Haydn is Dead But He Turned in His Grave When He Saw This Title

The beginnings of a short story about the classical composer Joseph Haydn's unexpected visit to the year 2008. Written in 2008.

In 1792 he went to London for the first time in his life.

The difference of a year seems so large for us, but the winds of time know they are dealing with specks.  A handful of crumbs scattered on cement.  

In 1702 his parents were born.  

The wind has seen it all �" life, death, marriage, birth, rebirth �" it is juggled in the breeze.  What is time, after all?  

1802 �" On the verge of death, he cannot even compose.  

Thousands of devices are made, but how accurately can you measure life?  

2802.

802. 

So how did the wind know exactly where to place this man?  How did it decide on the perfect….?  Moment.  

2008.  In a spurt of wind, Joseph Haydn appeared on Robertson Street, seated elegantly inside an empty bus shelter.  His head was turned as if he was talking to someone behind him.

“Now doesn’t this sound better?”

Poised as if playing the piano, Haydn’s hands would have played a beautiful Bach chorale, but instead they rested on the air for a few moments and then fell to ground violently, overpowered by gravity.  The man behind him had been replaced by a colour-coded bus schedule.  

“Ludwig?” he whirled around, staring at the green route.

“Where did everything go?!” he looked for any evidence of his old home �" the golden painting frames, the wooden metronome, the scarlet bowl of cherries…

Wo ich bin?  “Where am I?” he wondered, with more curiosity than fear.  Through the glass walls of the bus stop, he could see sidewalks, brown condominiums and dull maple and pine trees lining the concrete road.  A dirty white convenience store stood waiting in the clearing.

“No more questions.  With trial and error I will find my way,” Haydn decided.  And with that, he grabbed his old leather book bag and put one foot in front of the other.

The other pedestrians didn’t glare, but Joseph was getting strange feedback.  A couple of pizza faced boys snickered and one of them even did an impression of Haydn, marching with a mock serious expression on his face.

“Oh, so sorry,” Haydn bowed formally to the teen that impersonated him, “You’re obviously in a hurry, my friend.  I’ll get out of your way.”

Moving to give the boy a generous amount of room to walk, Haydn nodded his head and continued again.  The two teenagers were at a loss.

“He’s a good actor,” one of them whispered.

“Uh, thanks, sir,” the other young man said.

“You’re very welcome.”

As he got closer to the heart of Toronto, Haydn noticed the buildings getting larger and cleaner.  People wore strange clothing, even going to the lengths of making the skin of snakes into purses.  

They were all in their undergarments, every single one of them.  The women showed their legs and forearms, wearing shirts with no sleeves, and some men didn’t wear shirts at all!  To Haydn’s horror, their underwear was almost up to their bellybuttons, inches and inches of it showing above the men’s pants for the entire world to see.  

“This is…indecent!” Haydn cried, pulling at the pants of a young man so that the underwear was no longer showing (in vain).

“Hey!” the adolescent pulled his jeans down again.

“What are these?” he asked, staring at the blue trousers on the young man, “By far the strangest trousers I have ever seen…”

To Haydn, the boy was disgusting �" he belonged in a harem.  Trying not to turn away and ignore the ridiculous fool, Haydn listened to what he had to say:

“They’re jeans.  American Apparel,” the young man ruffled his sleek black hair, annoyed, and glared at Haydn, “You should try them.  What’s that s**t you’re wearing?”

The raven-haired teen pointed at Haydn’s clothing �" his fancy red waistcoat, chunky wooden shoes, his white powdered wig, the frilly collar and brown trousers…

“Oh, this?” Haydn observed his own outfit, “I admit �" the waistcoat is mostly just for formal occasions, but this is what I wear all the time.”

The young man chuckled and pointed decidedly at the composer, “You’re good.  You an actor?”

“No.”

“Part of some weird band?”

“What is a band?”

“Oh �" I know �" a tour guide,” the youth smirked.

“No,” Haydn frowned, “You’re becoming rather impolite.”

“Sorry, but this is so not what you wear every day,” the teen said, “Christ �" you’d wear that in the 1700s.”

“Yes �" it is the fashion,” Haydn was getting confused.

“Dude �" its 2008!” the teen began to walk away from the composer.

“Sorry �" what?” 

“Get a T-shirt, some jeans and you’ll be fine.”

“Excuse me �" did you just say that it is The Year of our Lord…2008?” Haydn’s face had flushed bright red.

“Yeah �" duh.”

Maybe he had heard incorrectly.  Haydn tugged at his frilly collar.

“2008?”

The adolescent nodded.

“Scheißen!!”

His native tongue being German, Haydn had let out a curse he had never used in his life.  He had never been so hot in his fashionable clothing before.  Why was the weather so strange in this place?  

Of course, being almost 300 years in the future explains the entire situation �" the odd vehicles, the strange white buildings, the underwear…

“Why not?  It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Haydn reasoned.

Unfortunately, what was reasoning for Haydn was blabbering for the teenager.

“Ok. You need these clothes NOW,” the boy grabbed some soccer shorts and a Hollister shirt out of his backpack, “Follow me.”

“But how did I get here?”

The teen sighed.  Where do these people come from?  

“Ok �" go into the bathroom �" and don’t come out until you have your new clothes on,” he ordered.

“You have my word,” Haydn frowned as he entered the men’s bathroom.

Author's Note

This short story is not complete. It is the beginning of what was going to be a long short story about Joseph Haydn visiting the future and musically mentoring a young trumpet player. The climax would show the teenager playing Haydn's trumpet concerto which he wrote for his protege.

I started writing this little tale for a short story contest held by my local library but I had pretty bad writer's block and I wasn't sure whether it would work plot-wise so I didn't end up finishing it.

I'm not sure whether I will finish it or not.