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Show THE PAGE 8 ZEPHYRJANUARY-FEBRUAR- A Message from Sarajevo for the 1993 Y two days he has braved sniper and artillery fire to play Albinoni's profoundly moving Adagio in G Minor. I wonder if he chose this piece of music knowing it was constructed from a manuscript fragment found in the ruins of Dresden after World War II? The music survived the Perhaps that is why he played it there in the scarred street in Sarajevo, where people died waiting in line for bread. Something must triumph over horror. fire-bombi- ng. Is this man crazy? Is his gesture futile? Yes, yes, of course. But what can a 'cellist do? What madness to go out alone in the streets and address the world with bow. What can a 'cellist do? Speaking a a thin wooden box and a a the Pied softly, one note at a time, like Piper of Hamelin, he played, calling forth the rats infesting the human spirit to exorcise them from the heart of the city. hair-stru- from the international desk of the Zephyr Imagine. You are visiting a large eastern European city. By all appearances, an andent dty. One that has survived all the vicisitudes of more than a thousand years of human enterprise. Near the heart of the dty, in an open square, stands an unusual dvic monument. A bronze statue. Not of a soldier or politician. Not a general on a horse or a king on a throne. No. The figure of a somewhat common man, sitting in a chair. Playing his 'cello. Around the pedestal on which the statue sits, there are bouquets of flowers. If you count, you will always find twenty two flowers in each bunch. The 'cellist is a national hero. He is called "The twenty third man." Imagine. If you ask the story of this statue, you will be told that a long time ago there was a terrible dvil war in this city. Demogogues lit the bonfires of hatred between citizens who belonged to different religions and races. Everyone became an enemy of someone else. None was exempt or safe. Men, women, children, babies, grandparents - old and young - strong and weak - partisan and innocent - all, all were victims in the end. Many were maimed. Many were killed. Those who did not die lived like animals in the ruins of the dty. Except one man. A musician. A 'cellist. Imagine. He came to a certain street comer every day. Dressed in formal black chair he played his 'cello. Knowing he might evening dothes. Sitting in a be shot or beaten, still he played. Day after day he came. To play the most beautiful music he knew. Day after day after day. For twenty two days. His music was stronger than hate. His courage was stronger than fear. From where he had sat playing, his courage spread. Anyone who could play an instrument or sing took a place at an intersection somewhere in the dty and made music. In time, the fighting stopped. The music and the people and the city lived on. Imagine. fire-charr- ed A nice fable. Lovely story. Something adults might make up to inspire children. A tale of the kind found in tourist guidebooks explaining and embellishing the myths behind civic statuary. Something to have your picture taken in front of. Is there any truth in such an imaginary talc other than the implied aknowledgement of the naive sentimentality of myth making? The real world docs not work this way. We all know that. Vcdran Smailovic does not agree. In the New York Times Magazine, July 1992, his photograph appeared. Middle aged, longish hair, great bushy moustache. He is dressed in formal evening clothes. Sitting in a cafe chair in the middle of a street. In front of a bakery where mortar fire struck a breadline in late May, killing twenty two people. He is playing his 'cello. As a member of the Sarajevo Opera Orchestra, there is little he can do about hate and war - it has been going on in Sarajevo for centuries. Even so, every day for twenty ng Let me emphasize something here. Don't miss this. Vedran Smailovic is reaL What he did is true. Neither the breadline nor the mortar shell nor the cellist is fiction. For all the fairy tales, these acts do take place in the world in which we live. When the challenge comes - "What can I do?" - some there are who go out into the street to address the world with whatever resources they have. He is a cousin to those who died at the stake for religious freedom; to Ghandi marching to the sea for salt; to those who sat in at lunch counters in the American south for the right to be served a tuna fish sandwich in Woolworth's; to Rosa Parks in the back of the bus. He is a blood brother to all those who do not ask if what they can do is alright or enough - who do what they must do with whatever tools they have when history knocks at their door to see if anyone is at home. He knows, as they know, that not to answer the knock is to betray one's humanity. That indifference is the greatest sin of all. Most everyone in Sarajevo knows now what a 'cellist can do - for where Vedran played has become an informal shrine - a place of honor. Croats, Serbs, Muslims, Christians alike - they all know about this 'cellist in the broken streets of their ravaged city. They place flowers where he played - an ordinary square of cobble that has become a shining magnet for hope - the hope that must never die - the hope that someday, somehow, the best of humanity shall overcome the worst, not through unexpected miracles but through the expected acts of the many. IF YOU DON'T VOTE DON'T COMPLAIN. IF YOU DON'T VOTE IN THE PRIMARY, DON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR CHOICE OF CANDIDATES IN THE GENERAL ELECTION. PRIMARY ELECTION IS JANUARY5 Hey, Til do anything for you. Just don't ask to borrow my TRUCK SPECIAL TO FULGHUM Your chicken fried steak is now ready 36 S. 100 West 259-43- 02 |