The Lost Melody – A Cruise Ship Tale

Small for his age, the ocean breeze loved to tousle Jack’s hair as he walked to the deck. He loved the way the wind felt, especially when he was exploring.

The cruise ship, drifting through the Caribbean under a blanket of stars, hummed like a sleeping giant. Onboard, among the 5,000 passengers, adults laughed, danced, and sipped colorful drinks beneath golden chandeliers, their revelry echoing across the decks. The children also enjoyed all manner of water sports, arcade games, and other activities.  

Yet none of this spectacle held the slightest allure for eight-year-old Jack. 

Small for his age, with wild brown hair the ocean wind loved to tousle as the ship plowed its course though the sea, Jack was indifferent to the grand buffet, the pools, the water surfing, the gleaming water slides, the rock wall, and the other activities that thrilled other children. Born with the heart of an explorer, he often sought the different or unusual. Jack was always planning his next adventure, often to the exasperation of his parents and four siblings. 

During the day, he talked his brothers into walking with him around the outside of the ship on the Promenade deck, once again enjoying feeling the ocean blow on his face.

It was just after dinner, under the cover of night, when Jack seized his chance. As his family lingered at their table, sharing laughter and stories, he slipped away unnoticed, the spirit of exploration shining bright, his thoughts alight with possibilities. 

An hour passed before his absence was felt. At first, his older siblings chuckled about the predictability of his escapades.  

"Oh boy, Jack is missing again!" his oldest brother exclaimed with a roll of his eyes, his amusement quickly giving way to irritation as he realized he and his other brother would be given the task of finding him.  

The older two brothers, tasked with the search, first recalled the afternoon's itinerary hoping Jack would revisit an activity the family had taken part in earlier in the day. Guessing about where he could be, they retraced their steps through the ship's attractions, their frustration mounting with each fruitless stop. As a last resort, they walked the Promenade deck. The sea air was gusting stronger than it had been during the afternoon, but Jack wasn’t there either.

After a while, their mirth began to dissolve into apprehension. After reporting back, their mother directed the older two siblings to get themselves and the two other children ready for bed.  

She would take over the search. 

She put forward a calm demeanor masking any concern. Jack's mother wasn't overly worried because she had a secret weapon. She told herself she did have an ace in her phone; a play on the adage, “an ace in the hole.”. Prior to their departure, she had invested in a tracking app linked to a small geo-tracking fob which she had attached to Jack's lanyard. This fob sent an electronic signal to the app in her phone. The volume of the signal would intensify the closer her phone was to the fob. She trusted this technology would soon reunite her with her youngest, the boy who turned every outing into a treasure hunt. 

But tonight, the app initially failed to locate him, sending a ripple of apprehension through her. Starting from the upper decks, she methodically descended, deck by deck, her phone in hand, her tension mounting, until finally, a weak signal flickered to life near the crew's quarters.  

Guided by the faint intermittent beeps, she continued below and found Jack crouched by a narrow vent near the engine room, in a forgotten area of the ship not meant for passengers. In his hands, he clutched his beloved old cassette player. He seemed drawn by something wafting up through the vent from below. His mother's relief at finding him safe was tinged with awe at her son's insatiable curiosity, even as she prepared herself to administer the gentle scolding she would have to deliver once again. 

Jack was transfixed. The faintest sound, drifting up from somewhere deep below deck, had caught his ear. 

It was music. 

It was not the not the kind of music piped into the dining halls—no orchestras, no smooth jazz, no quartets, or no pop music.  

This was different. A single violin, thin and trembling, played a haunting tune. Jack pressed his ear against the cold metal vent. He felt like the faint notes belonged to a ghost.  

“Jack, what are you doing down here?” 

Jack jumped back. His mother’s voice startled him. He looked up. She stood with arms crossed, her bracelets jingling as she adjusted the shawl around her shoulders. 

“I heard something,” Jack whispered, tugging on her hand. “Someone’s playing music.” 

She shook her head and frowned. “The musicians are upstairs.” 

“No, not there. It’s coming from below.” Jack pointed at the floor. “I swear! I swear!” 

His mother sighed. She leaned over toward the vent. She heard something also. Her curiosity piqued; she allowed Jack to lead her down a narrow stairwell. Hand in hand, they went deeper. The lower they went, the quieter the ship became. Any laughter and noise made by the throng of passengers above had long since faded and replaced by a dull, steady thud of machinery - the noise of heavy pistons turning the ship’s huge propellers.  

Finally, they stopped at a plain, unmarked door. 

Jack pressed his ear against it. The violin was louder now. Sad and beautiful, like it was trying to tell a story no one remembered. The sound stirred a memory within Julie, the mother. 

Julie hesitated but knocked gently. 

The music stopped. 

Jack held his breath. 

The door creaked open, and an elderly man peeked out, his face had so many wrinkles, Jack thought it looked like a piece of crumpled paper. His eyes, pale and milky, rested on Jack. Then he focused on the mother. 

“I’m sorry,” the man said softly. “I didn’t know anyone could hear.” 

Jack’s mother opened her mouth to speak, but Jack interrupted. “Why do you play down here?” 

The man chuckled. “It is just an old habit. I was a violinist once—before my hearing faded. I used to practice every day. Now I play for myself, late at night.” 

Jack looked up at his mother, his eyes pleading silently. 

She relented and addressed the man, “Could we listen for a little while?”  

The old man smiled and stepped aside. There was only one chair in the small room. The elderly man offered the chair to Julie. She shook her head and sat down on the deck, pulling Jack beside her. As they sat on the cold floor, he sat in the chair, raised the violin to his chin, closed his eyes, and began to play.  

The sonata sang. For a few precious moments, deep below the grandeur of the cruise ship, there were no crowds or noise—just the lost melody, carried by the heartbeat of the sea.  

When he finished, Jack and his mother clapped. His mother shook the man’s hand. The mother told him, “Thank you very much, that was wonderful.” 

“You are welcome. It is the first time I played for anyone in years. You’ve made an old man incredibly happy.” 

As they left, the mother remembered, thinking, “Hard of hearing or not, he played it better than he did when I heard him play the same sonata years ago at the Lincoln Center.” 

As they walked up towards the elevators, his mother simply said “Jack, thank you.”  

Jack was mystified. Normally, he would receive a scolding. Since Jack was the youngest, after things cooled down and sufficient time passed, it would become another one of Jack’s ‘adventures’ which they would talk about around the dinner table.  

Tonight, since there was no scolding, Jack didn’t know how to respond, so he simply said, “You’re welcome.” 

The End  

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