A Lone Violin outside the Cathedral

I stared loneliness in the face, outside of the Cathedral this morning. He appeared in the tiny porch at the side of the Cathedral, waiting for the rain to stop. I was there too for the same purpose. I didn't bring an umbrella. He had one though. But he preferred to wait with a few others there. The 11 o'clock service had just ended. Father Lau was there to say good bye to the departing faithfuls. I was reading the Kung Kao Po to while away the time. There was no sign that the rain was going to stop any time soon.

Suddenly I heard a voice. I lifted my eyes. The voice belonged to a broad brown face. There was a full head of black hair above that face, probably dyed. I knew that face. I would sell religious books once a month, outside of the Parishioners' Hall, on the first Sunday of each month. From time to time, he would appear in front of the row of two long tables upon which my fellow volunteer and I would display the items on sale: biblical stories with beautifully drawn and coloured pictures, cartoons, with big prints, books on the lives of the saints, books about religious pilgrimmages, children's books on how to deal with their emotions in school, at home and various social situations, books on how to imitate the life of Christ,  English and Chinese bibles published by various  subsidised or official church organizations, books on spiritual devotional practices, books on church liturgy, children's stories in English or Chinese at different levels of difficulties for different ages, books by priests on what they encountered in their ministries, bookmarks with mottos from the psalms or the sayings of Jesus and from time to time various religious trinkets and sometimes books other religious organizations placed with us for sale on their behalves etc.

Sometimes, he would appear with an old black violin case, as today. Its edges were frrayed and freckled with white mould dots. He apparently did not think it important to keep it clean. He would tuck it under one of his arms or he would swing it by its handle in one of his hands. He would stand there observing me, from a distance. When he noticed that I had no customers, he would gingerly approach. He would give me a shy smile. I would smile back. Then he would start talking. He would tell me how the people who wrote certain of the Chinese hymns did not really know what they were doing because they did not match the sound of some of the Cantonese words to the music so that a very odd and ridiculous effect would be produced. He had probably told me the same story maybe twenty times already. I could hear the sense of loss, the sense of frustration, the sense of not being respected in his voice. He would still be smarting from the rancor he first experienced when, at the time that he told the priest in charge of the choir of his disovery and asked for the relevant hymn book to be revised to remove that terrible and utterly unacceptable musical defect, he would be met by the remark of a younger man who was supposed to be "better qualified" academically then heading the church choir, that it was not as important as he thought. He would then demonstrate to me how "wrong" it sounded by actually singing the offending word right in front of me. He had a nice soprano voice. He would then go on about how he was once the head of that choir. He was probably talking about the Cathedral when he was still in his late 20s! Then he would sigh a sigh of regret about the good old times when his word was law in the choir! Although he often carried the violin with him I don't think he was a good violin player. He played it once for me when I was selling books. His fingering was unsteady, his positioning was poor and his sense of  rhythm appalling. But it made him feel good to parade himself before the others as a "violinist".

Today, he asked me gingerly whether he could consult me on my "opinion as a fellow church goer" on a matter which to him was of the utmost importance. I said of course, if it was important to him and I could be of help. Then he started. He told me that what he found was that some one was messing aound with his papers at his public housing unit in Shek Kip Mei. He did not know who it was. I asked him whether he had any idea. He said it might be a thief who had targeted him. So I asked him whether he lost any document of importance. He said he did not but that the person just kept messing up his papers. So I asked him if he arranged his documents neatly into bundles according to their nature or had arranged them in any kind of order. He said he had not. I told him that he better start doing that so that the next time anything was messed up, he would immediately know by any change he later discover in the order in which he arranged those documents. And if not, then he might conclude that the "guy" who messed them up might be he himself. He said he had forgotten about how his documents were arranged. But he insisted that it was messed up some one else.

What is even more surprising. He told me that he had the "heart" of the lock to the entrance to his unit changed once a week. I asked him if he had given his key to any person. He said he did not. So I told him that in that case, it was even more improbable that any one could have entered his house without his knowledge. But he said, "No, no. I am sure that this guy got in. Just that I did not know how. " I said no one who did not have his keys could get in especially when he changed the lock once a week. But he insisted that he was right. So I asked him to suggest any reason how that person could have got in without his new key every week. I said to get into his house every week, this "guy" must be looking for something important and I asked him if he had discovered any money or valuables or any documents had been lost. He said nothing had been lost. I asked him that if so, what possible reason would this guy have for wanting to "mess up his papers" as he suggested. He hemmed and horred but could not give me any answer.

Then the unfortunate violinist volunteered another piece of information. He said he had already installed a security system at his door so that only when he telephoned his house telephone with his mobile would the front entrance door unlock itself and in addition had bought a pin hole camera and installed it to monitor the place where his documents were messed up. But he said that the monitor did not work! So he reported the matter to the police and told them that he suspected the man who sold the pin hole camera to him was acting in collusion with the "guy" who messed up his papers. I asked him if the police found anything. He said the police are now looking into the matter and would tell him later. I said his case was certainly very odd: his papers were constantly being messed up, yet nothing was lost and this "guy" could enter his house despite his once a week lock change and despite his security system whereby he needed to telephone his own house line before his front entrance door would unlock and yet so far had not stolen anything after so many weeks. If what he told me was true then the one who messed up his papers could only have been a "ghost" , if there is any such thing. I suggested that he was worrying too much. I told him that if nothing had been lost after so many weeks, then the reasonable thing for him to do would be to stop worrying and stop making himself feeling so anxious for nothing.

But the man was not persuaded. He insisted that he needed to resolve this problem and asked me how the problem could be solved. I told him the problem might exist not in reality but only in his mind and that if he were to ask me, then I would say that the best thing he could do to help himself to resolve this "problem" was to stop worrying over "nothing". But he still insisted that he was sure he was right. I said to him, "If  you are so sure that you are right and that my advice is useless, then why is it that after hearing it, you still want my opnion?"  Then he said, "Yes, I am sure I am right."  I asked him again to consider my opinion that there was no one who messed up his papers and to stop wasting money to change his door lock and to spend further sums of money to resolve his "problem" and to make use of the money to buy himself  a proper meal. But he still insisted and asked me what he could do. What he needed is not to resolve the problem but to dissolve it! I told him that he asked for my opinion and that I had already given it to him and if he were to ask again, I would still repeat the answers that I had already given and asked him whether apart from what he already asked, he had any other matter he needed to ask me. He merely repeated that same "problem". I knew then that the man was suffering from a mild or moderate case of "persecution complex" or "paranoia". He did not need me. He needed a clinical psychogist or a psychiatrist.

Despite my reply, he was still looking at me and expected me to answer his "non-existent" problem. I looked at him in the eye and told him in categorical terms that I had nothing further to add even if he continued to look at me. Then he told me he had a cataract with his eyes. I told him to register him at a government eye clinic for a minor surgery and that it was a simple operation and he could go out from the clinic the same day and that there was nothing to worry about. He then told me that he had already done so. So I told him that in that case, all he had to do was to wait for his turn for that operation to be done. I knew that there was nothing further I could do for him there except to refer him to a clinical psychologist. Then he opened his umbrella and hobbled away. The violinist is obviously a very lonely man, a man full of insecurity. I understand from his previous voluntary confessions that before he was laid off and had to rely on public assistance, he was a species of construction site technician, is now well over 65 and single. All that he has for company now is his devotion to his violin playing, to God and his faded memories of past glories and from time to time a few minutes of the time of a  less indifferent stranger in this blurry world seen through his contaracted eyes. How desperate is he for just a little sympathy, a little care and concern! I can only say a prayer for him, if there is a God who would listen to man's prayer. Just in case there is, I did so.