Piano of doom.

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Lightening struck down near the harbour, where Malcolm and Guinevere lay, on the deck of a three masted schooner that made its way in from the bay. Professors and diplomats argued, all night about Bartok till dawn, then Malcolm and Guinevere Smedley, put their clothes on and then they were gone. My uncle told me all about Malcolm and Guinevere when I was a child and we used to climb up to Lac Flammarion early on summer mornings. He was engaged to Guinevere before Malcolm arrived from Wales but he always leaves out the bit about the shenanigans on Malcolm’s three masted schooner that night of the storm. Anyway, Malcolm had a piano on board the vessel. On quiet still nights, when the moon dipped in and out of the clouds and the absence of wind let the normally rustling palm fronds stop from their rustling, anyone near the harbour could hear Malcolm moaning strange songs while he accompanied Himself on what my uncle referred to as the Piano of Doom. Uncle didn’t know the night of the storm that Malcolm and Guinevere had secretly married (each other) until Guinevere’s body washed up on the beach after the boat sank when it was split asunder in the lightening strike. Malcolm’s body washed never found, but on quiet, still nights if you sit at the harbour alone and listen carefully, you can hear him singing his mournful dirges while he plays his piano of doom.