Yours truly is actually only an author by night. By day, I'm a violinist/businesswoman/student...which explains why I write so terribly and infrequently, hehehe. Anyway, last night, I was over at yon college orchestra, practicing with my orchestra's string sections: violins, violas, cellos, and basses. Typically, we meet with the whole orchestra (including the percussions, woodwinds, and brass) from 7:15 to 9:05 with about a 10-15 minute break in between. However, of course, since we were just the string instruments, we went from 7:15 to 9:30 without a break. (If you didn't know, string instrument players are notoriously hardcore.)
During that time of much sweat, very tears, and such ugh, we had a nasty fight between the first violins (aka. the experts) and the second violins (aka. the amateurs, like me). The first violins claimed that we weren't playing a particular measure correctly. (Absurd, I know, right? x)) The measure in question was in 6/8 time, which means that there are 6 beats per measure, and the notes to be played fell on beat 1, beat 2, and beat 5. At a zippy tempo, those aren't exactly easy notes to hit, so, at first, we second violinists thought that the issue was our fault.
For nearly thirty minutes, we were working on this one measure with the first violins getting all up in a rage that we couldn't count correctly. (Let it be known: though we're the "amateurs", we have some excellent second violinists too. My section leader and I both teach violin, so we have to know our stuff. I was personally baffled.) We used every counting practice technique there is known to man: slowing down the tempo, tapping, bellowing (which happens to be very effective, by the way...just look at drill sergeants XD), etc.
Finally, when we were all suitably discombobulated and disgruntled and dis-whatever, I pulled out this old, old, old counting trick, which is to write out how many beats are in each note over the note. Thus, I would have written a 1 over the first note, a 2, 3, and 4 over the second note, and a 5 and a 6 over the third note. However, what I actually wrote was a 1 and a 2 over the first note, a 3, 4, and 5 over the second note, and a 6 and a 7 over the third note. There were 7 beats in a measure that was supposed to only have 6 beats.
I hesitatingly turned over to the guy who was sharing stands at me and showed him what I wrote. My stand-mate is a white college freshman who has always been pretty nice, but he tends to chuckle at my mistakes (because he happens to be leagues better than me), and I felt like I could've been totally wrong because I was so exhausted by that point. Anyway, my stand-mate kind of shrugged and said, "That's weird," so I showed our conductor, and, just like that, the entire problem was fixed.
Because.
The STUPID composer.
Wrote a quarter note.
Instead of an eighth note.
In the second violin part.
But not the first violin part.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how I burned my violin.
...
Just kidding.
I'm hardcore, remember? I can take stuff like this.
I can. I definitely can.
I'm hardcore.
...
Um, while I go cry in a corner, here's the next chapter. XP
~ ~ ~
Chapter 4
- FOR THE MANY -
The train paradox.
Imagine.
A range of forested hills and mountains.
A sleek, swift train, slithering through the terrain at an incredible speed.
A conductor in the train.
The conductor is transporting goods from one city to another. He has plenty of fuel and very few concerns, as he has made this exact journey routinely.
Doesn’t his work seem straightforward and uncomplicated? All he has to do is maintain the proper course and arrive on time. To others, failure seems impossible, and struggles seem fabricated for attention.
Even the conductor initially believes he will be fine.
But, still…
We suffocate.
We suffocate.
Not long after traveling some distance, the conductor is warned by radio that, on his current path, there are six humans, bound, gagged, and laid on the tracks. On his only alternative track, there is only one human, who is also restrained on the tracks. The train is moving too fast to stop in time, and no one else is around to help free the captives.
The voice over the radio asks the conductor which path he will take.
If he continues forward, then he avoids blame.
Fate has made its deliberate choice, not him.
He was only doing his work.
If he switches paths, then he is the sole recipient of blame.
He has made his deliberate choice, not Fate.
He was tampering with the value of human lives.
In the first option, he chooses to kill six humans over one and makes his delivery successfully undamaged and on time. Yet, everyone who hears of the incident - his closest friends, then his family, then the media - they all condemn his gross disregard of life. They pin him for selfishly evading guilt, they cast him out as a mass murderer, and, eventually, the conductor is also sentenced to death for his crime.
In the second option, he chooses to kill one human over six, and he is likewise successful in his delivery, receiving pay and satisfying his customer. Furthermore, because he courageously chose to save six over one, he is cast in a heroic light and rescued from the death penalty. To outsiders who hear of the incident, this would be the only acceptable choice, given his circumstances.
Yet, from that point forward, only the conductor knows that he must exist with a spoiled reputation and the burden of his guilt. Every day, even when he awakes to a full mailbox of seething hatred and unbearable accusation, he must live. When he is confronted by the begging, sobbing family members of the deceased, he must live. When his mind is torturous at night and plays on repeat the feel of the impact, the pleading eyes of the one, the task of scraping the blood off the train…
He must live.
On this path, he learns to prefer death.
The young boy, only thirteen years old, sat at Heinrich’s desk, raising his eyes from his textbook after reading the tragic dilemma. With a deep sigh, he said, “That was a sad one; I didn’t like it. But which one would you pick, Dad?”
“There is only one right answer. Look again.”
The boy glanced down at the text, frowning. “The conductor loses both ways, doesn’t he?”
“No. Human lives are all of equal value. Six is greater than one.”
“But…” The boy slumped into his crossed arms on the desk. “I don’t understand why that’s the better choice. The conductor seems to be far more unhappy by killing one instead of six.”
“You’re mistaken. The conductor is unhappy either way. Furthermore, he is not at liberty to choose what will make him feel the happiest; he must choose what will help the world the most and hurt the fewest number of people. That is the essence of mercy and of justice.”
The boy sighed again. “Well, I don’t see why I’m learning this.”
Icy blue eyes glinting in the dim light of the office, Heinrich laid his strong, large hands on the desk in front of his adopted son. “One day, you will be responsible for making the right choice of the train conductor. If you choose the six, you will inevitably die. The path of unhappiness is the only path that will lead you to survival. Remember this lesson, Skain. The conductor must live.”
~ ~ ~
Write on (AND IF YOU'RE A MUSIC COMPOSER AND YOUR NAME HAPPENS TO BE LEROY ANDERSON, EDIT YOUR FLIPPING WORK, YOU NINCOMPOOP)!
Clove
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDelete