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Show FICTION Mm Mm left m a tram lift I BVB BVH By JOHN H. HOSE V?-ij'i j Cotnec . 1 1LJ..1, could anyone sing when such genius was present, Louis had come over to her, and sat casually on the arm of the chair. "Did you like my playing, Miss Ames?" he asked politely. "You have a great talent, Louis," she replied evenly and quietly, but her heart was racing as rapidly as the tempo of the tune he had just played. The group soon surrounded surround-ed her, and they joined in the folk dances of far-off lands which they performed with such unleashed fury and excitement. When she left, Louis volunteered to walk with her to the street car. At the door she paused to thank Adele for the lovely day. Smiling wistfully at Louis, she told his mother, moth-er, "this young man is a great artist; he must be encouraged." But Mrs. Alvanio only laughed, and made some' remark about Eleanor Elea-nor being the one with the talent. As they walked to the car line, they exchanged but a few brief sentences, but a tacit understanding tened, spellbound. She had thought to herself, "This is only young Louis, but, oh, he is an artist!" She scarcely dared give utterance to the other thought, "And I love him." The fiddle strings danced as the magic was forced from them by the hands of Louis. The hands of" a youth, but they were the hands of a whole people, singing their song down through the years. The audience audi-ence seemed to like Louis, and the critics said he was a lad "of some promise." But they had missed the magic. After the concert, Marya began to see Louis more frequently. They would take long walks through the parks on the south side, their hands clasped together. Would Louis never speak to her of love, she wondered. And Louis, never seeming to emerge from his shyness, talked of music, and life, but never those words sho longed to hear. Then the war came, and Louis was gone! Marya joined te Red Cross program pro-gram and worked in several of the large social centers in New York. THEdeafeningapplause thundered about her, and cries of "Bravo" rent the air of the staid old Music hall. Even through the din, Marya could remember the first time she had heard Louis play. It was the day she had left her music on the train a brief case filled with sheet music. Even then she had known that this day would come the day for which she had waited. But she would wait no longer. She remembered remem-bered how she had gone to their house after church. It was the first summer she stayed in the city to work at Hull house. At the social center she had met Eleanor, Louis' sister. They were such a charming family, the Alva-nois. Alva-nois. Mother and father, first generation gen-eration immigrants from Italy, and the children were American as only the children of immigrants can rejoice re-joice in the land of the free. As she slipped into her" coat to leave Carnegie hall, Marya remembered re-membered that other day. She had taken the train to Kedzie avenue, ave-nue, and then followed the long streetcar ride to the south side. They had invited her for dinner, but they had asked her to bring her music so that she might sing for them. Louis had come over to her, and sat casually on the arm of the chair. "Did you like my playing. Miss Ames?" he asked politely. When she arrived, dinner was ready. They had been to church early so that they would have all in readiness for her visit. Albert Mr. Alvanio was not home. Albert traveled for a drug company, and frequently had to be on the road. In fact, the only time she could remember re-member having seen Albert was at the concert later. But Carmen and Eleanor and Louis were there. And, of course, Mrs. Albert was there. Talking. Talking and chattering all the time, and yet accomplishing all the things necessary on the part of a perfect hostess. What a jolly, wonderful dinner it had been. They ate spaghetti and artichokes. She especially remembered remem-bered the artichokes, because it was the first time she had eaten them. They had to show her how to pull out the little spines and slide the soft, pulpy, white meat off between your teeth. And they had served chestnuts for dessert. Then Adele that was Mrs. Alvanio Al-vanio was saying, "And now, Miss Ames . . . now, you sing for us!" Marya had sung for them, huge dinner notwithstanding. She sang the songs she was studying . . . beautiful melodies from the operas of their beloved Italy, songs of religion, re-ligion, love songs ... all the songs in that brief case. Mrs. Albert had accompanied her and sang with her. They all sang. Then a group of noisy young people peo-ple from the settlement house clubs joined them. Carmen played the cello, Eleanor sang, Marya sang again, and they finally coaxed Louis to play the violin. Louis was twenty, twen-ty, just Marya's age, but he was so shy. Louis played for them, resting his round, somewhat boyish face on the chin rest of the instrument. His black, sparkling eyes danced with the music as the inarticulate strings became the medium of magic. mag-ic. His eyes danced like the tar-antelle tar-antelle that he played. And all the music of the ages poured from those strings. Marya sensed that this was the real Louis. Louis with the laughing black eyes and the tight ringlets of raven hair. When Louis stopped playing, the others were noisy again, but Marya sat quietly in the chair, contemplating the magic artistry of Louis. They wanted her to sing some more, but she refused. How seemed to have grown between them. On the way to the suburb where she lived, Marya thought about her day and Louis. She became be-came so engrossed in her thoughts that she left the brief case with the music on the train. Early that spring, there was a concert at the social center with the women's symphony accompanying the young artists. Naturally, Marya attended the concert. All the Al-vanios Al-vanios were there even Albert, who wasn't selling drugs for once. Eleanor Elea-nor was to sing, and Louis was to play. There were three others on the program, too. Eleanor was the second performer, and she sang beautifully, her lyric soprano floating float-ing magically above the muted violins vio-lins of the orchestra. During the intermission the people peo-ple talked and buzzed, and the Al-vanios Al-vanios looked toward her and smiled, as though to say, "See, we told you. Eleanor's the one!" The orchestra returned and the program continued. Then Louis played, and the angels listened. Louis, with his soft, round chin resting rest-ing on the violin. From the bay of Naples, where the feeling for song was born, from the hills of Abruzzi where the shepherds sang, the music mu-sic welled up to pour from this handsome youth coaxing the tone from the instrument. Marya lis- She sang quite a bit for the servicemen, service-men, and always she was searching search-ing searching for a shock of black, curly hair, and those dancing black eyes. But no word came of him. Each year at Christmas she got the Alvanios' card, and the sprightly, spright-ly, talking note scrawled across its back in Adela's illegible hand. "Eleanor was at Curtis institute," she wrote, "and Carmen was studying study-ing with Mastroberti." But of Louis nothing! Marya tried to put him from her mind, but she fought a losing battle. bat-tle. She worked furiously, trying to forget. Then the war was over, and the period of readjustment began. She continued to work in New York. One day she returned to her desk to find a letter from Louis. He was to have his debut in Carnegie hall, and had enclosed a ticket for her. Would she be so kind as to come. XX'OULD she come. An hour be- ' fore concert time, she was waiting in her seat. She listened' with bowed head while he played( the monumental works of the great composers. The audience liked him, and called for an encore. Then! Louis played the tarantelle. She looked up as she listened, and he smiled in her direction as the bow raced across the singing strings.. Then the dancing, laughing melody ceased. All around her, the people stood, cheering! The cheering and applause echoed through the huge auditorium, but Marya was remembering remem-bering another Sunday afternoon. She remembered the artichokes and chestnuts . . . she thought about her music, the music in that brief case. Beautiful songs they were, love songs, tragic songs, songs in praise of God, songs about men's souls, songs of death, and songs of life. Life and songs. That was it! Life and songs. Songs on the strings of a violin. As she hurried from the auditorium auditori-um and walked up the street, people smiled. People smiled at the young woman who was humming to herself her-self while she walked up the street. They stopped to stare at the girl singing and walking in the snow. During that applause, she had reached her decision. She thought that Louis, like her songs, had been lost to her; but one never lost songs, and one never lost love. These were things of the heart they could never nev-er be lost. This time the critics proclaimed Louis the finest young artist to appear ap-pear in the city in many years. A great discovery, they labeled him. She laughed when she read that they had discovered Louis at the concert. She was still smiling when she called the hotel where he was staying. She informed the clerk, "Will you tell Mr. Louis Atoanio that Marya Ames is calling? . . Yes, I'll wait." She had waited so long . . . but now the waiting had come to an end . . . and she smiled as she remembered re-membered artichokes and chestnuts, chest-nuts, laughing eyes and violins, and music left on a train. |