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2007/10/23 01:38:10瀏覽560|回應5|推薦9 | |
Herr M. presently came to and smiled bravely at me, and said if I wanted to rest a moment he would permit it. He seemed to think I might wish to lie down awhile and recover. I didn’t feel any need of lying down. All I wanted was to get through the lesson. But Herr M. was shaken. He was by no means ready to let me proceed. He looked around desperately saw the music book, and said he would show me that. We sat down side by side one the window-seat, with the book in his lap, while he pointed out the notes to me with his finger, and told me their names. After a bit, when he felt better, he took up his own violin, and instructed me to watch him and note how he handled the strings. And then at last, he nerved himself to let me take my violin up again. ”Softly, my child, softly,” he begged me, and stood facing the wall…. We got through the afternoon somehow, but it was a ghastly experience. Part of the time he was maddened by the mistakes I kept making, and part of the time he was plain wretched. He covered his eyes. He seemed ill. He looked often at his watch, even shook it as though it had stopped; but he stayed the full hour. That was Wednesday. What struggles he had with himself before Friday, when my second lesson was due, I can only dimly imagine, and of course I never even gave them a thought at the time. He came back to recommence teaching me, but he had changed-he had hardened. Instead of being cross, he was stern; and instead of sad, bitter. He wasn’t unkind to me, but we were no longer companions. He talked to himself, under his breath; and sometimes he took bits of paper, and did little sums on them, gloomily, and then tore them up. During my third lesson I saw the tears come to his eyes. He went up to Father and said he was sorry but he honestly felt sure I’d never be able to play. Father didn’t like this at ll. He said he felt sure I would. He dismissed Herr M. briefly-the poor man came stumbling back down in two minutes. In that short space of time he had gallantly gone upstairs in a glow, resolved upon sacrificing his earnings for the sake of telling the truth. He returned with his earnings still running, but with the look of a lost soul about him, as though he felt that his nerves and his sanity were doomed to destruction. He was low in his mind, but he talked to himself more ever. Sometimes he spoke harshly of America, sometimes of fate. But he no longer struggled. He accepted this thing as his destiny. He regarded me as an unfortunate something, outside the human species, whom he must simply try to labor with as well as he could. It was a grotesque, indeed a hellish experience, but he felt he must bear it. He wasn’t the only one –he was at least not alone in his sufferings. Mother, thought expecting the worst, had tried to be hopeful about it, but at the end of a week or two I heard her and Margaret talking it over. I was slaughtering a scale in the front basement, when mother came down and stood outside the door in the kitchen hall and whispered, “ Oh, Margaret!” I watched them. Margaret was baking a cake. She screwed up her face, raised her arms, and brought them down with hands clenched. “I don’t know what we shall do, Margaret.” “The poor little feller,” Margaret whispered. “he can’t make the thing go.” |
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