Melody led them to the lobby. She stopped before a glass case on the wall.
Pointing to several sheets of music displayed inside, she said, “Look at those!”
“Aren’t they amazing?” a woman who had been staring at them said.
Benny didn’t see anything special about the papers. He opened his mouth to say so but decided not to.
Violet moved closer for a better look. “They are wonderful,” she said.
The woman turned to face them. When she saw Melody, her face reddened. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I — uh — You’re Ms. Carmody!”
Melody smiled. “Yes,” she said. “How did you know?”
“I’ve — uh — seen your picture,” she explained. She sounded very nervous. “I’m Janet Muller,” she went on. “I own an antique store in town.”
Melody smiled. “Well, this Mozart score is certainly an antique,” she said.
Benny knew about keeping score in baseball, but he didn’t think that had anything to do with music. “What does she mean, ‘this Mozart score’?” he asked Violet.
“It’s a written piece of music, which musicians play from,” his sister explained.
“And this one even has Mozart’s signature on it,” Janet Muller said. “See, right here. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes,” Jessie marveled. “It really is.”
What was so exciting about a man’s name on a piece of paper, Benny wondered. He stood on tiptoe for a better look. “I can’t even read his name,” he said.
Violet pointed out the letters of the composer’s last name. “It says Mozart,” she told him.
“Mozart, Mozart,” Benny sang. “Doesn’t he have more than one name?”
“Indeed, he does,” Victor Perrelli’s voice boomed. “His whole name is Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgang Gottlieb Mozart.”
Benny’s eyes grew wide. “That’s some name!” he said.
Victor laughed. “It’s a good thing I don’t have a name like that. I’d never remember it,” he said. Then he wandered off again, humming.
“No one ever called him by his full name,” Janet Muller put in. “He was known as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”
“Where’d they get the Amadeus part?” Benny asked.
“Amadeus is the Latin form of Gottlieb,” Melody explained. “I guess his family decided they liked it better.”
“How did you get hold of the score?” Janet asked.
“We have Bob Weldon to thank for that,” Melody answered. “We play a lot of Mozart’s music. Bob talked a museum into loaning us this original score to take on tour.”
“This whole thing is so exciting,” Janet Muller said. She leaned close as though she were about to share a secret. “I collect autographs.” She opened the book she was holding. On each page was a signature. “Here’s the famous Victor Perrelli’s,” she said proudly. She thrust the book toward Melody. “May I have your autograph?”
Melody stepped back. “You don’t want my signature,” she said. “I’m nobody famous.”
“Someday maybe,” Janet said. “You just never know. I’ll bet Mozart never realized something he wrote would be so valuable.”
Melody took the book and the pen Janet held out to her. “Well, if you put it that way,” she said, and signed her name.
Janet Muller looked at the signature. She traced Melody’s name with a forefinger. “Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you,” Melody responded. “You are the very first person who has ever asked for my autograph.”
Once again, Janet studied the Mozart score. “Aren’t you afraid someone will steal it?” she asked. “I mean … is there security or anything? Someone watching it?”
Melody said only, “It’s safe.”
“Oh, look!” Janet said. “There’s Abner Medina!” She raced off, her autograph book open to a blank page.
“Who’s Abner Medina?” Benny asked.
“The best percussionist in the country,” Melody answered.
“Percussion? Like drums and things?” Jessie asked.
Melody nodded.
Benny moved his hands as though he were beating a drum. “I’d like to do that,” he said.
Henry laughed. “You make enough noise as it is,” he teased.
“It’s only noise when you’re not good,” Melody said. “I think Benny would be good.”
Benny made a so-there face at Henry.
Everyone laughed.
Melody looked at her watch. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I’m as bad as Victor. I get involved and forget what I’m supposed to do. I have to go. If I don’t practice, I’ll never be able to play my solo.” She told them all good-bye, and, promising to see them soon, she hurried away.
The Aldens turned their attention back to the Mozart score.
“What did that lady mean when she said this was valuable?” Soo Lee asked.
“The score is worth a lot of money,” Henry said.
“What makes it worth so much?” Benny asked. “It’s just a bunch of papers with musical notes on them.”
“It’s very old,” Henry said. “Mozart was born in 1756, over two hundred years ago.”
“Wow!” Benny exclaimed.
“Mozart is one of the greatest composers ever,” Jessie added. “And this music isn’t a copy; it’s in his own handwriting.”
“You won’t believe how young he was when he started writing music,” Violet said.
“How old?” Benny asked.
“Five years old,” Violet told him. “He was probably composing music in his head before that.”
Amazed, Soo Lee and Benny looked at one another. Mozart was younger than either of them when he began writing music!
Benny leaned in for a better look at the score. “He didn’t write this one when he was five,” he said. “It’s too neat. There’s nothing crossed out or erased.”
“Mozart didn’t make mistakes,” Violet said. “The music just flowed out of his mind onto the paper.”
Benny shook his head. “I could never do that,” he said. “Even in my mind, I make mistakes!” |