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.Four stunted trees in pots occupied the south side of the square.Oscar sat to the west, to my left.I crouched between the four trees, rested my back against one of the pots and watched.It was shaded here, filled with the slight rustling of leaves, and if I closed my eyes, I could pretend I was in the woods.Oscar sat, waiting for someone to notice him.I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Jeremia here—Jeremia filling his time with nothing.He would never have rested against a wall, sat passively and hoped for money.He would have angrily pushed past anyone offering him sympathy, run back to the woods and lived with the foxes.He would have carved his way through the blandness of the stone around him, creating living sculptures of water and wind from dead rock.My fingers moved to the violin around my neck, and I held it in my hand.A girl my age lurched to the opposite side of the square.Her body curved in a strange manner—her back twisted sideways.When she walked, she used wooden crutches and rocked from side to side.She sat against the wall on the east side of the square and placed a cup on the ground in front of her.The light grew, became day, but seemed to be filtered through a cloud of dust.People crossed the square in a steady flow now.Most were dressed in pants, skirts and dark straight coats that were not dirty or full of holes.Some of them passed by Oscar or the girl and threw coins into the containers on the ground.Oscar spoke to the people who walked by, his hands reaching out, imploring, but from where I crouched, I couldn’t hear what he said.I understood what I needed to do, and judging from what Oscar and the other girl did, it wouldn’t be difficult—if you were able to speak and didn’t care that what you said turned you into a carrion eater, a scavenger.I would not make fifty dollars crouched between the pots of four unhealthy trees.My legs shook as I stood and stepped out from between the pots, joining the walking crowds.I thought the people would avoid me, glare at me, turn up their noses, but they didn’t seem to care that I had joined them.I exited the square and stood on a street corner where six roads intersected.The streets angled away from the square, curved around it, bustled with cars and pedestrians or people rolling along on the two-wheeled vehicles.The warmth of the sun began to seep through my black sweater.No one occupied a corner of one of the streets, so I eased my way between the people and sat against a closed gray door.I kept my head down, not wanting to admit to anyone or to myself that I was about to ask for money.The violin felt good in my hands—heavy, something to occupy my time and attention.The case, a black outer shell with a crimson lining, covered the gray space in front of me, a throbbing heart against the gray stones.The violin was an answer in my hands—the key to something.I fit it beneath my chin and eased the bow over the strings.The first few attempts to play a song came out scratchy and shaky as my fingers warmed up, but soon the tune smoothed, and I heard the sound of larks singing at dusk.I was able to make my way back to the trees.I played the song of Whisper and closed my eyes to the chaos and confusion around me.The sun shone high and bright, having consumed half the day when I finally lowered the violin and straightened my shoulders.My neck cracked when I tilted it back, and as I opened my eyes, the canopy of trees from my home in the woods, the song of the crickets and the aroma of the hibiscus faded like a rainbow.Coins of various shapes, silver and copper, lay on the crimson cloth.I lifted one of these coins between my fingers.It was a thin metal disk with the head of a man on the front and a sheaf of grain on the back.I didn’t know what to do with it, what it meant.Was this enough money to pay the rent? Did I have more than the rent—something for Celso? I should have spent more time with Nathanael’s money, understanding its value.I collected the coins and slid them into one of the pockets of my sweater, where they weighed down the material and felt satisfying.I slid my violin into its case, nestling it against the red cloth, and stood.When I raised my head, I looked into the eyes of a man.He was young and had a thin smile broken by sharp eyeteeth [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Four stunted trees in pots occupied the south side of the square.Oscar sat to the west, to my left.I crouched between the four trees, rested my back against one of the pots and watched.It was shaded here, filled with the slight rustling of leaves, and if I closed my eyes, I could pretend I was in the woods.Oscar sat, waiting for someone to notice him.I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Jeremia here—Jeremia filling his time with nothing.He would never have rested against a wall, sat passively and hoped for money.He would have angrily pushed past anyone offering him sympathy, run back to the woods and lived with the foxes.He would have carved his way through the blandness of the stone around him, creating living sculptures of water and wind from dead rock.My fingers moved to the violin around my neck, and I held it in my hand.A girl my age lurched to the opposite side of the square.Her body curved in a strange manner—her back twisted sideways.When she walked, she used wooden crutches and rocked from side to side.She sat against the wall on the east side of the square and placed a cup on the ground in front of her.The light grew, became day, but seemed to be filtered through a cloud of dust.People crossed the square in a steady flow now.Most were dressed in pants, skirts and dark straight coats that were not dirty or full of holes.Some of them passed by Oscar or the girl and threw coins into the containers on the ground.Oscar spoke to the people who walked by, his hands reaching out, imploring, but from where I crouched, I couldn’t hear what he said.I understood what I needed to do, and judging from what Oscar and the other girl did, it wouldn’t be difficult—if you were able to speak and didn’t care that what you said turned you into a carrion eater, a scavenger.I would not make fifty dollars crouched between the pots of four unhealthy trees.My legs shook as I stood and stepped out from between the pots, joining the walking crowds.I thought the people would avoid me, glare at me, turn up their noses, but they didn’t seem to care that I had joined them.I exited the square and stood on a street corner where six roads intersected.The streets angled away from the square, curved around it, bustled with cars and pedestrians or people rolling along on the two-wheeled vehicles.The warmth of the sun began to seep through my black sweater.No one occupied a corner of one of the streets, so I eased my way between the people and sat against a closed gray door.I kept my head down, not wanting to admit to anyone or to myself that I was about to ask for money.The violin felt good in my hands—heavy, something to occupy my time and attention.The case, a black outer shell with a crimson lining, covered the gray space in front of me, a throbbing heart against the gray stones.The violin was an answer in my hands—the key to something.I fit it beneath my chin and eased the bow over the strings.The first few attempts to play a song came out scratchy and shaky as my fingers warmed up, but soon the tune smoothed, and I heard the sound of larks singing at dusk.I was able to make my way back to the trees.I played the song of Whisper and closed my eyes to the chaos and confusion around me.The sun shone high and bright, having consumed half the day when I finally lowered the violin and straightened my shoulders.My neck cracked when I tilted it back, and as I opened my eyes, the canopy of trees from my home in the woods, the song of the crickets and the aroma of the hibiscus faded like a rainbow.Coins of various shapes, silver and copper, lay on the crimson cloth.I lifted one of these coins between my fingers.It was a thin metal disk with the head of a man on the front and a sheaf of grain on the back.I didn’t know what to do with it, what it meant.Was this enough money to pay the rent? Did I have more than the rent—something for Celso? I should have spent more time with Nathanael’s money, understanding its value.I collected the coins and slid them into one of the pockets of my sweater, where they weighed down the material and felt satisfying.I slid my violin into its case, nestling it against the red cloth, and stood.When I raised my head, I looked into the eyes of a man.He was young and had a thin smile broken by sharp eyeteeth [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]