The tracks near the apartment building had been quiet for years. The shoe factory in that part of Warsaw had closed as the Depression spread, and nothing took its place so the railroad had suspended its freight runs. That day the gypsy had finished his violin lesson with the boy. It had been three years and he had taught him all he knew and had given him all he was. He had shown Dabo how to feel the sound in everything around him, how to sand away the silence and begin to speak for it. He taught him to be truthful and unafraid of being hurt by what he felt in the truth. “You must reach into the worry and past the fear in your heart. Memorize it, then banish it forever. How will you ever be able to speak for others if you have not felt the wound yourself?” That day in early autumn the old man closed his eyes and listened to the boy play. “Put that down for now. Come and sit with me.” The boy stood still then stepped closer and sat beside his teacher. "You have learn...
willmaguiretn@gmail.com