Ethan Webb
It was a crisp fall day in Boston. Winter was coming. Eugene biked in the alleys. His guitar rested on his back. The cold air felt good. Eugene pedaled as fast as he could. He hunched over with his head bent down. He looked at the ground in front of him. Eugene swerved around people, passing cars, lamp posts, and many other obstacles. He went faster and faster.
His bike wasn’t as fast as he was. It was rusty and squeaked and creaked. He wanted a better bike but did not have enough money for one. He had pulled that one from the trash. He liked the flying hunk of junk. Eugene named it Betsy. He knew Betsy would soon be a scrap in the junkyard.
Eugene screeched to a stop. He arrived at the soup café. He leaned Betsy against a street lamp. He wasn’t worried about theft. No one would want to steal Betsy. Eugene went into the restaurant.
The café had many people. This didn’t bother Eugene. He walked to the counter and gave his name. He was ready to pick up his egg drop soup. The woman behind the register nodded. She yelled something to the chef next to her. The chef nodded to Eugene and then went to the kitchen.
Eugene put his elbow on the counter. He looked all around the room. Panic rushed through him as he watched the chef come back from the kitchen. There was a bucket full of turtle hatchlings on the stove. Someone was making turtle soup!
He jumped back. One of the turtle hatchlings had escaped. Eugene scooped it up. He carefully put it into his fanny pack.
The woman at the counter called out his order. Eugene paid with a wad of single dollar bills and a fistful of coins. He thanked her and rode home carefully. There was a baby turtle crawling around in his bag.
Eugene had a broken-down apartment on the edge of the city. It was the only place he could afford. He loved music, but it didn’t pay his bills. Eugene’s job was washing dishes at a pizza place two blocks away. He was happy doing dishes so he could come home to Edmund.
Edmund was the turtle he had found in the soup café. Edmund was happy in his new home with Eugene. Eugene had given him a big tank and added toys daily. It was a better home than the apartment was. After work, Eugene would play music to Edmund. It made them both feel at peace. Eugene loved Edmund more than anything in the world.
Edmund loved Eugene, too. Edmund loved Eugene’s music. It was not of this world. It was almost godly. The sound that came from Eugene’s cello or guitar soothed Edmund’s ears. It made all his worries go away. Whenever Eugene played a song Edmund liked, Edmund would clap his feet together. Whenever Eugene played a song Edmund disliked, Edmund turned away.
Eugene’s friend Dan worked with him. One day, Dan asked Eugene, “How ya been, buddy?”
“Better than ever. I’m in love!” Eugene answered. He was smiling.
“Hooray, pal!” Dan exclaimed with a big hug. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
“It’s a turtle. He loves me and I love him. He’s like my son. We aren’t getting married or anything. But he seems to like my music more than any human does. It makes me happy to go home and play for him every day.” Eugene laughed and patted Dan on the back.
Dan let out a loud and hearty laugh. “Boy, I don’t know if you are teasing. You can’t be in love with a turtle! I get that they are cute little creatures, but you should find a woman, get married, and start your life. A turtle is an animal, not a human! I don’t think it understands music at all.”
Dan was trying to be nice. But he also frustrated Eugene, because Dan had never seen the joy in Edmund when Eugene played him a tune he liked. Dan didn’t understand that Edmund wasn’t a creature. He was a soul just like him. That gave him an idea. Eugene would show Dan. He would make Edmund a tiny turtle-sized fiddle. That would show him a turtle could understand music like a human.
Making a fiddle for a turtle was not easy. Eugene had thought it was a fun idea. But it would take lots of work. It took hours of shopping for the right wood. He measured and cut. It wasn’t as easy as Eugene imagined.
The result was the world’s smallest violin.
Eugene didn’t know how to teach Edmund how to play. He just put the fiddle in the tank where Edmund listened to Eugene make music. Edmund slowly made his way over. He picked up the fiddle. Eugene was amazed. Edmund began to play.
It sounded horrible—just awful. Nails on a chalkboard sounded better. Edmund dragged the bow across the strings harshly. The turtle played the fiddle the wrong way every single time he tried.
Eugene wanted to take the fiddle away. He wanted to stop the bad noises coming from the creature and his little creation. But that was how Edmund would learn. Eugene didn’t stop him. Eugene practiced patience.
After only a few hours of playing, Edmund was better than Eugene. Eugene made a video for Dan. He was excited to prove Dan wrong. A turtle could make music.
Dan was impressed. He was also stunned.
“Dude! This is so unreal! Get this on YouTube or something! Send this in to America’s Funniest Videos! I’ll call the news! You’re gonna be famous!” Dan’s eyes were shining.
“I need the money,” Eugene agreed.
Eugene put the video on YouTube. He found a few local news stations to cover the story. Eugene and Edmund were soon known everywhere in the world. People were amused by the musical turtle and his human. Everyone liked the music they played. They became famous.
Yo Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble joined them sometimes. Other times, opera singers joined them with full orchestras. Edmund always took the spotlight. Playing in front of millions of people didn’t scare him. Standing ovations did not make him nervous. He wasn't concerned what humans thought—the little turtle just loved to play the little fiddle.
Eugene no longer lived in a shabby apartment. He lived in a nice house in New Zealand. Edmund’s tank was bigger. It was 100 gallons and had plenty of fiddles and an underwater piano.
Edmund and Eugene still performed. It became a common occurrence to see a man play backup for a turtle. Eugene found that all turtles were musical. Tortoises were excellent at flute. Sea turtles were great at drumming. Freshwater turtles were best at playing stringed instruments.
Eugene was thrilled to find out that turtles were musically talented. People no longer cooked them into soup. They became prized pets. They were treated even better than cats had been treated in ancient Egypt.
Eugene was happy that turtles were not made into soup. But other animals were still being eaten. Eugene was sure that other animals had special abilities. He just didn’t know how to prove it.
He began to study other animals. He gave them different tasks. He asked some to sew. He asked others to build. He even asked others to play music. He wanted to see what they could do. He hoped he could learn what each animal was great at. Then, people would stop hunting them and eating them. Eugene wanted people to love animals for what they could do. He wanted them celebrated for their skills, like they celebrated turtles.
***
Eugene walked upstairs one morning. Every morning, for thirty more years, Eugene walked upstairs happy to see Edmund. All of a sudden, things changed. One morning changed Eugene’s routine forever.
He had been working with Tony the Tarantula. Tony was learning to make origami. But now Eugene felt a sense of dread as he walked up those stairs.
He saw Edmund and just knew that Edmund was not alive. Eugene picked him up and stroked him. He remembered all their happy times together.
Eugene buried Edmund by the sea. Hundreds of New Zealanders, celebrities, and musicians came. They mourned with him. Eugene wanted to preserve Edmund’s spirit forever. He would make Edmund’s shell into a guitar.
The next day, Eugene went to the mountains of New Zealand.
Local people knew the best guitar craftsman in the world lived there. He was a hermit and lived in a stone house on a flowery hill. Eugene had to find the expert.
He bought a tent. He filled a backpack with supplies for at least a week in the wilderness. Eugene left food for his animals. He grabbed Edmund’s shell and left. His friends and family called him crazy. Many people worried about him. He had never even camped before, and most didn’t even believe the hermit existed. Eugene didn’t listen to their fears. He did what he had to do.
Hours after starting his journey, Eugene was tired. He was not in the best shape. The hot sun made him thirsty. His backpack was heavy. It was good that there were many streams of fresh, clean water in the mountains.
At night, Eugene made camp in a forest in the hills. He pitched his tent on a grassy spot. He dared not make a fire. Friendly animals like Kiwi and Tahr would be about. He didn’t want to attract attention—even though they were friendly little critters.
In the morning, he would keep going. Eugene fell asleep easily to the sound of the brook flowing nearby.
Eugene soon awoke to harp music.
Was it a dream? Eugene crawled out of his tent. He tried to find the music. Where was it coming from? The brook! He quietly moved over to the water.
At the brook, Eugene saw a giant man. The giant was perched on the highest rock. He was playing the harp and humming along.
The giant called, “Ah, I have been waiting for you!”
The music stopped. The man hopped down from the rock. He was humongous: at least ten feet tall. His ponytail was the size of Eugene. He had a braided beard that went down to his knees. He wore a satchel. A bow and a quiver of arrows hung on his back. In his hands was the harp Eugene had heard. The giant smelled of manure as he towered over Eugene. His face was decorated with tattoos. They were hard to see under the layers of mud on his cheeks. His voice was deep. His eyes seemed to look right into Eugene. Even though he seemed scary at first, Eugene realized that the giant looked kind.
Eugene didn’t know what to say at first. His mouth fell open. “Are you the mythical man I seek?” he squeaked.
The giant’s laugh boomed. It made the ground shake. Leaves whirled. The giant smiled. “I am the Blacksmith of the Mountain. The great spirits told me that it is my duty to craft you a weapon.”
“Not a weapon. An instrument!” Eugene said.
“My friend, I will make you a guitar. That is a weapon. You will use it to fight for peace and love on this earth. Use it wisely. Ask no more. Go to sleep. I will be here in the morning with your ‘instrument.’”
Eugene had left Edmund’s shell outside of his tent for the Blacksmith of the Mountain to build Eugene his weapon. In the morning, Eugene woke to find the giant waiting outside his tent. He held a guitar rather than a harp. It was all very strange, but it was exactly what the whole journey was for.
When Eugene first saw the guitar, he could not move. The Blacksmith of the Mountain beamed with pride. He handed it to him with a graceful bow. The inlays and tuning pegs were bedazzled with pieces of Edmund’s shell. The wood was the color of pearls. It glistened in the sun. Eugene’s eyes widened. Words were stuck to the tip of his tongue but he could not speak. He was impressed and astonished. He was captivated by the instrument’s beauty.
Next, the Blacksmith of the Mountain handed Eugene the most magnificent artifact of his lifetime. Edmund’s shell was crafted into a flat, kidney-shaped pick guard. It shone with every color of the rainbow.
He had never seen those colors on Edmund. The piece must have been from the inside of his shell. He stroked the mysterious pattern as he had stroked Edmund’s shell so many times before.
Eugene felt very warm. His knees shook. Gravity suddenly grew stronger. All went dark. Eugene fainted.
When Eugene woke in the oasis on top of the mountain, the masterful guitar craftsman was gone. He had installed the pick guard onto the body of the guitar. The beautiful instrument was propped up next to him. A mini waterfall and natural stone swimming pool were nearby. He and the guitar were both sheltered from the spray of the waterfall. A thick grapevine surrounded them and made an umbrella.
Eugene picked up the guitar and began to play. He knew how glorious the sound that the guitar made was. He had preserved his beloved turtle’s spirit in the body of this instrument. The basic pentatonic patterns were mesmerizing. The instrument sounded brilliant.
Eugene ran his fingers over the smooth pick guard. He was getting to know the texture of the interior of Edmund’s shell. But then, Eugene came across what felt like scratches!
“No!” he cried. He thought he had scratched up the masterpiece on the stone.
Bringing the scratches close to his eyes, he saw the marks were actually musical notes. They were notes he had never thought of playing. They looked as if they had been inscribed by someone with a mini chisel.
Upon playing them, he realized they were the most ingenious chords he had ever heard. When played, they created a simple, sweet song. He had never thought to form notes to make chords like them. It was a miraculous moment. Eugene had an epiphany; turtles were not just talented. They had songs hidden inside of them. They were on the inside of their shells, invisible even to themselves.
Eugene made his way off the mountain. He went home. He made the chords into a song. It was his biggest hit. It reached the top of the charts in every country. The chord progression was so catchy. The best musicians wanted to know how he did it. The entire world wanted to learn how to play it. They all knew how to sing it. The lyrics of the song sang for world peace. The mass attention worked for a greater good. This pleased Eugene greatly. He donated all of the proceeds to charity.
Eugene never told his secret. He didn’t want people to know that turtles had symphonies in their shells. If they knew, they would kill turtles to steal their songs rather than play backup at their concerts.
Eugene would never let turtles simply become soup again, for they were fiddlers—and the world needed their music. The world needed the balance and peace they offered through that music.
THE END