Monday, October 26, 2009

Man and Violin

Every time we see him he is hunched over, hair combed, wearing his pressed shirt and pants. He leans against the wall, he cannot support his bending frame. He plays the violin, his own sad song. There is no beginning, no end, no dominant resolving to the tonic. It is gibberish, the song of a child. There is little skill, no panache. It is full of effort, dedication even.

No one claps. No one looks. No one stops. No one ever stops. We have never stopped. Phoebe criticizes his technique because she can't find any other words. And I don't have words either. What do you say?

Did he ever have technique? Did he ever have a song? What is his song now?

Where did he start, where will he end? Where does he go after he naps while waiting for the train? Who does his laundry for him? Who polished his shoes? What will he eat for dinner tonight?

His story can't possibly be told through his song, as so many stories can. There is more. And everytime we pass him, I am dying to know the rest.

You may also enjoy Man Behind the Glass.


Heather said...

I call him George Castanza's uncle. I think he looks like the brother of actor Jerry Stiller?

kj said...

Does the Man Behind the Glass still wave, & respond to your girls? Just be as one of your children. Stop and talk to him. He might talk your ear off all afternoon. Dear experiences.

Alisa said...

Maybe he just loves music and although he may not have talent he can't help but try?
I wonder what his story is.

Kage said...

kj, yes but he was gone a lot this summer so I thought maybe he had retired. He give the girls his Irish chocolate sometimes too....