MAHOGANY: Mahogany By Anne Nassar

Week 5 Word: MAHOGANY
Word Count
Mahogany
By Anne Nassar
He took his violin case down from its hiding place. Heart pounding, he opened the case and looked at the violin. It looked just as it used to; mahogany with umber stripes of variant widths. He knew every stripe. It wanted to be played. He longed to hear its voice again.
He glanced at his mangled left hand. It was worse than ever. The knuckles of the ring finger and the pinky were fleshy bulbs and the skin stretched tight over them as if they would burst open. The fingers stuck out at an unnatural angle from the hand, they didn’t bend; they were unusable.
It was the only object of value that he had left, anyway. He had no choice.
Although his clothes were still damp , he put them on and walked to the pawn shop where he’d sold his guitar, his oud, his books, his laptop, his leather jacket, a silver pocket watch, and a gold crucifix his grandmother had given him for his first communion. He got a month’s rent – not nearly what it was worth, he knew. But it didn’t matter – there was soon to be a reckoning.
He walked across the city. It was twilight by the time he got to her family’s house. She would be home from work by now, he thought.
The house was a stately red brick two-story with a wrought iron fence around it. There was a light in the front window.
He rang the doorbell. A handsome older man with a thick moustache opened the door and, said, in Arabic, What do you want?
He replied, in Arabic, I am Aram Toukatley. I am a friend of your daughter Regina.
Are you? The man said, I’ve never heard of you. How do you know my daughter?
Aram tried to think of an answer that would get him in the door. Telling the truth was not an option; he couldn’t say, “Your daughter pulled me unconscious out of a snowbank.”
And so he said, “I met her at church.”
This was at least partially true. They had once met in front of a church.
The old man grunted his approval and stepped aside.

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