Violin sings from man with one arm
A man in his 30s with only one arm hopes to become a superhero for daughter by playing the violin. It’s his way of compensating for his loss, and for setting the best example for his little girl. Dara Wang reports.
The man with the large round eyes bends to his instrument. The piece of sheet metal that substitutes for his missing arm draws the bow of his violin, back and forth across the strings, emitting flashes of sunlight with each stroke. Thirty-six-year old Sham Hang-fu’s eyes are riveted to the strings, where the fingers of his right hand dance and give clear articulation of the notes.
Sham is one of the first in Hong Kong to play the violin with one hand — and that’s where the real story begins. Sham says he never would have played the violin had he not lost his arm.
“The amputation 14 years ago dumped my life into the bottom of a well. I’d had enough of the constraints and wanted to take a fresh breath from the ‘outside’,” Sham said. The violin is Sham’s ladder to escape from his plight and pursue a higher dream.
Three years ago, Sham knew little about playing the violin, especially with only one hand, and there was no one to ask for help. He spent a year looking for a violin made for right hand playing and building a prosthetic arm to hold the bow.
Sham found a DIY-looking prosthetic arm, simple and crude, at a public hospital, and a prosthetic socket to attach it to the stump of his arm. At the other end of the prosthesis, he attached a steel rod, to hold the bow for his violin.
The joints of the makeshift prosthesis are not limber. Sometimes they stick, requiring more than a little exertion to draw the bow. The socket doesn’t fit comfortably against Sham’s stump, creating friction as he plays, so the prosthesis needs to be redressed again and again.
The setbacks never affected Sham’s determination to learn to play the violin. When he plays his violin on the street, people are drawn to him. They offer not sympathy but admiration, Sham said.
A killing passing lane
Sham will never shake the memory of what happened that awful day, a date seared into his memory — Sunday, March 9, 2003. It was supposed to be his day off.
Sham takes a deep breath. His eyes stare with fevered intensity; anxiety reflects in the creases of his forehead.
He had a job as an expressman in Mong Kok. He was called in on his day off to help load some packages onto a truck, then hopped aboard with the driver as they set about making deliveries. They stopped at Sheung Shui Market for a couple of drinks.
Back on the road again, Sham tensed up as the driver sped along the road, too fast. “Maybe he wanted to make up for the lost time at the market,” Sham lamented.
It was noon, and cars were jammed up at the Fairview Park section of the New Territories Circular Road. “We were on the fast lane, on the left side of the road.” But there were cars ahead with their hazard warning lights on, blocking the way, Sham recalled.
“He veered back to the middle lane still speeding.” The truck was closing fast on the car ahead. The distance between the two vehicles evaporated in seconds, said Sham, who had already foreseen the inevitable outcome. He grabbed the empty seat between him and the driver, then sank back into his seat and braced for the crash.
“The crash happened as I knew it would but the way it happened was not what I expected,” Sham said. The driver swerved to avoid the collision with the car he was tailgating, and crashed into the vehicle in the lane adjacent to the passenger side.
“I heard a bang, the wind on my face, glass fragments were flying toward me, into my mouth, nostrils and ears. Then I felt a deathly silence,” Sham said. “That might be how it would feel when the end of the world came, I thought.” As he spoke those words, his voice trailed off.
“I couldn’t feel my hand. I kept yelling out. It was the only way I could think of to stop things from getting worse, though it really was no use at all.” Sham said he looked down and saw the smashed bones of his left arm below the elbow.
“I didn’t mention the speed thing to the police, though it might have helped me get higher compensation,” Sham said. “The driver was about my age. My life was ruined. I didn’t want him to be a victim too,” Sham said.
“I was asked to lend a hand and I lost a hand,” Sham reflected, humorlessly.
Still, his voice was edged with anger as he questioned why the driver chose to hit the car with the passenger side rather than the front, which would resulted in less injuries.
Sham’s left arm was amputated. He spent the next two years in hospital. For a long time he thought he would get back to his normal life soon enough. Then he discovered he couldn’t untie his shoes, open a bottle of water, cut his fingernails — and that’s when reality bit hard.
Sham couldn’t find a job for seven years. All he had was middle school. He couldn’t do manual work. “Seven years with no job left me devastated”, he said. In the midst of his trials Sham had a lucky break. He met his future wife, Chen Wei-ling, in 2007 and a year later they were married. “To make me feel less bored, my wife supported me engaging in any kinds of sports I like, such as table tennis and bike riding. I really appreciated her unconditional companionship,” Sham said.
Today he’s a nervous passenger when riding in cars. “I refuse to sit in the copilot seat. Fast driving still distresses me,” Sham said.
In 2009, Sham did get a job — finally. He was recruited by PHABulons Marketing Limited, a subsidary of the Hong Kong Physically Handicapped and Able-Bodied Association, funded by the Jockey Club, as an administrative assistant. Sham, at last, had something to hold on to.
With his newfound security, dreams of a better life began taking shape in his mind. Sham decided he wanted to learn to play the violin — with but one arm. He called it “the compensation” for his loss.
Moving across the strings
It wasn’t easy. Progress was discouragingly slow. Then through an introduction from the Hong Kong Amputees Association, he met Foley Lam Ho-yin. Lam was an amateur violinist but he had a vision that he could teach one-handed violin players. Sham became Lam’s first amputated pupil.
Lam had been through his own trials. His own violin training was held back for a whole semester because of a wrist injury he got playing football in middle school. “I know how difficult it is to play the violin with only one hand. When I heard about Sham from Janice Chak Man-fung (the chairwoman of the amputees’ association), I was happy to help,” Lam said.
“Sham cannot draw a whole bow,” Lam said. “It takes him longer to switch strings drawing the bow back and forth, and the prosthetic limb is not designed precisely for Sham. That makes it hard to place the bow completely perpendicular to the strings to make perfect sounds.”
Sham is undeterred. Every day when he gets off work at 5:30 pm, he and Lam study shortcuts to make playing easier for Sham.
Sham is willing to devote time to practicing but also has to go home early enough to look after his little angel, his 2-year-old daughter June.