Andrew's Song

((This is a side-story for a character in my novel, "Across the Distance." If you haven't finished the novel and don't want it to be spoiled, don't read this. I wrote it while working on the novel.)

Andrew's Song
Slender fingers quiver on the neck of an old violin, coaxing out sweet, familiar melody. Andrew's song. Eyes closed, his mind is far away, fluttering to the beloved home where tiny fingers were guided to each fret by scarred hands with a gentle touch.
His fingers had been cold before when they played in the snow to earn a few coins. It had served to make them more nimble when they were warm again and being trained for career in school. Those days were gone and they were back to being cold.
What irony. The churning waters that had escorted their family's ship, promising a life full of song, now lay still as glass, bent on destroying the music. His eyes stay closed, refusing to show their fear. His song continues - will continue until his very breathe forces its silence. For his music is all that he has left. He plays for courage. He plays for strength. He plays to calm. He opened his eyes to gaze at the stars. That moon is shining its light into Clara's window right now.
Clara sleeps in blissful ignorance. Is she dreaming of him? Perhaps the moon drapes its light across her face and caresses her ring.
His promise.
His broken promise.
Yet he stays in denial letting his promise play out. He knocks on the door and they are reunited. They marry. He takes care of her. He rescues her. The glaring truth accuses that such fantasies are futile when he cannot even rescue himself. He will face the truth when he must. Until then he will pretend that the cold is from a long walk home. And that the tipping of the deck is really the last hill to climb before he reaches the house. He will not think of anything else. He will only play. Always play. It is his passion, his prayer, and his final plea.
His plea is answered by the screams.
Suddenly, the hill home becomes too hard to climb. The dream is gone. He stumbles, one hand clinging to his violin, the other clutching the rail, as his bow slides down the ship's angle, following the path where the last lifeboat has been released.
He tightens his grip as his feet slip out from under him, fear surfacing in a crushing wave, as he catches sight of the black water looming below. The stern of the ship continues to rise as though it is a giant hand raising them in sacrifice to the gods. He loses his grip - stumbles - rolls.
His violin cracks just like the ship, plummeting back toward the sea. The instrument groans as he tumbles on top of his prize. Strings break, offering a sharp twang as their final melody. One snaps across his face leaving a stinging line. He slams up against a railing, now acting as a floor. He gasps a terrified breath - for though he's brave enough to hand off his life jacket - his only tie to life to a young, blind girl - he is, after all, only a man.
He rides the ship down, clutching the neck of his broken violin into the cold plunge - so cold that it feels as though flames lick up on either side, not only burning like fire but crushing like a rock. The water caves his chest, stealing his breath as though a giant finger has risen out of the sea and touched it, forbidding it to move.
The beloved instrument bobs away, as its master fights to keep his head above water. He cannot swim. Never could. He never wanted to. But he clings tightly to a deck chair, willing himself to stay afloat as his suit becomes logged with icy water. The burning settles on top of his skin, torturing with the prick of a thousand needles, while the cold settles deep in his muscles in an iron grip.
His face and arms burn as though they have been scalded by water. He thinks of Clara. He thinks of his mother. He thinks of ten brothers and sisters, all depending on him. All he wanted to do was to give them what they need - to earn enough money to take them somewhere clean and warm.
He panics, thrashes, and begins to sob as his muscles shake uncontrollably from the icy depths. Clara. He can't even say her name. He's chattering too hard. Their song floats through his head, a small comfort in the storm. And still the moon glints from above. The stars twinkle as if they have a wonderful secret. He expects his body to grow numb, but it does not.
A light glows in the distance. He thinks it's a ship. But it an illusion cause by the northern lights. Something to tell Clara about. He lets himself slip back into his dream. And as the darkness closes in, he sees her face, picks up his violin and music goes on.