Read Online Sparkers by Eleanor Glewwe - Free Book Online Page A

not,’ and you sing that over and over for a bit. Then it’s ‘Where shadows darken not.’ I can’t remember the lines after that, but in the end it circles back to the beginning.”
    â€œThere’s no place without wind and shadows,” Tamar says.
    â€œI think that’s the idea,” says Shaul.
    â€œThose aren’t even sentences,” says Zeina. “The lines are incomplete, unfinished.”
    I see what she means. The song invokes an impossible land without naming a true wish. The yearning is buried in the words that aren’t there.
    â€œThink about those words, what they express,” Aradi Imael says. “And then listen to one another. I know you have other things on your minds, but you must play together.”
    She raises her baton once more. We start again with new purpose, inspired to create the atmosphere of that imaginary country. This time, the music is something we’re all shaping together, and no one makes any noticeable mistakes.
    The rehearsal passes quickly. I thought it would be trickier to juggle Leah’s part and mine, to judge where to splice first and second violin parts, but the more I open my ears to the whole medsha’s sound, the more the music comes alive within me and nudges me in the right direction. I only get lost twice, and I find my place before anyone notices. Aradi Imael looks startled each time I change over to Leah’s line, but after a few measures she always nods in approval.
    At eleven o’clock, students begin filing into the auditorium, from the littlest children in Preparatory to our classmates in Final. As Horiel’s top medsha, we perform for the entire school. The hall, so still during our rehearsal, echoes with coughs and murmurs. Glancing at the pale faces floating in the sea of darkness, I wipe my palms on my skirt.
    Aradi Imael bows to subdued applause. As she turns back to us, a hush falls over the audience.
    â€œEnergy!” she mouths.
    We raise our instruments and look up. Aradi Imael holds her baton poised above the score. In the second our eyes meet, I sense a perfect trust between us. She gives the upbeat, and raw joy sweeps through me as I spring into the theme.
    The three pieces flash by, and my spirits soar. It’s oddly exhilarating weaving between Leah’s part and my own, and I almost forget how much I wish she were here.
    At the end of our performance, the school bursts into applause. Glowing with pride, Aradi Imael waves us to our feet. I stand up with the whole medsha and smile as I face the crowd. My heart is warm. The audience claps for a long time.
    At the end of the school day, Miriam, Devorah, Zeina, and I leave Horiel together along with Reuven and Shaul. We walk down the street in a cluster, exulting in the success of our concert and trading compliments.
    â€œI can’t believe you went back and forth between the first and second violin parts without getting lost,” Devorah tells me. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
    Shaul begins to describe his efforts to repair a discarded music box to give his little sister for her birthday. He’s telling us how he plans to fix the clockwork mechanism when Reuven raises his hand. “Quiet!”
    After a moment, I make out an eerie melody on the wind.
    â€œMourning music,” Zeina says, her voice hushed. “It must be a funeral procession.”
    Soon, we encounter the crowd. The street is clogged with silent mourners holding black books with silver lettering on the spine. The Maitaf.
    â€œDo you suppose whoever it is died of the dark—?” Shaul begins, but we shush him.
    The sight of the body, draped in blue linen and borne on a litter by four men, steals my breath away. I shudder, disturbed by the Maitafi custom of burying the dead without coffins. Not that coffins make me feel much better. I glance at my friends’ drawn faces and wonder if we’re all thinking of Leah.
    Lately