Dreams Of A Flute.
I doubt that you will understand but I will try to explain. The problem is that I might not make the explanation simple enough for a man like you to understand. Don't look like that - I know that you can hear me. No, you are not mad. Your actions seem so far to show enough logic for me to make that assumption. You are greedy; you make the most of opportunity and you seem fearful of the possibility of apprehension. All these characteristics observed give me reason to think you are of sound mind in a conventional sense.
Now, sit down and I will explain myself. It is clear that your education is not of the highest, so I will keep it simple. As you see, I am a musical instrument; a member of the woodwind family, though I am not, personally, made of that material. I realise that that may confuse you, but it is of no importance, let it pass. Like all musical instruments I basically make air vibrate. Let me see, ah yes, those things in your ears, I don't know if you have an Ipod or if it is a generic mp3 player, it matters little. That device makes the air vibrate and that air travels to your ears making a similar vibration of your eardrum and you hear music, if that pounding nonsense could be called such. Ah, a response, he has turned the wretched thing off. Splendid, we are making progress.
To return to my personal attributes, don't fidget; I hope not to detain you for long. When the blown air passes across the hole near the end; please don't blow into it, your breath could fell an ox; just take my word for it. When blown air passes across the hole it causes the air in me to resonate. The holes along my length can be opened or closed to modulate that resonance, creating beautiful music, or not, as would be the case if you attempted the exercise.
And this, of course, is the problem. You quite clearly possess neither the skill nor the inclination to develop the skill to make the most of my potential. You see me merely as a commodity, an asset that might be transformed into the funds necessary to purchase alcoholic beverages or even mind-altering substances which may give you momentary pleasure. Or you might obtain further, shall I say, music, for that thing around your neck; noises that might entertain you for a while. Soon you would tire of them and would need to replace them with other noises.
If you had the wit to realise my potential, the music that you could make would entertain you lifelong and would cost nothing, not one paltry coin, not one monetary note in exchange for the notes enjoyed. More, it would be possible to earn a fortune. Ah, now I have your attention; pound signs flash in your eyes. They will avail you not at all. You do not have the skill and I doubt you could develop it. My owner, Signor Pizzicato, of Genova has devoted the whole of a long life to the creation of beautiful music. You could never do that.
I wonder. Could I persuade you to hand me in at a Police Station? I don't think so. Since you obtained me by illegal means I see that that option is not viable. Never mind. Perhaps you could leave me here on this park bench to be found by someone who would hand me in so that I might be returned to Signor Pizzicato. No. Your hope for material gain will not allow that. l am sure that with a little thought we can discover what is best for us both. Be still a moment. You are far enough from the house you burgled not to be detected. The people are away and I must give you some credit for the efficient way that you went about your business, very professional. It wasn't your fault that the enormous tom cat hissed at you. You grabbed the most valuable thing you could before you fled. Nasty claws those cats have. Vicious creatures, very frightening.
Ah, I think I have the solution. You won't hand me in to the authorities. You will get little for me if you ‘fence’ me, is that the word? I think after all; the best answer is that you leave me here and walk away. I see that this idea does not recommend itself to you. No matter. I must see if you can be persuaded. Look at it this way; the highest musical note that I can produce is an f, four octaves above middle c and I can produce at least 130 decibels. That level of sound can have extremely deleterious effects on the human ear. You doubt me? Ah, you refer me back to or earlier discussion. You remember the requirement of blown air across the hole. I see. There's more to you than I thought. Can you hear me? Of course, you can. Now ask yourself, how can you hear me? Yes. My voice is in your mind. The note would be in your mind and because air is not required I am not limited in volume. Listen. There, what do you think? What a note! What power! It's in your head. You can't block your ears. Does it hurt? Where are you going? Must you leave so soon? Goodbye!
Mm, that was fun. Now it's time to find a new owner. If only Signor Pizzicato existed, how delightful it would be to be played properly. That thief was so stupid he didn't even remember he grabbed me in that little girl's bedroom. The only music I have played in the last six months has been ‘Frère Jacques’ and ‘Three Blind Mice’. The shame. Perhaps out there, somewhere, there is a Signor Pizzicato. If I wait he will come. Even a flute can dream.
