As the moon shone brightly over the little town, I, Milo the Musician, was bustling with excitement for the night to come. It was to be my first performance at the Sparkling Star Club, and to add to the thrill, our school choir would be joining us. Imagine it—a whole choir of our younger pupils filling the room with sweet harmonies, bright voices spiraling like the stars.
I opened the door of my house, and there, marching towards me, was my dear friend Trina with two of our choir members. “To the Sparkling Star Club we go!” sang Trina, throwing her arms wide open. I was happy she felt that way, but I only hoped my music would meet her expectations.
The night blazed with excitement. We reached the club and as I reached for the door handle, my fingers trembled. “What if I forget how to play?” I asked Trina. The worry gleamed brightly in her eyes. “You mustn’t fret. Just remember everything you learned, and be free,” she said, shining like a bright star. But it’s easy to say, I thought to myself, how does one ‘be free’ when everyone is listening so carefully? Dismissing the thought, I swung open the door.
What a heart-stopping, wonderful scene it was! The bright lights gluttonized my eyes, and everywhere were the strangest and most cheerful figures dressed in long, flowing garments. Mr. Taptop, a Polish giraffe, and Jaya, a lovely little girl from faraway India, were performing on the floor. Mr. Taptop’s bow was the brightest green, and Jaya’s garment, more like a sash than a dress, was dazzling in red and gold, twinkling like the stars in the black sky. He played so sweetly, she twirled around him, waving her arms like rose branches waving in the summer air. I looked and looked but saw no other performers, nor my choir members, nor my father who would accompany me on his tinkling tambourine.
Told him I was here to sing with our school choir, and would find it on the stage. “Then I fear you will be disappointed, dear child,” said he. “There will be no choir. This is purposely done to let your genius find free play. Make up a tune from the song your father taught you without a gay accompaniment, but with a tristisone instead. Think! Don Half-Stitched is the trumpeter tonight!” He placed a magenta pamphlet in my hands, and all I could do was look stupidly at it. Was it true? Was that great blunder made on purpose? I closed my eyes.
“Oh, the bliss to be! Oh, the joy to hear! Oh, the world to see! With this dearest near!” Running over and over in my head came the silly little tune I had drummed into him night before last. And still two hours to wait! At least I had one tune, and with great difficulty could avoid scaring everyone with utter exhaustion.
Mr. Shagum, a monkey who played well on a harp and more than well on a guitar, came wandering to me, and with repeated requests even subdued Professor Murdock, our schoolmaster who could not be “bought” as he said. Even he agreed to play the tune. I still dreaded the rest.
“Ah! Milo, Harmonoy, have you heard? Old Harmonoy’s coming! Joy, oh joy!” sung out a fresh little voice in front of me. And lo! it was little Dunn Half-Stitched, the dwarf. “He’s going to sing our school song and his own tuneful riddle,” he added. Could it be true, I thought, suddenly remembering the black clouds and the rain and the firm ground under my feet the night before last? How had the poor little boy traveled? Our sleep was fairy-like, one could not well be different who traveled in such a way, I am sure.
I was just going to answer Dunn when the trumpeter, Goodman Harmonoy, appeared. How singular! I could hardly keep from smiling while he was singing the riddle. But much I feared there would not be sufficient time for Professor Murdock and my father to learn the words of my tune, and still less for myself to get it into my head. “Oh dear!” I folded myself in both arms.
Dunn came marching up. “Now’s our turn!” he exclaimed. And our choir marched and sang on. How happy they were! I thought about the little quails just leaving their nest, dark and warm, surrounded by their dear “brood” outside, flying out into the wide, cruel world. And I sung my song a second time.
I cast one last grateful glance around the floor; not a face was reflected in the mirror. Everywhere pairs of human eyes—strange, weird, transparent—were floating about amidst the waves of light. It was delightful to hear my melody echo through the hall with a soft, low accompaniment in a variable rhythm.
Dunn wanted to sing a Thuringian tale asking me whether we could not sing an ode. But I’m afraid all I sang was the first sentence, for just at that moment there rolled forth,
Oh joy, oh joy!
I walked to earth!
With a loud creaking his coffin lid flew open, and we from my quiet little school room were thrown out into the bustling, crowded life of large cities. Our town, Erfurt, appeared before my inner eye, the Theater, a spyglass, the old Judge ill and our little “brood.” The changes rolled faster and faster until scarcely anything remained before my inner eye except ourselves.
Milo the Musician, on a distant stage, a deep red curtain was closing before us. But this time it was beneath the sea! White foam covered the sand, low, half-dark mountains and hills followed the rushing motion of the waves. With lightning speed snow-white, level spots rose from the depths, and a second later began rocking on our half-pulled curtain.
“Oh joy to be! Oh bliss to hear!”
I sang the refrain without knowing it. What would become of us? Would we never pull the curtain in?