H is for Harps Willed To Me

            When my great-grandfather died, he left me three harps.  I stared at them for quite some time the day they came to me.  There laid harps of gold, bone, and ebony.  They were beautiful instruments, ornate and elegant to near superfluous degree.  I only wished I knew how to play them.

            Grandfather Joseph was no fool, in any case.  A hand-written note accompanied the stringed trio.  I shook—nearly to the point of convulsions—as I read it.

            Each harp had a name and with it a story.  The original contents of those tales have been lost hence, yet I shall never forget the gist of them.

            The harp of gold is named Venus, and by no coincidence.  She is a love-bringer, the founder of many affairs, several political marriages, and, by consequence, a number of deaths.  From the very moment a man or woman hears Venus’ song that person will never separate from the player, nor the player from the hearer.  Death reaps only pairs from Venus’ influence.

            The harp of bone is named Forgiver.  She was hewn from the ribs of the great Biblical whale whose belly held Jonah prisoner for three days and nights.  Forgiver bestows the power of perfect forgiveness upon anyone who hears her.  It takes a selfless soul to pluck her strings.  She sings of peace and understanding.

            The harp of ebony is named Darkness.  He is the true evil of the three.  His cry—for it cannot be called a “song”—only destroys.  Anyone who hears it, including the player, is cursed to a life of darkness.  There is no rest for them—the wicked.  They are made blind and inauspicious until the day they die, always via great struggle and pain.

            I fell in the Harp Room this morning, strumming all three harps in one terrible sweeping of the hands.  Luckily, it was my wife who heard Venus sing.  I forgave her, in that moment, for pushing me.

Whoever said “love is blind,” I’d almost like to punch you, but I really must forgive you.