The Patchwork Fiddle

The Patchwork Fiddle

    Once upon a time, there was a man who had traveled far and wide, and had seen a great many things in the world.
    One day, this man was traveling to a region he had never been to before, and along his way, he found a fiddle on the ground.
    Now, this was no ordinary fiddle. This was a broken fiddle, more worn and damaged than any he'd seen before. And this fiddle had seen a great many things, just like the man who stood over it.
    It had seen rain. It had seen snow. It had seen days so hot the ground itself steamed.

    It had seen animals, too; rats that nibbled on its scroll and pegs, squirrels who stuffed their nuts into it through the gaping cracks it bore, mice who came and nested inside it, living off the nuts the squirrels had left.
    As you can imagine, the fiddle was in pretty bad shape. When he saw it lying there on the ground, the man's heart went out to it, and he gathered it up in all its brokenness, and he sheltered it under his cloak, next to his heart.
    The man traveled many miles, from one end of the land to the other, until he came to a city with an esteemed fiddle-maker in it. The man went to the fiddle-maker, held out the fiddle, and said, 'Oh, good fiddle-maker! Is there anything you can do for my poor, broken fiddle?'
    But the fiddle-maker laughed at him, and said, 'Oh, sir traveler, that old fiddle is no good for anything anymore, save perhaps matchsticks.'
    The man begged the fiddle-maker, and pleaded with him to try and fix the fiddle; but the fiddle-maker refused.
    So the man left that city and traveled onward, from city to city, from town to town, from village to village, asking every fiddle-maker along the way if they would fix his fiddle.
    They all refused.
    The man sank to his knees in the streets of the last village, held his precious, broken fiddle to his heart, and wept. And the fiddle wept, too, for it so, so wanted to be made whole again, to be played again, to bring delight and wonder to people with the music that flowed from it.
    The man and his fiddle stayed there for a long time. The man didn't know what to do, and his heart broke for his fiddle, too worn and broken for even the greatest fiddle-makers to repair.

    At long last, after the sun set and the moon and stars came out to play, the man stood, one last hope blossoming in his heart. Cradling his fiddle to his chest, he made his way to the house where the village's carpenter lived. He knocked on the door.
    To his surprise, the village carpenter answered the door, even though it was the middle of the night. With tears in his eyes, the man explained his fiddle's plight.
    'I've been to every fiddle-maker in the land,' he said. 'And all of them, every one, have told me it's hopeless.'
    The carpenter looked at the fiddle, then looked at the man, and said, 'I've never fixed a fiddle before. But I see your problem, and I see how much this poor fiddle hurts. I will try my best.'
    The carpenter took the man into his home, laid the fiddle out on his workbench, gathered up his tools, and set to work.
    All night and all day the carpenter worked, carving and chiseling, gluing and clamping, cleaning and varnishing. When all that he could do was done, he went to the village fiddle-maker and paid a big handful of gold for the finest catgut, and when he returned, he slowly, carefully strung the fiddle.
    At long last the work was done. The fiddle was cleaned out and varnished, the cracks filled, the bridge and strings replaced. With a weary smile, the carpenter picked up the fiddle, took up the bow, and presented them to the man.
    'Here,' he said. 'I've fixed your fiddle, the best that I can.'
    The wood was a patchwork of different types and colors, and when the man played it, it sounded nothing like it would have when it was new, but the fiddle was whole, and no longer in pain, and it was enough.
    'How can I ever repay you?' the man asked, and there were tears in his eyes again.
    The carpenter merely smiled. 'Go and play your fiddle,' he said. 'Take it all across the country, make music for all to delight in. Treat it well. If it ever breaks again, you know where to call.'
    Again the man insisted, offering the carpenter gold and silver, but all the carpenter would accept was his gratitude and a song from the patchwork fiddle.