~ The Everlasting Melody ~
Moodee grew up in a poor family, working on the slopes of a hillside where his parents planted sweet potatoes and fruit trees. His father and mother spent more days working for wealthier families than tending to their own dry fields and rice paddies. Often, he worked alone, for his younger sisters were too small to help.
During the long, laborious afternoons, a strange kind of comfort reached Moodee—not from family or friends, but from music. The Ye family, who lived in a large house hundreds of meters away, played songs through a loudspeaker, their wealth evident in the carefree melodies that drifted over the hills.
Sometimes, as he dug into the dry earth with his hoe, he heard Twilight Hometown (黃昏的故鄉), its melancholic tune blending with the golden hues of the setting sun. Other times, The One I Long For (思慕的人) floated through the air, its wistful lyrics stirring emotions he could not yet name. But his favorite was Green Island Serenade (綠島小夜曲), a song that carried the dreamlike quality of distant places, whispering to him of a world beyond the hillside where he toiled.
Moodee’s family owned only an old radio, its reception weak and unreliable. Still, the music from the Ye household became an uninvited companion, painting melodies into his daily life.
~ A Longing for Music ~
One evening, after delivering vegetables to the Ye family, Moodee passed by their open window and glimpsed something that made his heart race—a polished violin resting on a table. Its curves gleamed under the dim light, its strings waiting to be played. The Ye family’s son picked it up and ran the bow across the strings, producing a sound so rich and soulful that Moodee felt as if the very air around him had changed.
A longing took root in his heart. If only he could hold an instrument like that, play it, make it sing.
That night, using scraps of wood and fishing lines, he crafted a makeshift violin. It was crude, incapable of producing real sound, but in his mind, it played the same melodies he had heard from the Ye family's loudspeaker.
Days later, summoning his courage, he asked the Ye boy about his violin while delivering fresh fruit to their home. To his surprise, the boy didn’t mind and even allowed Moodee to hold it. His fingers trembled as they traced the fine wood, his heart racing with excitement.
Before he could pluck a single note, a sharp voice cut through the moment.
“This isn’t for peasants,” Mr. Ye said coldly, snatching the violin away. “Music is for those who can afford it.”
Shame burned through Moodee. He mumbled an apology and left, feeling the weight of an invisible boundary between himself and the world of music. That night, for the first time, he refused to hum along to the songs from the Ye family's loudspeaker.
~ Rise and Fall ~
Years passed. Moodee left the village for higher education, returning only during summer and winter breaks. Each time, he noticed changes in the Ye family. Once the wealthiest in the area, they began selling pieces of their land. Their vast rice paddies, once considered prime farmland, gradually disappeared.
One winter, when he returned home, he found the Ye household eerily silent. The loudspeaker no longer played music, and the house looked worn down, its walls stained with time. His father shook his head and sighed.
“They spent too much,” he said. “They had more than anyone, but they lost it all.”
Moodee gazed at the empty house, feeling a strange mix of emotions. The family that had once seemed untouchable had crumbled, while his own parents, despite their struggles, had endured through hard work and frugality.
~ The Violin's Return ~
Decades later, Moodee, now a grandfather, finally fulfilled his childhood dream. He bought a violin and a viola, learning to play in his later years. His grandchildren studied classical music—Haydn, Beethoven, and Handel—but for him, the songs that lived in his heart were the Taiwanese melodies of his youth, the very ones that had floated from the Ye family's loudspeaker all those years ago.
One evening, as he played his viola on the balcony, a familiar sound reached his ears—a violin, played somewhere nearby. The melody was old yet unmistakable.
Curious, he followed the sound to the remains of the Ye family's abandoned house. There, standing in the dimming twilight, was a young boy, playing an old, slightly worn violin. Moodee listened, captivated, as the boy’s bow danced across the strings.
“Where did you get that violin?” Moodee finally asked.
The boy turned and smiled. “My grandfather said it belonged to a rich family who lost everything. Someone sold it to him years ago. Now it belongs to me.”
Moodee’s breath caught in his throat. The very instrument that had once been denied to him had found its way into different hands.
Closing his eyes, he let the music wash over him. The violin’s melody intertwined with the cicadas, the rustling of leaves, and the distant echoes of his childhood. The Ye family's wealth had vanished, but their music—his music—had remained, passed down in ways no one could have predicted.
At that moment, Moodee realized something: land could be lost, fortunes could fade, but melodies—melodies endured. (THE END)
🎻🎶🎹🎵🎻
Written & illustrated by:
Mookoo Liang
Near the end of March, 2025.
