"So you helped create her? You made her call you boy?" Lance asked.
"I did."
"How did the Nightingale end up back here at the Lighthouse? Didn't Corin want her?"
"Corin wanted her, of course," I told Lance. "But I convinced him of the terrible weight of her father's loss. Corin and I were young men. We had the rest of our lives to fall in love and have children. But her father had lost everything. We wanted to give him some happiness with what little life he had left. I didn't think we would hear Leonardo play piano here again, but once we gave him the Nightingale, he was able to return to his music."
We watched Leonardo's performance late into the night, drowning our sorrows in booze and stories. Through revisiting my own heartbreak, I had helped Lance forget his own. Leonardo played for hours after his shift had ended. He kept twisting the key and the Nightingale's songs enveloped the air. I enjoyed the illusion that Cathy had never died, that she would bring her music to new generations for all eternity.
It is the magic of recordings, moving pictures and mechanical brilliance. All one has to do is turn the key.
YOU ARE READING
The Nightingale of Atlantic City (Steampunk Short Story)
Short StoryA singing automaton performs each night in Atlantic City. Like every work of art, the toy has a fascinating story behind her creation. An old barfly recounts the tale to a young server, teaching him the power of technology in helping man cope with...
