Chapter 3 - Back Home - Experimenting with the Magic Harmonica

Copyright (c) 2010 - Victoria Burrell-Hrencecin.
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The grueling first day back at school came to an end at last, and Inga walked home with lighter steps than she had taken that morning. She had made an unexpected new friend in Dominic. The thought of him gave her a warm glow of hope in an otherwise dismal view of school. Images of the school floated in front of her: – the dark, cavernous entrance, the long, echoey hallways, the starkly furnished classroom with its imprisoning walls. She conjured up a picture of Mr. Flatten, with his smug sneer and domineering posture, and shuddered. She was glad she had a good desk partner to bolster her courage.

She had not managed to secure any allies or friends in the girls there. Kemma had been disappointing, Rionne had been unreachable, and the new girls she had met, Genevieve and Jamilla and been too aloof. None of the other boys had even seemed approachable. Dominic was certainly rather eccentric, but this made him endearing to her, and she found herself looking forward to finding out more about him.

“Hi Mum!” She called, as she walked through the front door of her home.

“Hello Inga!” said her Mum enthusiastically, coming up to her and giving her a big hug, and helping her off with her coat and back-pack.

She looked enquiringly at Inga, wanting to hear all about school, but she knew that Inga preferred her space when she first got home, and needed to retreat straight away to her bedroom.
When she didn't asked any questions, Inga smiled gratefully at her Mum and kissed her cheek.

“I survived!” she told her Mum, by way of description of her “day” and her Mum smiled back.

Then Inga ran upstairs to the sanctuary of her bedroom.

* * * * * * * * *

The first thing she did after closing her bedroom door, was to peel off her scratchy school uniform and throw it on the floor in the corner of the room. She knew she was supposed to hang it up, but she didn't care.

“It can stay crumpled on the floor for now,” she thought. “I'll hang it up later.”

She pulled out an old comfortable T-shirt and soft cotton leggings to put on instead, and then she dived onto her bed and gazed up at the ceiling.

The soft spiral patterns painted on her ceiling helped to calm and sooth her mind. She then let her eyes rove lovingly around the familiar objects and pictures in her bedroom, until her gaze came to rest on her dresser.

She sat up suddenly, remembering.

“The magic harmonica!” she thought, “It's in the top drawer of my dresser!”

As she thought of it, a warm glow seemed to surround the drawer, beckoning her over. She got up and opened it, eagerly pulling out the small, silver instrument. She sat back down on her bed, curled her feet up under her, and began to blow into the harmonica.

As before, the moment her breath went into the harmonica, it began to vibrate with the reedy sound and, at the same time, send out a colorful stream of smoke. It was almost as if her own breath were coming out of the instrument, transformed into mist.

Inga slid the harmonica side to side across her lips as she blew. She listened to all the different notes that sounded and watched as the many colors and shades of the rainbow streamed out in front of her, swirling around and mixing together, forming a cloud in her bedroom. Once again, a rich array of different scents filled the air. Inga stopped to breathe them in, her mouth watering with the sweetness of them all.

Then she remembered:

“Oh yes! I have to suck in to form some of the notes!”

She held the harmonica back up to her lips and sucked in hard, moving the instrument side to side. Then Inga suddenly realized something:

“Oh, when I suck in, the misty jets stream out behind me!”

They were pouring out of the back of the harmonica now! Inga remembered seeing the clouds of mist all around her after playing “Row row row your boat” in the attic.

“I didn't notice it before,” she thought. “But sucking in changes the direction of the smoke flow!”

She began to play different tunes, trying to recall the simple folk songs she had learned to play on the piano. One of her favorites was “Lavender's Blue”. It was slow going at first, because it was difficult to find all the notes. Some of them seemed to be missing from the harmonica. (Inga later discovered that by blowing extra hard while twisting the harmonica forwards or backwards, or wiggling her chin around, that she could “bend” some of the notes into the missing notes she needed).

Finally, after repeating “Lavender's Blue” several times, Inga managed to play the whole tune correctly. She smiled and looked up, feeling pleased with herself.

Suddenly, her attention was drawn to her windowsill, where a number of little potted plants stood in a row. Inga looked with astonishment at the little purple African violet that her mother had bought her. It had been wilting and turning brown for the last few days, having been infected with some sort of mold or blight and was slowly rotting and dying.

“Wow! Look at that!” she thought. “I'm sure that violet has perked up a bit since I last looked at it!”

One of the violet's dried up, dead flowers was starting to unfurl again, as if it was a new bud about to open.

By instinct, Inga began to play “Lavender's Blue” on the harmonica again, keeping her eyes glued to the little violet plant. As she played the tune carefully, the jets of colorful smoke poured out of the harmonica straight towards the violet plant, and wrapped themselves around it. As she watched, the plant's leaves slowly began to lift up and turn green again, where they had faded to brown, and the little dried up flowers slowly began to bloom again, turning brighter and stronger.

“Wow!” Inga gasped, and she dropped the harmonica.

Immediately, the transformation stopped, and the cloud of colorful smoke around the plant started to dissipate. Some of the leaves and flowers were still brown and drooping. Inga picked up the harmonica again and played “Lavender's Blue” again from the beginning. This time, she tried her best to make the melody as smooth and beautiful as she could.

“I hope, with all my heart, that I can bring this violet back to life!” she thought, pouring this wish out into the harmonica.

The more feeling she put into it, the more rapidly the plant healed and bloomed. She couldn't stop. She continued playing the melody over and over, blowing into the harmonica with more passion and energy, and the little plant continued to recover and flourish.

Inga tentatively got up and walked over to the window, still playing the melody. She waded through the vibrant cloud of colorful smoke, which was swirling in a figure 8 motion around the plant. She didn't want to stop, but as she got closer, she could see that the plant was now completely healed and looked fuller and more vibrant than it had ever done.

“I'm afraid to stop playing!” she thought. “What if the plant reverts back to its wilted and dying state?”

But she gradually paused at the end of the tune and, keeping the harmonica up to her lips, held her breath for a few seconds, watching the plant. She didn't move. Silence filled the room. Rich, powerful scents filled her lungs.

“Yes! The plant is staying healed!” she thought triumphantly.

The plant was indeed healed, and seemed to be boldly and defiantly alive and glowing with health.

********

Over the next few days, Inga dashed home after school each day and looked around for other plants to heal. She walked around her mother's back garden, and, checking to make sure her parents weren't looking, pulled out her harmonica and played "Lavender's Blue” to every sickly looking plant she could see.

“Hmmm,” thought Inga, looking around, disappointed. “Mum's such a keen gardener, and so good at tending it, there aren't many sickly plants that need healing!”

One day therefore, Inga decided to take a detour on her way home from school, through a local park.

“Ah ha! Finally! A sickly looking plant!” she thought with delight.

She stopped and crouched down beside the plant, stealthily pulling out her harmonica from her pocket, and began to blow. Then a thought struck her.

“I wonder what would happen if I play a different tune? Is it only Lavender's Blue that heals the plants? Or can I make other tunes heal the plants too?”

So, instead of playing “Lavender's Blue” she tried playing “Row row row your boat” to the plant. Nothing happened. She played it as carefully and smoothly as she could, and even tried playing it with passion and energy. Still nothing happened. So she played "Lavender's Blue”. Immediately, the plant began to heal, just as all the other plants had.

“Yes! It's like a magic spell!” Inga thought, and she smiled with satisfaction.

**********

Back in her bedroom, a week later, Inga had finished her homework and was lying on her bed resting. She pulled out the magic harmonica again and started improvising on it, playing around with different tunes from memory.

“I wonder if any other songs have magic powers like Lavender's Blue?” she thought. “And, if so, I wonder what sort of spell they might cast.”

She had tried healing plants with other songs, but they had not worked.

“But maybe other songs can do different things?” she mused.

After humming through more of her favorite folk songs, Inga decided to try the “Skye Boat Song”. As with any new tune on the harmonica, she had to work at it slowly to start with, to find the notes, to remember where she needed to blow and where she needed to suck, and to remember which direction to slide the instrument across her lips.

“Ow, my lips are starting to get a bit sore from all the playing!” she frowned.

As she played, she let her eyes wander around her bedroom. At first, she was concentrating too hard on the notes to pay much attention to the objects in her room. But, after a while, once she had managed to make the tune come out smoothly with no mistakes, she found her eyes being drawn to her favorite toys and ornaments in her room.

“Hmmm,” she thought, with excitement, “I have a strong feeling that something is about to happen to one of these things!”

She let her gaze wander to the top of her book shelf. There sat her favorite china doll that her Grandma had bought her for her birthday the year before.

“Ahh, Sophia, you really are a beautiful doll,” she thought. “I love your velvet pink dress and delicate china face”.

Inga played the Skye Boat Song lovingly to the doll, as if serenading her. And then she saw that the colorful mists pouring out of the harmonica were now traveling across the room, up to the top of the bookshelf, towards the doll.

“Oh my goodness!” she thought. “The mists are now swirling around the doll, in the same figure 8 pattern as they did around the plants I healed!”

Inga was so excited, she found it harder to breath, and, as she continued to play the tune, she felt more and more dizzy. She stood up on her bed, to make it easier to see the doll, and to make it easier to breathe.

“I must keep playing!” she told herself. “I really want to see what magic is going to happen here!”

She watched as the swirling smoke jets thickened into a dense cloud around the doll.

“I do so wish that I could touch Sophia and lift her up,” she thought very strongly. “I want to bring her closer to me!”

Then to her astonishment, this is exactly what began to happen. The doll began to rise up in the air, the threads of smoke lifting her higher and higher. They began to spin her around, swirling her through the air, off the bookshelf and up towards the ceiling. Inga kept playing the tune, as best she could, concentrating on keeping it smooth and flowing, watching the threads of smoke carrying the doll in mid-air.

“Oh no!” Inga suddenly gasped. “Sophia's getting too close to the ceiling lamp!”

Inga didn't know what to do.

“I mustn't stop playing, but...”

Suddenly – crash! The china doll hit the ceiling lamp and got stuck with her head in it! Inga gasped, and let the harmonica slip from her fingers onto the bed. As soon as the melody stopped, the threads of smoke began to evaporate, getting thinner and thinner until nothing was left to hold the doll up. The doll's head slipped out of the lamp and it fell crashing down to the floor. Inga put both hands up to her mouth to stifle her scream. She rushed forward to inspect the doll. She picked it up and turned it over carefully.

“Oh!” She breathed. “Her arm is broken!”

* * * * * *

Inga was stunned. The force of the smoke streams had been so strong, lifting the doll up and carrying it through the air.

“I just didn't know any way to slow it down or control it,” she thought helplessly. “And now, I've broken my lovely Sophia!”

She sat back down on her bed, cradling her doll in her lap, wondering what to do. Then she heard footsteps on the stair case.

“Oh no!” she thought. “Mum is coming up!”

Before she'd had time to think about hiding the doll, her bedroom door opened and Inga looked up, a tear running down her cheek, as her mother came in.

“What happened?” asked her mother, not in anger but in astonishment. “Are you all right?”

Her mother sat down on the bed beside her and put her arm around her. Inga hung her head with shame and held out her china doll with one hand, and the broken off arm with the other.

“Oh I see,” said her mother gently. “Ah. That's a shame.” She could see that Inga was upset enough already so she didn't scold her.

“How did it happen?” her mother asked tenderly.

Inga swallowed a lump in her throat. “What am I going to tell Mum?” she thought.

“Well, I...uh... “ she sighed. “I was just trying to reach the doll off the top shelf, and I slipped. It fell. And crashed. On the floor.”

“Ah, I see,” said her mother, apparently satisfied with this explanation.

She inspected the doll and pronounced, “Well, d'you know, I think it might be fixable. I think maybe Daddy can glue the arm back on.”

Inga brightened. “Really?” she asked.

“Yes, I think so. I'll ask him when he gets home from work.”

“Oh thank you Mum!” Inga put her arm around her mother and hugged her.

She felt a huge relief, mostly because she hadn't had to explain exactly how the doll's arm got broken.

The harmonica was still lying on the bed. Her mother noticed it then and picked it up. Inga stiffened, holding her breath.

“Oh no!” she thought nervously. “I didn't have time to hide the harmonica before Mum came in!”

Although the harmonica itself was no secret, Inga had not breathed a word about its magic powers to anyone since the day she discovered them.

“I don't want Mum to see or hear me play it!” she thought fervently.

She'd usually played it up in her room, with the door closed, and only when her mother was busy cooking dinner or gardening outside.

“Have you been having fun with Granddad's old harmonica?” her mother asked.

Inga nodded, hoping desperately that her mother wouldn't ask her to play it. Her mother was gazing at it, turning it around and lifting it up to the light.

“I'm surprised it's so shiny!” said her mother. “Have you polished it, Inga?”

Inga shook her head. “No,” she said, genuinely not knowing how it was so shiny.

“Was it that shiny when I first found it?” Inga wondered. “I think it was. It can't have become that shiny just from me playing it a lot, surely.”

Her mother brought the harmonica slowly up towards her own lips, and Inga winced, holding her breath.

“No!” she willed silently. “Don't!”

She did not want her mother discovering the colored smoke streams. But it was too late. Her mother blew softly into the harmonica, and Inga jumped with fear. She expected her mother to cry out in amazement when she saw the colored smoked streams.

But nothing happened. No colored smoke streams appeared at all. She watched more closely as her mother blew again, harder this time, into the harmonica. Still nothing. Her mother looked up at her and smiled. Then she laughed.

“What's wrong?” she said, “You look as if you've seen a ghost!”

“N...nothing.” said Inga, frowning with puzzlement and breathing a deep sigh of relief. “Can you play a tune on it Mum?” she asked. Now, she wanted to be convinced.

“Well, I don't really know how, but... I'll give it a try.” said her Mum.

Her Mum blew rather clumsily into the harmonica again, fumbling around with some notes, which didn't really resemble much of a tune. Still, to Inga's great relief and bewilderment, absolutely no smoke streams came out of the harmonica. It seemed to have reverted to a totally ordinary harmonica. Her mother stopped and started and eventually gave up.

“There you are,” she said. “I'm not very good, as you can see. But, oh your Granddad could play it so beautifully. I wonder if you'll play it like him one day...?” her mother gazed off into the distance.

Inga felt herself tensing up again.

“Can you play a tune on it?” asked her mother. Inga frowned. “Go on, I'd like to hear you play it. I bet you're already much better than me!”

Inga sighed a heavy sigh and shrugged her shoulders.

“What should I do?” she thought. “Even though the smoke streams stopped when Mum played it, what if they come out again when I play it? I just don't want Mum to find out the secret magic!”

“Go on! Don't be shy!” said her mother. “Just give me a little tune on it.”
Inga felt trapped.

“How can I refuse?”she thought. “What excuse can I give?”

“I'm... I'm not really that good. And, um...my lips are a bit sore,” she said, looking down at her feet. “I don't really want to play it anymore.”

“Really?” exclaimed her mother, leaning forward to get a closer look at Inga's lips.

Inga chewed on her bottom lip, which actually was a little sore. She put her finger up to it and jutted her jaw out towards her mother.

“Have you been playing it so much, then, that you've made your lips that sore?” asked her mother.

Inga shrugged again.

“Well, you must have been getting really good at it, then!” said her mother. “Go on, please, just play me one little tune, and then I'll give you some of my Vaseline to put on your lips.”

Her mother sounded so enthusiastic, and Inga knew this harmonica was special to her mother too, having been treasured by her father. Inga knew she was beaten.

“What should I play?” she thought, her mind racing.

She visualized her mother's reaction when she saw the smoke streams and groaned inwardly.

“How am I going to explain it?” she thought desperately. “How am I going to explain that I've been seeing the smoke streams all along? And that they have magical powers?

She looked at her Mother and sighed deeply.

“Should I pretend to be surprised when they start coming out?” she wondered. “But what will Mum do? Will she take the harmonica away? Will this be the end of my amazing new discovery?”

Inga slowly brought the harmonica up to her lips. She'd never felt so reluctant to play it before, and it felt as heavy as lead.

“Maybe the magic powers will somehow be switched off now that Mum is in the room?” she thought, hopefully.

They certainly had not worked when her mother played the instrument. Clinging to this hope, she decided to play “Row, row, row your boat,” which at least didn't seem to do anything visible to any objects around her. She took a deep breath and blew.

As she feared, as soon as she blew the first note, out came a vivid red smoke stream. Just one note, and the game was up!

“Oh no!” she cringed. “So much for hoping that the magic had been switched off!”

Inga stopped blowing and watched with dismay as the red cloud swirled infront of her, and the scent of fresh strawberries filled her nostrils. She held her breath and looked sideways at her mother, waiting with dread to see what her reaction would be.

“Well... go on...” said her mother, still smiling expectantly.

Inga frowned. Her mother did not seem to see (or smell) anything unusual. She was not looking at the red cloud, but had her eyes fixed on Inga's face.

“Maybe she hasn't noticed yet,” Inga thought. “But how can she not see the bright red cloud?”

Inga nervously blew again, and played the first few notes of the tune, watching as the smoke streams poured out and started to swirl around. She stopped again and looked at her mother.

“Yes... go on,” said her mother, calmly and encouragingly, “It sounds good so far...”

Inga swallowed hard, looking straight at the colorful cloud that was hanging in the room, right infront of her and her mother. She was intensely aware of the juicy, sweet scents that were now filling the room. She looked back at her mother.

“What is it?” her mother asked, looking straight ahead to where Inga was looking.

She looked back at Inga. “What's wrong, sweetie? Are your lips really too sore to play at all?”

Inga blinked. “So Mum can't see or smell the smoke streams!” she thought.

She said out loud, “No, it's OK, I was just testing,” Inga broke into a smile of relief.

She began to play again, this time with much more confidence. For a moment, she almost choked with laughter at the thought that her mother wasn't aware of the smoke streams, and almost had to break off the tune. But she kept her focus and played it boldly all the way through, putting in a little joyful bounce to the notes, to emphasize the lilting rhythm.

“Great!” said her mother when she'd finished. She patted Inga on the back. “Wow. You played that really well! What else can you play?”

Then her mother noticed Inga's face. “Oh,” she said, “Your sore lips. Never mind. Here, I'll go and get my Vaseline now, as I promised.”

Her mother left the room to fetch her Vaseline. Inga looked down at her harmonica gratefully.

“Phew!” she breathed. “I wonder if it's just Mum who can't see or smell the smoke streams, or whether nobody else can?”

Then she frowned as another thought occurred to her.

“Can it possibly be just my imagination?” she pondered. “No! Of course not! The plants healed. The doll moved. Those things were not my imagination! They really happened!”

She had seen the smoke streams moving towards those plants, towards her doll, wrapping around them.

“The smoke streams somehow worked magic, and I created that magic with the harmonica!” she whispered to herself.

Her mother came back into the room. Although the mists had evaporated by now, a faint trace of the sweet scents were still noticeable to Inga.

“What's that nice smell?” Inga asked innocently, studying her mother's reaction. Her mother sniffed.

“What nice smell?” she frowned and sniffed again, turning her head side to side.

“Didn't you notice it when you were in here just now?” asked Inga.

“No... I.. don't think so,” said her mother looking puzzled.

“Oh, maybe I'm just noticing your perfume.” Inga said casually.

Her mother beamed and kissed her forehead. “Well, that's nice of you. But I haven't got any perfume on today. Maybe you can smell the shower gel I used. You've got a very good sense of smell, you know.”

Inga smiled with satisfaction. “Yeah, I know,” she said.

* * * * * *