My Mother’s Musical Jewelry Box
When I was a young girl of three or four, on her dressing table, my mother had a little ivory jewelry box in which she kept the trinkets which she wore day to day. It is an elegant box. Inside it is lined in velvet. At the bottom of the box was a key which Mama wound up on occasions. Then, when she opened the box, the box played the tune of Mademoiselle de Paris. Mama would then softly hum the tune as she chose which items she would wear that day. I would stand there fascinated by the magic of that tune. It made me feel happy. Seeing how much I enjoyed that box, Mama would wind the key and play it for me often. As I grew older, she eventually allowed me to wind it myself. I always treated the jewelry box with great respect and love. Years passed. At the age of twenty one I got married and very soon afterwards I became a mother first to my son and then to my daughter.
I often went to visit my mother with my toddlers. I don’t know why I remember that particular morning. It was just the beginning of the winter season and a beautiful day. The weather was perfect. The trees had shed their foliage and displayed the bare forms of the tree trunks. Each tree had its own character. Some stood tall and proud. Others were gnarled, as if they had experienced hardships in their lives. As we walked through the garden to get to the house, I compared the trees to the lives of humans, each one’s experience and character showed through its form.
At the entrance of the house my babies became excited. Soltan opened the door. They ran to her with arms outstretched. ‘Tantan! Tantan!’ they exclaimed. She hugged them and led us upstairs to Mama’s bedroom. After more kisses and delicious hugs, they climbed into her lap for some grandmotherly love.
Her bedroom was quite spacious. On one side of the room there were French doors that led to a long and wide terrace that ran across the width of the house. The terrace overlooked the gardens and the swimming pool down below. On that particular morning the sun streamed onto the room and upon my children who now sat playing on the carpet. They had toys scattered all about them and were conversing amongst themselves in baby talk. Mama moved to a lady’s chair next to them. She leaned back, enjoying the sun and her grandchildren. I sat by the dressing table at the other end of the room. My eyes fell on the jewelry box. I stretched my hand, lifted the box it and wound the key on the bottom. In all those years since I was a little girl, I never stopped being charmed by that musical jewelry box, not even for a moment. It totally fascinated me. Now as I opened the box, the sound of that music filled the room once more. I smiled as I hummed the tune to myself. Mama shook her head in amusement.
“You really like that jewelry box, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, I do. I have loved it ever since I was a little girl.”
“You can have it,” she said out of the blue.
A huge smile spread across my face. I jumped up and walked to her. I bent down, hugging her, covering her face with kisses. “Really Mama? Really? Oh thank you! Thank you!”
With a pleased but embarrassed smile and a retaliatory hug, she patted me on the back. “Okay, okay! De rien,” she said.
Just then Khatoon walked into the room. She carried a tray consisting of a pot tea, covered with a tea cosy to keep the tea warm. Also there we escaped a revolution. Our way of life changed drastically. Better than half a century has passed. I am no longer a young mother and my children are not tiny tots any more. Time did not stand still.
It is a grey wet day. My cleaning lady just left. I went upstairs to the bedroom. I noticed that she had overlooked dusting the tall dresser in our bedroom. I got a dust cloth and began to dust. I dusted the lower part but I could not reach the top without placing the step that I use to climb up into bed. I carried it to the dresser and stepped up on it. On top of the dresser is my mother’s jewelry box. These days it does not house jewelry. It houses sweet memories. I cannot resist opening it. It has been a while since I had done so. It is old and I do not want to wear it out. As I do so, as if by magic, the room slowly fills up with the tune of Mademoiselle de Paris. It transports me back to days long gone by when my mother sat at her dressing table and opened her jewelry box to chose an ornament from it. I imagine the reflections of the young mother and her little girl with the cork screw curls tied back with a ribbon, staring back from that mirror all those many years ago …