walking.  Don't hit your head on those cross-beams!"

"OK, Grandma." said Inga.  "Is it all right if I look inside some of these boxes?"

"Well I suppose so. As long as you put the stuff back where you found it." said Grandma.

                   * * * * * * * * *

Soon, Grandma found the important documents she'd been looking for, and made her way back down the ladder, leaving Inga on her own up in the attic.

"You can stay up there for a bit longer, sweetie," Grandma called out, "but just be careful. Don't forget to watch where you're treading!"

"OK,  Grandma!" Inga called back.

Inga began hunting through boxes, finding some of her Mum's dusty old dolls and toys. She played with them for a while, then dutifully put them all back where she found them. As she looked around for more boxes to explore, something caught her eye.

A gleam of light suddenly reflected off the brass handle of an old wooden trunk near the back of the attic, as if someone had shone a flash-light on it.  Inga gasped and looked around, expecting to see someone behind her, but there was noone there.   She looked across again at the old trunk, and as she moved her head, side to side, there it was again: - a sudden reflection of bright light bouncing off the shiny handle.  It seemed to be calling her over.

She carefully picked her way across the floor boards, until she came to the trunk.  She glanced around nervously, half expecting someone to be watching her.  There seemed to be a spotlight shining down directly on to the trunk, illuminating it in a bright yellow glow.

'Or maybe the trunk itself is glowing from the inside?' thought Inga.  'Is there something shining a light in there?'

Inga trembled and reached down to touch the shiny brass handle. It seemed warm and she jumped back a little. Gingerly, she reached out and touched it again, determined to find out what was in there. Clasping the handle with both hands, she firmly lifted the lid all the way back. It was such a heavy lid she staggered forward under the weight of it, almost falling into the trunk.  She let go just in time and let the lid fall back with a big thud.  She stepped back to regain her balance and looked down excitedly into the trunk.

'Oh!' Inga thought, and frowned with disappointment.

She had expected to see a great pile of gold coins, or large shining jewels or something bright and exciting.  But there were only dark, dusty old boxes and books, and dull-looking tools and cloths.
She began rummaging around in the trunk, picking up old brown leather-bound books and dusty black leather-covered boxes, glancing curiously and hopefully at each one.

'There's nothing very interesting in here,' she thought.

However, something caught her eye again: - there was a gleam of light in one corner of the trunk, winking at her, almost playfully.  It was coming from a little black box, which was fastened with a golden clasp and decorated with a golden logo on the lid, both of which were shimmering in the dim light of the attic.

Inga gasped and gently lifted up the little box, which was very light.  It was about 8 inches long and only about 2 inches wide. The black leather cover was very soft.  With one finger, she flipped open the golden clasp. The inside of the box was lined with soft red velvet, and nestled into it was a small, shiny silver instrument.

'A harmonica!' thought Inga.

A sudden memory came floating across her mind. She closed her eyes and pictured her Grandpa playing this harmonica to her. Even though he had passed away the year before, she remembered him vividly.  He had often sat her on his knee, or had her dancing around the room, while he played her favorite tunes on it.  She had never looked at it closely before, but now, she inspected it carefully.  She noticed some fancy, wavy writing etched into the top of the instrument. With her finger, she traced the swirly letters:

 H. A R M O N I C A

She had never played it herself, but she knew how it worked. Grandpa used to blow into it and make sounds by moving it sideways across his mouth.  As she carefully lifted it out of the box, she noticed, next to the word Harmonica, the same logo that was on the top of the box.  It was a strange looking symbol: – a sort of double “S”, one S sitting on top of the other, forming a closed ring in the middle:
§


Inga held it up to the light and the harmonica glimmered and shone; a strange, powerful light seemed to shine onto it and around it.

Inga looked at it closely and saw that there were ten small square holes for blowing into.  She put the harmonica up to her lips.  It was steely cold.  She took a deep breath and blew into one of the holes.  All at once, several things happened, nearly bowling Inga over.  The very first thing she noticed was the sound of the harmonica:- a reedy note buzzed out, making the instrument vibrate and her lips tingle. The second thing she noticed was the color of the note:- a bright red color streamed forward, like a jet of smoke. This was not in her mind. This was not the same as the colors she usually “saw” in her head when hearing a sound. This was a literal, physical, red smoke jet.

And as if this wasn't strange enough, she noticed a third thing: a scent, which wafted out from the bright red smoke-stream; the sweet, tangy scent of fresh strawberries.

Inga giggled, swatting the red smoke with her hand and breathing in the delicious scent. It swirled around, then evaporated, disappearing altogether.  She took in another deep breath and blew into the next hole, a little to the right.  She watched as a steady stream of blazing orange smoke came out,with a higher note this time. It swirled around her, along with the steady hum of the note.  She stopped blowing and sniffed the air....

'Yes, oranges,' she thought. Their ripe, fresh, juicy scent made her mouth water.

'I wonder what will happen if I move my lips a bit more to the right on the harmonica?' she thought.
She tried it, and this time a sunny yellow smoke stream poured out, along with an even higher note, and this time she was sure she could smell soft, sweet, ripe bananas.

'The notes are coming out as the colors of the rainbow!' thought Inga.  She tried to remember what she had learned in her piano lessons so far, which she had started the year before. These were the notes of the major scale, she realized.

As she moved her mouth further along the harmonica to the right, and blew, the next note higher gave her a luminous green smoke jet, and a distinctly sour scent of limes.  The next note gave her a brilliant light blue smoke stream and a sugary scent of bubble-gum!  The note after this was a dark rich indigo blue, with a tart scent of pureed blueberries.

'I can't wait to try the next note!' she thought. And indeed it was an intensely vivid violet, with a warm scent of sugared plums.

'But wait, there are more holes to try!' thought Inga.

She blew into the very highest hole, at the far right of the harmonica, and out came a high pitched note, almost a squeak, and with it came a stream of pale pink smoke and a light sweet scent of pink lilies.

'Mmmmm...' thought Inga as she breathed in the delicate aroma.  'Lovely!'

'I wonder what the lower notes will be?', she thought, and moved her mouth further along to the left of the harmonica.

There were still two more square holes to the left of the first one she had tried.  The note below the strawberry red note appeared as a darker, deeper red, with a beautiful, rich scent of roses. The very lowest note, at the far left of the harmonica, came out as a warm, reddish brown, with a scrumptious smell of hot chocolate.  It also had the warmest, richest sound, making her throat and chest vibrate as she blew.

'Mmmmmm...' thought Inga again, her head spinning with all the deep breathing she'd been doing, and all the pungent smells she had been sniffing.

'Wow!  This is amazing!'

Inga had never seen this happening before when Grandpa used to play it.  She remembered feeling great joy and excitement every time she heard it, and imagining different colors in her mind, as she always did when she heard music. But she had not actually seen the strange smoke clouds or noticed any scents before.

As she puzzled over this, Inga decided to try and play a tune. She began experimenting. As she blew into each hole, she noticed that there were lots of notes missing. It was not like playing the piano.

'That's strange!' thought Inga.

She was trying to play "Row, row, row your boat", but, while she could play the note for "Row" and the note for "boat", the note inbetween, for the word "your" was missing!

'Where is it?' she thought.

Then, she remembered.  Grandpa had told her that some of the notes were made, not by blowing into the harmonica, but by sucking air in through it!  Inga tried this, and there it was!  The missing note sounded, as she sucked in.  Inga continued, carefully blowing and sucking air in and out of the harmonica, moving her lips side to side along the harmonica, until she slowly worked out all the notes of the tune, "Row, row, row your boat".  It was hard work and made her quite dizzy!

Inga had been concentrating so hard on the notes, that she had not noticed the colors coming out this time.  But now, as she continued to play, she looked up.  A dazzling array of colors had formed beautiful swirling patterns in the air around her!  She stopped, breathless.  She realized that the notes she had played while sucking in, had formed colors too: - different shades of reds, oranges, yellows and so on, mingling with the original ones she had first seen. The mist now swirled all around her; behind her as well as in front. And the scent of all these colors, mixed together!  It was quite overwhelming!

"Inga?" her mother called, startling her out of her reverie.

Inga took a deep breath to call back, but felt giddy.

"Inga!" her mother called again, louder this time.

"Yes, Mum!" Inga managed to call out, through the thick cloud of colorful smoke.

"Time to come down now!" her mother called.  "You've been up there a very long time!  It's nearly time for us to go!"

"OK Mum!" called Inga. "Coming!"

Inga quickly put the harmonica back in its velvet lined box, and was about to place it back in the trunk, when she realized she couldn't bear to part with it.

"I wonder if they'll let me keep it!" she thought.

She knew she couldn't explain to her parents the colored smoke and the scents, but maybe she could try it again in secret in her own bedroom.  Inga slipped the harmonica into the pocket of her hooded top.  It was just the right size!  She managed to close the heavy lid of the trunk, and carefully picked her way back across the floorboards to the trap door opening.

"Are you all right, dear?" called her Grandma, as Inga appeared at the top of the attic.
"Yes!  Fine thanks!" said Inga.
Her mother appeared on the ladder and helped her down.

When she got to the bottom of the ladder, Inga hesitated, putting her hand around the little black box containing the harmonica.  She knew she couldn't just walk away with it.  But she didn't want to part with it either.  She decided to ask, in as light a tone as possible, if she could borrow it, as if it were just a little toy she'd found.  She reluctantly pulled out the harmonica from her pocket, and turned to her Grandma.

"Grandma, is it OK if I borrow this?" she said, as breezily as she could,

"What is it dear?" asked Grandma.  She looked more closely at the little black box.
Inga swallowed.  "It's a harmonica," she said. "I think it... was it Grandpa's?"

"Oh yes!" cried Grandma, her face suddenly beaming.  "Of course, dear.  Take it home with you.  Grandpa would have loved you to have it!  He always loved to entertain people with it, and you were one of his favorite listeners!"

"Let me see that." said her mother.

Inga was reluctant to let the grown-ups look at the harmonica too closely. Somehow the magic things she had seen up in the attic seemed too important and secret to be revealed down here in the light of day.  But she knew she couldn't just take it without their approval.  She opened up the box again, and let her mother look at it.  Strangely, the harmonica had stopped glowing and looked quite ordinary.

"Oh yes! Dad's old harmonica!" said her mother, smiling warmly, tears forming behind her eyes.

'Do they know about its magic?' Inga thought, swallowing hard again.

"Is it OK if I take it home, Mum?" she asked.

"Yes of course, Inga.  As long as you look after it and don't lose it.  It was quite a special thing of your Grandpa's..."
Her mother was turning the harmonica over, gazing at it lovingly.

"No, I promise I won't lose it, Mum, don't worry." said Inga nervously.  She held her breath, hoping her Mum wouldn't try to play the thing.

'If Mum and Grandma find out what it can do,' Inga thought, 'they might not let me keep it after all. They might have it inspected, or sold, or... Or what if they already know about its magic?  Are they not telling me something?'

She looked at her mother and then at her Grandma closely.

"What do you mean, special?" whispered Inga, frowning.

"Well, you know, it's not a valuable thing really. It's only an old, cheap harmonica. But it was special to your Grandpa.  It's got sentimental value to us."

Inga breathed more deeply.

"Well, it wasn't the cheapest harmonica, you know." Grandma piped up, a little haughtily.  "George's father gave it to him when he was a little boy, not much older than young Inga here. George's father played it in the war, to entertain the troops  It's made of silver, I believe - quite a decent model, for its time."

"Oh well!" said Inga's mother.  "Then you must look after it carefully, Inga. It's quite a family heirloom!"

"Oh I will, I promise!" said Inga earnestly.