The Glass Armonica
In 2015, Lin-Manuel Miranda's musical Hamilton took the theater world by storm, winning eleven Tony Awards and the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. The ethnically diverse cast and eclectic blend of music styles brought Alexander Hamilton to life for those whose previous association with the Founding Father had only been to see his face on the ten-dollar bill. Even people who knew the highlights of Hamilton's life—most notably his death following a duel with Aaron Burr—walked away with a better understanding of the man who had done so much to help create a nation.
Several years after this entertainment phenomenon hit the Great White Way, Ross Udall, an actor whose only claim to fame had been playing a police detective on a second-rate soap opera, did for Benjamin Franklin in Hollywood what Miranda did for Hamilton on Broadway. He wrote and starred in The Wilder Side of Ben, a musical comedy that centered on the polymath's more colorful behavior. Rather than portraying him as a writer, publisher, inventor, foreign ambassador and one of the framers of the Declaration of Independence, the film showcased Franklin's penchant for taking "air baths" in the nude; his common-law marriage to the already married Deborah Read; his illegitimate children by more than one woman; and his association with Sir Francis Dashwood, founder of the Order of the Knights of St. Francis of Wycombe (better known as the Hellfire Club), a brotherhood of wealthy men, politicians and writers, often associated with rumors of satanic rituals, drunken orgies and political manipulation.
The critically acclaimed movie went on to break records at the box office and garner dozens of awards including both the Golden Globe and Oscar for best picture. Not only was Ross Udall catapulted into A-list stardom, but Franklin himself became a superstar of pop culture. The familiar face of the bespectacled, overweight statesman with the receding hairline popped up on everything from tee shirts to cell phone cases. Nowhere was the eighteenth-century historical figure more popular than on college campuses where less-hedonistic Hellfire Clubs were established and students routinely shed their clothes to take air baths.
Although born in Boston, Benjamin, when he was seventeen years old, moved to Philadelphia where he made his fortune in the printing and publishing business. To honor its favorite son—and hoping to cash in on the Franklin craze before it faded away—the city planned on dedicating that year's Independence Day Parade to him. Ross Udall was chosen to be the grand marshal.
"Don't tell me you're actually going to Pennsylvania to be in some silly parade," Vanna, the fifty-three-year-old actor's twenty-two-year-old wife cried when he announced his plans to fly to Philly for the event.
"Why shouldn't I?" he argued. "It won't take that long. We can fly in on Friday evening and leave on Sunday, right after the parade ends."
"We? You may be crazy enough to travel three thousand miles to hear marching bands and see patriotic floats, but I'm not. If you insist on going, you'll have to go alone."
"That's fine with me."
Although the couple had yet to celebrate their first wedding anniversary, the marriage was already on the rocks. He would enjoy a short respite from the increasingly unpleasant union.
Having made his decision to participate in the Fourth of July parade, Ross needed to get time off from filming his current role, that of a villain in the latest Marvel Comics superhero blockbuster.
"It's just for a couple of days," he told the director. "You can shoot around me."
"All right, but make sure you're back here on Monday morning, bright and early. This picture's already overbudget."
* * *
July 3 was a warm, sunny summer day, so Ross decided to make the most of his day off. He put on comfortable clothes and shoes and took to the streets of the one-time capital city. Since few people recognized him without the make-up and wig that had transformed him into Ben Franklin, he was able to walk through the crowds undisturbed. Temporarily free from the career headaches and marital problems that plagued him in L.A., he was able to enjoy his sightseeing excursion in peace. Behaving like the rest of the tourists, he ran up the "Rocky Steps" of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, toured Eastern State Penitentiary and visited the iconic Liberty Bell. After lunch aboard the Moshulu, a square-rigged sailing ship built in 1904 and docked in Penn's Landing on the Delaware River, he walked down Chestnut Street to the Benjamin Franklin Museum. Run by the National Park Service, it featured historic objects, videos and interactive computer programs to familiarize visitors with the life, accomplishments and inventions of the Founding Father.
"Do you know what that is supposed to be?" one of the uniformed park rangers asked Ross when he saw the actor looking at a virtual musical instrument.
"It looks like a glass armonica."
"Over at the Franklin Institute, they have a reproduction of one on display, which they refer to as a Fancy Sectored Wimshurst Electrical Influence Machine. But, yes, it's a glass armonica. Of all his inventions, this was Ben's favorite."
"It's hardly as popular as the lightning rod, his stove or bifocal glasses. What makes this his favorite?"
The park ranger proceeded to lecture Ross about how, in 1761, Franklin saw a performance in London by Delaval who set a number of wineglasses on a table, each filled with different amounts of liquid, and played a tune on them by rubbing his moistened fingers along their rims. The statesman and inventor was so impressed by the haunting and ethereal music that he was inspired to create a musical instrument to replicate the sound. Thirty-seven glass bowls of varying sizes, covering three full octaves, were placed on a spindle, which was attached to a foot pedal. A musician needed only to pump the treadle to spin the bowls simultaneously and play them with his wet fingertips.
"The glass armonica was all the rage back in the latter part of the eighteenth century," the ranger said. "Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovsky and Richard Strauss wrote music for it. Sadly, it eventually fell out of favor. It's my understanding that today there are only about five people worldwide who know how to play the instrument."
Although he found the subject fascinating, Ross was eager to be on his way. There were still a few more places he wanted to visit while in the City of Brotherly Love. Only after leaving the Betsy Ross House did he decide to call it a day. He had taken a late-night flight out of LAX to get to Philly in the morning and he had not slept much on the plane. After a full day of sightseeing, he wanted to return to his hotel, order room service and get to bed early.
The Fourth of July parade honoring Benjamin Franklin was a huge success. With temperatures in the low eighties, no humidity and lots of sunshine, the parade route was packed with spectators. Of the three major parades held in the city each year—the other two being the Thanksgiving Day Parade begun in 1920 by Gimbel Brothers Department Store and the New Year's Day Mummer's Parade, an eight-hour-long musical extravaganza—the Independence Day Parade was the only one Philadelphians could attend without bundling up in coats, hats, scarves and gloves.
As the grand marshal of the parade, Ross was placed on an elaborate float, designed by Kern Studios, who create many of the floats for New Orleans' Mardi Gras celebrations. After giving a short speech at the opening of the festivities, all he had to do was ride atop the float and wave to the people.
"Now we head over to Independence Hall where the mayor will give you the key to the city," the parade's director told the actor when they reached the end of the route.
"I don't think I can make it," the actor objected.
"You have to. The mayor is up for reelection this year, and he needs the photo op."
"But I have a plane to catch."
"Don't worry. It won't take long, and we'll assign a police escort to get you to the airport on time to make your flight."
* * *
Ross walked into his Beverly Hills home just before the sun went down.
"Vanna, I'm back."
His voice echoed in the empty house. He walked through the sliding glass doors and out onto the patio where he found his wife on a lounge chair beside the pool.
"You're home," she said.
It was a flat, emotionless statement that showed no sign of welcome or happiness at his return. She failed to ask how the parade went; she simply did not care.
"What have you been up to while I've been gone?"
"Nothing much. Just some shopping."
"How much did you spend this time?"
"What difference does it make? You've got plenty of money."
"I won't for long the way you go through it."
"Are we really going to start with this again?" Vanna asked, expressing more boredom than anger.
"No. It won't do any good. No matter how many discussions we have, you aren't willing to economize."
Ross did not bother waiting for a response. Instead, he headed toward the kitchen to make himself something to eat. As he was spreading mayo on his roast beef and Swiss sandwich, he heard the doorbell ring. Knowing his wife would not exert herself to answer it, he put down the knife and walked out to the foyer.
"I've got a package for Mr. Ross Udall," the deliveryman announced. "Could you sign here?"
"I don't see any package."
"It's still on the truck. It's quite large; I'll have to bring it in with a dolly."
Ross scribbled his name onto the electronic pad using a plastic stylus. There was nothing written on the small screen to indicate the identity of the sender.
"I didn't order anything. Who's it from?"
"Don't ask me. I just deliver the packages."
He reminds me of someone, but I don't know who, the actor thought as he watched the uniformed man walk back to his truck.
There was no company name on the side of the vehicle. It was obviously not UPS, FedEx or DHL but some private delivery service.
When Ross saw the large wooden crate come off the back of the truck, he immediately thought with annoyance, What did Vanna buy now? Some new piece of expensive exercise equipment perhaps.
"Where do you want me to put this?"
"I don't know. I don't even know what it is. Why don't you just leave it here in the foyer, and I'll take it from there?"
After tipping the man, Ross went back to the kitchen to eat his sandwich.
"What's that crate in the foyer?" Vanna asked as she got herself a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator.
"I don't know. I just assumed it was something you ordered online."
"Not me. I didn't buy anything that big—not recently, anyway."
Once he finished his sandwich, the actor went out to the garage and got a claw hammer from his tool box. Then he returned to the foyer and pried open the lid. Curious, Vanna watched from the staircase.
"Judging by the amount of packing material, I'd say whatever's inside is fragile."
He scooped out handfuls of straw-like fibers mixed with Styrofoam peanuts.
"You're making a mess with that stuff," his wife called.
"What do you care? You don't have to clean it up."
Although annoyed at her husband's attitude, she remained on the stairs, watching as he uncovered the item inside the crate.
"I'll be damned!" he exclaimed with surprise.
"Well? What is it?"
"It's a glass armonica!"
"Why send a harmonica in such a large package?"
"Not a harmonica, an armonica. It's a keyboard instrument, not one you can tuck in your pocket."
Vanna walked down the stairs and stood at her husband's side to get a better look.
"Who would send you something like that? You can't even play Chopsticks on a piano."
"This was one of Ben Franklin's inventions. Even if it's a reproduction, it ought to be in a museum."
"Good," his wife declared, disappointed by the anonymous gift he received. "You can claim a charitable deduction on our taxes when you donate it."
* * *
As he had promised his director, Ross arrived on set early Monday morning. While he sat in the makeup chair for the two-hour-long process of having latex appliances applied to his face and hair extensions to his own short-cropped locks, one of the director's assistants handed him a thick manilla envelope.
"Someone left this for you at the gate," she informed him.
There was no label, no return address, just his name written in large letters across the front.
"I wonder what this is," he said.
"It's too thick to be divorce papers," Leroy Wickman, the Academy Award-winning makeup artist, joked.
"No fear of that," the actor laughed. "Vanna won't leave me. She wants all my money, not just half of it."
To settle the matter, he ripped open the envelope. Inside was a leather-bound journal with brittle, yellowed pages and the familiar old-book smell.
"I didn't know you collected antique books," Leroy said.
"I don't."
When he opened the cover, Ross saw that it was not printed but handwritten. Although the ink had faded over the years, it was still possible to read what was written on the pages.
"I'll be damned!" he said, repeating his exclamation from the previous evening.
"Is something wrong?"
"These are instructions on how to play the glass armonica."
The makeup artist, who had an interest in all things strange and macabre, was familiar with Franklin's invention.
"That's the instrument that supposedly caused people to go mad."
"You must be thinking of something else. Paganini called its music a 'celestial voice,'" he quoted the park ranger, "and Thomas Jefferson described the armonica as 'the greatest gift offered to the musical world.'"
"True, but there was a darker side to its reputation. It was believed listening to its music caused nervous problems, convulsions, miscarriages and madness. One of Franklin's relatives, Marianne Davis, wound up in a mental institution after playing it. There were even some ridiculous claims that it could wake the dead."
"Where did you read that, in The National Tattler?"
"I know it sounds bizarre, but I read that in some parts of Germany, the armonica was banned for being a danger to people's health."
"I'll keep that in mind should I ever decide to play it," Ross said, tucking the journal back into the envelope.
"You'd have to find one first," Leroy laughed.
"I've got one. Someone—more than likely the same person who sent me these instructions—had one delivered to my house yesterday."
"No kidding? Glass armonicas are rare. It must be worth a fortune."
"I know. I can't imagine who sent it to me."
"If I were you, I'd find out," the makeup artist warned.
"Are you suggesting I look a gift horse in the mouth?"
"In the mouth, up the ass—whatever! It's been my experience that unexpected gifts often have strings attached."
* * *
After a long day on the set, Ross returned home to find his wife rearranging her immense walk-in closet.
"What are doing?" he asked casually.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" she replied, removing a Chanel blouse from its hanger and dropping it into a cardboard box. "I'm weeding out some of my old stuff to send to Good Will."
When the weary actor looked down at the pile of clothes already destined for donation to charity, he noticed many items still had price tags on them.
"You haven't even worn some of these things," he observed. "Why are you getting rid of them?"
"Styles change. You don't expect me to wear something that's out of fashion, do you?"
The fact that Vanna was getting rid of clothes she never had the opportunity to wear proved his point: she shopped way too much. At another time this would have led to an argument. Ross would have insisted she cut back on her spending and might even have threatened her with being forced to stick to a monthly allowance, but he was far too tired to engage in another fight. Instead, he went to his own bedroom, three doors down from his wife's, and prepared for bed.
Oddly enough, though battling fatigue for the past few hours, when his head finally hit the pillow, he was wide awake.
I must be overtired, he thought. I didn't get much sleep this weekend and then spent fourteen hours on the set today.
Unlike many people he knew, including his wife, Ross never resorted to taking Ambien, Lunesta or any of their counterparts to help him sleep. He firmly believed most people in America were overmedicated and thus rarely took anything stronger than an aspirin himself. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning, he got out of bed, went into his bathroom and found a bottle of melatonin in the medicine cabinet behind his mouthwash.
In another half an hour, I ought to be sound asleep.
To help speed up the process, he sought the assistance of another tried-and-true sleep inducer: reading. Not wanting to go downstairs to his den for a novel, he picked up the only written material in his room: the journal some unknown person had sent him earlier that day, which he had laid on his dresser when he came home from work that evening.
"This ought to be titled The Glass Armonica for Dummies," he laughed after reading the first ten pages.
By the time he finished the journal, more than forty minutes later, he was still wide awake. The melatonin having failed to do its job, he got out of bed and walked downstairs to the family room in the basement where the glass armonica was temporarily being kept until he decided what to do with it. Although he had no sheet music—which he could not read anyway—he sat down on the bench and proceeded to play. With his right foot, he pumped the pedal and spun the glass bowls, arranged by size, on the spindle. After wetting his fingertips in his mouth, he gingerly reached out and touched a rotating bowl. The sound it made entranced him.
He got a cup of water from the first-floor powder room to maintain the proper amount of moisture on his fingers and then played a series of simple melodies, which he made up as he went along. It was not until he got a cramp in his right leg from pumping the treadle that he stopped. When the music came to an end, exhaustion seemed to overwhelm him. Lacking the strength to climb the stairs and walk to his bedroom, the sleepy actor curled up on the family room sofa and feel into a deep slumber.
He woke the following morning to the insistent ring of his doorbell and a loud knocking on his door. When he opened his eyes and saw sunlight streaming through the window, he realized he had overslept.
"Damn it! I'm late," he cried and ran to the foyer to answer the door.
"Thank God you're all right," the director's assistant said with relief when she laid eyes on the actor. "We've been trying to reach you all morning."
"I'm sorry. I fell asleep on the couch downstairs, and my phone is up in the bedroom. That's why I didn't hear the alarm go off. Will you do me a favor? Go into the kitchen and make me a cup of coffee while I hop in the shower and throw on some clothes?"
"Sure thing. Just let me call my boss first and tell him everything is okay."
Everything was not okay, however. Ross was more than three hours late reporting to the set. Once he did get there, he had to go through the long process of having his makeup applied and his hair extensions put on, which meant he was not ready to begin work until early afternoon.
"Another day overschedule," the director grumbled. "If things keep going the way they have, we'll be so overbudget, we won't make a dime when the picture is released."
* * *
Like a replay of the previous evening, Ross came home from a long day of filming to find his wife inside her closet. This time, though, she was opening bags and boxes and putting new clothes on the empty hangers.
"Let me guess," her husband said with unconcealed annoyance. "You went shopping again."
"Right you are, Einstein."
Unlike many wives, she made no attempt to hide her overspending. On the contrary, she seemed to take great pleasure in reminding him that she had only married him for his money.
"Trophy wives are expensive," she called to him as he was leaving her bedroom and heading out into the hall.
If her intention was to provoke an argument, it failed. This time her taunts elicited no reply. The marriage was beginning to reach the breaking point.
After heating and devouring a frozen pizza, Ross went to the family room and sat down at the glass armonica. There was still plenty of water in the cup from the previous night, so he began to play.
"What's that god-awful noise?" his wife yelled from the top of the stairs.
"It's called music."
"Noise is more like it."
"Some people believe the music of the armonica can cause insanity."
"It wouldn't surprise me. I think it sounds like nails on a blackboard. Must you keep playing it?"
"If you don't want to hear it, then I suggest you return to your room and shut the door behind you."
Vanna sensed a change in her husband's attitude. Previously, he would always bite when she dangled the bait. Now, he seemed not to care what she said to him. This new Ross frightened her.
What if he's met someone else? she asked herself. More importantly, how much will I get if he decides to divorce me?
Vanna returned to her massive closet and examined her reflection in the full-length, trifold mirror. There was no denying she was a beautiful woman, but she had gained a few pounds since getting married. How easy would it be for her to get another rich husband in a town where beautiful young girls seemed to grow on trees?
I'd better do something about it before it's too late, she decided.
After searching through her dresser drawer for a sports bra and pair of workout shorts, she got into her sports car and headed for the gym.
Meanwhile, Ross continued to run his wet fingertips over the smooth surface of the armonica. He could not understand why the instrument had fallen out of favor. Its mesmerizing music soothed him. For the past few weeks, he had grown increasingly angry with Vanna. But when he heard the clear, high-pitched ringing produced on the rims of the glass bowls, the hostility slipped away, leaving him numb to the hurt and disappointment his wife seemed to spread like an infectious disease.
When Vanna returned from the gym, her husband was still in the family room, playing the antique instrument.
How can he stand listening to that? she wondered as she headed up the stairs to her second-floor bedroom.
Even after shutting her door, she could still hear the weird melody he played.
He'll stop soon. He has to be on the set by five in the morning.
But the music continued. It was well past midnight when Vanna turned out her light. The music, far from stopping, seemed to be louder than before. She finally had to resort to turning on the television to drown it out.
* * *
The next morning, and the three that followed it, Ross was woken up by the director's assistant after having fallen asleep on the family room couch. By the fourth day, word spread through Hollywood that the actor had let the success of The Wilder Side of Ben go to his head. He was labeled "hard to work with," and his current producer and director were discussing replacing him as the villain in the Marvel Comics blockbuster.
Before such a drastic step was taken, however, Sol Goldstein, his agent, was called in to try to talk some sense into his client. When he arrived at Ross's Beverly Hills home on Sunday afternoon, he was stunned by the actor's appearance. Not only had he lost a good deal of weight since Sol last saw him, but his complexion was sallow and there were dark circles beneath his eyes.
"You look terrible!" the agent exclaimed.
"I haven't been sleeping very well."
"It's Vanna; isn't it? I knew she was trouble the moment I laid eyes on her."
"She's not my problem, not anymore."
"Well, divorce isn't as bad as you think it is. Expensive, yes. But sometimes it's worth the money."
"My wife has nothing to do with my not sleeping."
"What is it then?"
"I didn't want to tell anyone," Ross said hesitantly. "Not yet, anyway."
"You're not sick, are you?"
"No. I ... I think I want to change careers."
"You what?" Sol cried with disbelief.
"I don't want to act anymore."
"After years of being a nobody on a soap opera, you make a hit movie, go on to win multiple Oscars including the one for best actor, and now you want to quit acting! It doesn't make any sense. You never struck me as one of those 'I'll go out while I'm still at my peak' kind of guys."
"I want to be a musician," Ross announced, for the first time expressing his feelings in words.
"Since when did you join a band?"
"Someone sent me an instrument last week, and I've been up every night playing it. I can't get enough. In fact, I was playing it when you showed up. Hey, come on downstairs; let me show you."
Despite his sickly appearance, the actor became animated when he spoke of his music. Sol had never seen him speak so passionately. He reluctantly followed his client down the stairs to the family room, expecting to see him pick up a guitar or maybe a saxophone.
"What the hell is that?" he asked when he saw the eighteenth-century instrument.
"A glass armonica. It was invented by Ben Franklin. I learned about it when I went to Philadelphia last week, and then miraculously someone sent one to me."
Ross sat down on the bench, wet his fingers in the cup of water and began to play.
"You expect to make a career out of this?" Sol asked.
"Yes. Isn't it wonderful?"
"Frankly, no. It's ... weird is what it is."
For the next hour, Sol tried to reason with his client, telling him it was fine to have a hobby but not to throw a successful career away over a pipedream. All the while, Ross continued to play the armonica and insist that his true calling was music, not acting.
"I don't know what else to say," the agent cried, throwing up his hands in a gesture of resignation. "You seem to have made up your mind."
"I have."
There was no goodbye, no friendly parting of the ways. Ross did not even acknowledge his agent's departure. He continued to sit at the armonica, moving his fingers from the cup of water to the rims of the instrument's glass bowls.
* * *
When the director's assistant showed up at the actor's Beverly Hills home at four in the morning to see that he made it to the studio by five, there was no response to her repeated knocks on the door and ringing of the bell. She then tried calling him on his cell phone, but her calls went straight to voicemail. After half an hour, she gave up and drove away.
Downstairs in the family room, Ross sat the glass armonica. He had been playing nonstop since his agent left, ignoring exhaustion, hunger and thirst. Despite having to go to the bathroom and the nagging cramp in his right leg, he remained sitting on the bench and continued to play. Finally, just before noon, the discomfort in his bladder forced him to stop. After relieving himself in the first-floor powder room, he headed toward the basement stairs. Before he got to them, he heard the doorbell ring.
Who can that be? he wondered. Maybe if I ignore it, whoever it is will go away.
Moments later there was an insistent knocking.
Or maybe not.
He crossed the foyer and opened the front door. The uniformed deliveryman had a familiar face. The actor was sure he had seen him before.
"Yes? Can I help you?"
"I'm here to pick up a package."
Ross's eyes went from the man's face to the empty handcart beside him.
"There must be some mistake. I don't have any package for you."
The deliveryman referred to his electronic gadget and said, "I delivered a large package to this address last Sunday. A Mr. Ross Udall signed for it. That's you, right?"
"Yes. That's me."
"Yeah, well, the item was on loan from a private collector in Philadelphia. He wants it back now."
"But I thought it was a gift. I don't know anything about it being on loan."
"I suggest you take the matter up with the owner. I've got my instructions to pick it up here and take it to the airport where it will be shipped by plane back to Philly."
Acting on impulse, Ross slammed the door in the deliveryman's face and locked it.
"No one is going to take the glass armonica from me. No one!"
The actor took the basement stairs two at a time in a rush to get to the family room. He stopped short when he saw the deliveryman standing beside the instrument.
"How did you ...? Wait a minute! I thought you looked familiar. You're the guy from the Benjamin Franklin Museum, the park ranger."
"I don't actually work for the National Park Service," the man admitted. "I was just wearing the uniform that day."
"And you don't really work for a delivery service either, do you?"
"No, I don't. I'm more what you'd call an independent contractor."
"But you still want to take the glass armonica away?"
"It's served its purpose."
"What purpose is that?"
"It drove you insane."
"Me?" Ross asked, laughing as though the stranger's statement was the funniest joke he had ever heard. "You're the one who's crazy, not me. I'm as sane as they come."
"Would a sane man throw away a successful Hollywood career?"
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
"Would a sane man murder his wife and leave her body upstairs in a bedroom closet for days without making any attempt to get rid of it?"
"Who are you?"
"I have been known by many names over the centuries, but since you have an interest in Benjamin Franklin, you may call me Sir Francis Dashwood—Frank, if you prefer."
"The founder of the Hellfire Club."
"At your service," the angel of darkness said with a mocking bow.
"If you think for one minute that I believe you're some three-hundred-year-old British aristocrat who worshipped the devil, you're crazy."
"That whole devil-worshipping thing didn't pan out like I'd hoped. My associates were more interested in drinking and carousing than anything else. But this ...," he said, putting his hand on the glass armonica in a gesture of affection. "This had real potential. When I persuaded Franklin to create the instrument, I envisioned it going viral—to use a term you're familiar with—and driving the entire world insane. Oh, it would have been glorious!"
Frank's eyes glowed red with excitement as though his irises were stop signals. Ross realized the park ranger/deliveryman was no mere mortal, and the truth terrified him.
"But then Franklin got distracted by the whole American Independence movement, and he lost interest in his creation. Normally, I relish wars and revolutions, but I did hate to see the glass armonica fall out of favor as a result. And then those damned Germans banned it! But they paid the price for incurring my wrath."
"How so?"
"The first and second world wars."
"You started a world war—two of them, in fact—and you're now settling for driving individual people insane? Isn't that quite a step down for you?"
The dark angel laughed, a sound more apt to drive a man mad than the tones of the glass armonica.
"Oh, I can still handle the big jobs. From time to time, though, I enjoy the occasional run-of-the-mill homicide."
"What made you choose me?"
"It was nothing personal, I assure you. It never is with me. Death is the great equalizer, so they say. Whether it's some poor slob that no one ever heard of knifing a stranger in a dark alley to steal his wallet, a famous athlete killing his wife in a jealous rage or a lone nut shooting a presidential candidate, it's all the same to me. I just happened to be in Philadelphia at the same time as you. On a sentimental whim, I stopped by the museum to hear the glass armonica, and there you were. Voila! Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to keep busy. I'm on a tight schedule."
"Don't take it!" Ross cried when the dark angel produced a wooden crate to transport the instrument to Pennsylvania. "I beg you!"
"I'll tell you what. I'll let you play it one last time. How's that?"
The actor sat down on the bench and wet his fingertips in the cup of water. He pumped the treadle with his right foot and heard the faint whir of the spindle. With the gentle caress of a lover, he ran his fingers over the rims of the glass bowls, closing his eyes in ecstasy as he listened to the music they made.
When the actor opened his eyes again, he was looking up at the ceiling, not down at the instrument.
What's happened?
Imprisoned in one of the glass bowls of Franklin's armonica, he looked up to see Frank, the dark angel, smiling down at him.
"The way you play ... I'm moved. I've decided to take pity on you. Rather than be arrested and sent to jail for the murder of your wife, you will simply disappear; and your soul will forever be part of this beautiful instrument."
I suppose as far as prison sentences go, Ross Udall thought with contentment, it's not such a bad one.
Ben Franklin really did invent a glass armonica, and its music was thought to cause madness, miscarriages, convulsions, etc. It was later banned in parts of Germany. Also, Sir Francis Dashwood and the Hellfire Club did exist in eighteenth-century England. Ben Franklin was known to have attended several of their meetings in 1758.
Benjamin Franklin was a true polymath! Writer, publisher, inventor, scientist, statesman, framer of the Declaration of Independence and ... cat lover? At least that's what Salem tells me.
