Redemption by Veronique Launier Read Free Book Online

actual Iroquois water drums.”
    “Water drum?”
    “Yes, you know, kind of like a normal Native drum, but you can fill it with water and get different sounds?”
    The man looked pensive. He stroked his stubbly chin, obviously wanting to please the girl with a favorable answer. She seemed unimpressed.
    “I have something that might help you. It is not exactly what you’re looking for but … well, I’ll let you be the judge by yourself,” he said.
    “O-kay … ” She shrugged.
    “I’ll be right back.” He walked out of the room.
    I was surprised at how she beelined for the electric guitars—something I had seen my fair share of while looking down on Crescent Street. The one she examined was flashy purple. She picked it up and handled it, dancing subtly to a tune in her head.
    I peered around, self-conscious, when I realized that the way I stared at her from the doorway was bound to attract more attention than I wanted, so I walked over to the pianos, never really taking my eyes off her. I fingered the ivory keys of a baby grand while watching the store employee return. The keys were smooth under my fingers and suddenly I yearned to play again in earnest. Not like I had for most of the past centuries, but the way I had for Marguerite, the way I had played on the organ in Notre Dame Cathedral before Odette de Rouen, the first de Rouen I had known, found me.

7
    Aude
    The dude helping me disappears, and right away I go see her. The violet burst Gibson Les Paul Goddess. She’s like an old friend, and I wouldn’t dare come in here without visiting her. I dread the day I’ll come here to find her sold. It will happen one day, no doubt, since she’s discontinued and all. The real shame is that she’s not even that expensive compared to some of the other Les Pauls, but more than I can shell out on my retail salary. I pick her up, so lightweight I could hold her all day. I run my fingers along her fretboard, enjoying the feeling under my fingers. With my eyes closed, I pretend I’m performing “You Can Buy Me Diamonds.”
    When I realize I’ve been dancing around to music that’s playing only inside of my head, I look around self-consciously. One dude by the pianos is looking at me but no one else, so at least I haven’t made too much of a fool out of myself. The infatuated employee comes back, and I reluctantly put the Goddess back on her stand.
    “One day you will be mine,” I whisper to her.
    I could swear the guy at the piano smirks. I shrug and go see what the salesguy has for me.
    He hands me a piece of paper, it’s a pamphlet for a workshop conducted by Concordia University’s Centre for Native Education. I look it over, and wonder what this has to do with what I asked him. Then I realize that the list of workshops include one for drumming with water drums, right below the one for making dreamcatchers. These workshops are available to everyone to raise awareness of the university’s new First Peoples Studies Major.
    This is promising. If I call them, they should be able to tell me where I can buy a drum. I thank the flirty salesguy with a smile. He was a big help, and he didn’t give me any attitude for speaking English even though he had a mega-French accent.
    I walk out of the store and squint with the sun in my eyes. I rustle through my purse to find my shades and continue down the road toward work. My eyes are focused on the pamphlet instead of where I’m going. I almost run into some girl in a jogging outfit, while I notice the flirty salesguy actually handwrote his number on the pamphlet.
    Yeah right, buddy, so not going to call you.
    I fold the piece of paper and place it in my pocket.
    This part of Ste-Catherine is where all the strip clubs are. It’s wild at night but right now it’s empty, except for the guy walking toward me. He smiles widely and the gap-toothed grin makes him look crazy. Deep creases in his face drag it down. Where it should remind me of old worn leather, instead I