The soft tones that arise when each key stroke filled, weightless, air in the study. In front of the piano was a nine-year-old, who was under her gift. Fingers, small and graceful, leaping nimbly between note and note, giving birth to every movement of his joints, with each strain on the tendons, with each pulse of blood through your arteries, the piece "Fur Elise" Ludwig Van Beethoven. Did not make mistakes at times. From five years of age could unconsciously empathize with the temporal sequence and precise sounds. It was a beautiful image for see: eyes closed, feet or pedals pulsand busy, restless hands, ears open ... and in a corner, sitting, expressing his resentment spiritual rapture on his face, accompanying each note with short strokes of his one hand, was his teacher.
The piece drew to a close, which was a shame. Whenever your ward finished playing, I felt an irresistible desire to ask him to begin again and again and again ... could still hear the same piece countless times without ever tiring, bringing his spirit to what, in his view, would be the most tangible of God. With what pleasure would ask the child he touched indefinitely, until the end of time! The last note ended by extinction in the physical world, but in the psyche of the master is extended beyond itself. He continued spellbound, supporting, unwittingly, the gaze that the child is lavished. Releasing a whisper, the little one said: "Master, I'm done ...". The teacher, to listen, open your eyes. "Congratulations," he said. I have not noticed a single error. It was a perfect performance ...".
much virtue could be locked up in those little hands! Was the reincarnation of himself before his death. Had long maimed, missing half his body in its most precious treasure that sometimes he forgot that he also had two virtuous hands. He also was born with the gift with grace, with inexplicable ease of understanding the complex world of music. But a snake bite changed her life. It all happened in a field day. When he finally made it to the ambulance, the venom of the snake had necrotic tissue of the hand, and had to amputate to save his life. One day he lost more than one member, more than a collection of bones and tendons, rather than a primate opposable thumbs and four fingers long and accurate ... had lost half of its only treasure ...
The boy continued staring at him. Do not understand why the teacher took his eyes off his hands ... it also looked funny, thinking that there was nothing strange remained his two small hands, their hands forever ... "Master," said the little boy, I have a request ... "
His vocation was awakened at such an early age, he never had time to learn a trade. From an early age ten or more hours devoted to practice daily, tireless striving for the best, get the exact notes for the magnificent instrument. If something existed in the world that fills the soul with joy, was playing the piano. He was born to it. I was lucky, because not everyone has the fortune to discover what should be the way, let alone at such an early age. He did know ... plunging into the black and white board pieces to achieve beauty. But fate always does his own designs, and brought the snake, that sunny day in which walking with his family, between himself and happiness ... the same fate led him to place his hand in an inappropriate, and laughed heartily at his plans, his vocation, his soul, of his infinite love for music. Your little learner just mumble an incomprehensible sentence ... "Sorry, son ... What did you say? ".
believed to have spoken quite clearly, though his tongue became heavy and sticky every time he spoke to his teacher. Maybe it was because of excessive respect for her. Try again. Time passed, and every second increases distress. Nothing like the good times of entertainment ... ultimately, is not he was a child? So what was there, sitting at a piano for four hours every afternoon? Just then, one of his friends would be scoring a goal in the football school of urbanization, and the other would be running, laughing, fighting, being-just-kids ... burn Sun, scraped knees, nails filled ground, through the door of the house with a cry in his mouth - Mom, I scored two goals today! -. How exciting was that! The piano, and classes with his old teacher, were pleasant, yes, but ... "What I would like to make a request, if you do not mind ...". He
reduced since the operator to guide. Playing the piano with one hand was an intricate work. Many people looked at him curiously, not the quality of his music, no, but by the novelty of seeing a disabled playing. Were amazed, one hand on the huge mouth open, and stared, as if to say: "And it moves!" "And talk!" Or, "And to know how to play piano !"... was the terrible collapse of his soul ... "Tell me, son, do you want ..."
Getting Started What words? Anyway, it was best to do it soon, because they had been ten minutes since I started training. Swallowed. Breath. "Do not you think, teacher, four hours of practice are too many?"
Everything had changed since he found the boy that made him that question now. He was a true prodigy. The lack of his hand could meet with both of the child. They were agile, rhythmic, synchronized with the heartbeat of the Universe. The child, in turn, was a passionate portrait of his own childhood, "loved music above all else, and had no God but the keys and strings that made her drawer metal music. Much of their knowledge they had been given to this sublime heir, with the sole purpose of completing the small successes along the way he had left half done. He absorbed every detail of their experience with greed. Thus, in four long years trying to be required to double the child does not miss the absent hand, had become a great pianist, despite his young age ... therefore, the hear him play, felt they were his own hands that caressed the keys, it was his own heart that had the rhythm, it was his soul that controlled the cadences ... his mind again creating headlines across the fingers of his student ... "Why do you say that, son? I do not understand ... "
The clock was relentless ... Where would I get the courage to tell her good teacher who wanted to cut classes two hours a day? He thought of the joy that overflowed in the green field, her friends playing in the ball fast plying the goal, and said: "Master, is too much for me ... every time I get tired more, and there are other things I would like to ... not everything can be, only, play the piano. I think two hours of daily practices ... "
was incomprehensible. A proposal was unacceptable as well. "Things like what, son, I would like to do instead of playing piano?". "I'd like ...". "Say! What could be? I swear I do not understand ... "Two big drops began to explore his cheeks. "I play football, master ...".
The teacher sat in his chair, while the infant was looking at him standing by his sincere tears. He paused a few seconds, trying to clarify his confused thoughts. I could not understand ...
Only when he got through, he was able to watch your aching soul reflected in those hot tears, when I felt so fragile, so young, so human, is that he could sense the seriousness of his sin. With a trembling voice, said, "Okay, son ... as you want ...".
Once the child left the room, the teacher got up and walked slowly to sit in the seat, facing the old piano. Hence, closing his eyes, sighed deeply, and the image of a small playing "Fur Elise", perhaps he, perhaps his student, probably two- ran his memory. It was a memory so vivid it could hear it, feel it, taste it ... opened his eyes and tried to hit the keys with one hand immaterial. He smiled. After closing his eyes again, resting his forehead against the smooth wood, began to mourn desolate, until the sun set in the sky ...
The piece drew to a close, which was a shame. Whenever your ward finished playing, I felt an irresistible desire to ask him to begin again and again and again ... could still hear the same piece countless times without ever tiring, bringing his spirit to what, in his view, would be the most tangible of God. With what pleasure would ask the child he touched indefinitely, until the end of time! The last note ended by extinction in the physical world, but in the psyche of the master is extended beyond itself. He continued spellbound, supporting, unwittingly, the gaze that the child is lavished. Releasing a whisper, the little one said: "Master, I'm done ...". The teacher, to listen, open your eyes. "Congratulations," he said. I have not noticed a single error. It was a perfect performance ...".
much virtue could be locked up in those little hands! Was the reincarnation of himself before his death. Had long maimed, missing half his body in its most precious treasure that sometimes he forgot that he also had two virtuous hands. He also was born with the gift with grace, with inexplicable ease of understanding the complex world of music. But a snake bite changed her life. It all happened in a field day. When he finally made it to the ambulance, the venom of the snake had necrotic tissue of the hand, and had to amputate to save his life. One day he lost more than one member, more than a collection of bones and tendons, rather than a primate opposable thumbs and four fingers long and accurate ... had lost half of its only treasure ...
The boy continued staring at him. Do not understand why the teacher took his eyes off his hands ... it also looked funny, thinking that there was nothing strange remained his two small hands, their hands forever ... "Master," said the little boy, I have a request ... "
His vocation was awakened at such an early age, he never had time to learn a trade. From an early age ten or more hours devoted to practice daily, tireless striving for the best, get the exact notes for the magnificent instrument. If something existed in the world that fills the soul with joy, was playing the piano. He was born to it. I was lucky, because not everyone has the fortune to discover what should be the way, let alone at such an early age. He did know ... plunging into the black and white board pieces to achieve beauty. But fate always does his own designs, and brought the snake, that sunny day in which walking with his family, between himself and happiness ... the same fate led him to place his hand in an inappropriate, and laughed heartily at his plans, his vocation, his soul, of his infinite love for music. Your little learner just mumble an incomprehensible sentence ... "Sorry, son ... What did you say? ".
believed to have spoken quite clearly, though his tongue became heavy and sticky every time he spoke to his teacher. Maybe it was because of excessive respect for her. Try again. Time passed, and every second increases distress. Nothing like the good times of entertainment ... ultimately, is not he was a child? So what was there, sitting at a piano for four hours every afternoon? Just then, one of his friends would be scoring a goal in the football school of urbanization, and the other would be running, laughing, fighting, being-just-kids ... burn Sun, scraped knees, nails filled ground, through the door of the house with a cry in his mouth - Mom, I scored two goals today! -. How exciting was that! The piano, and classes with his old teacher, were pleasant, yes, but ... "What I would like to make a request, if you do not mind ...". He
reduced since the operator to guide. Playing the piano with one hand was an intricate work. Many people looked at him curiously, not the quality of his music, no, but by the novelty of seeing a disabled playing. Were amazed, one hand on the huge mouth open, and stared, as if to say: "And it moves!" "And talk!" Or, "And to know how to play piano !"... was the terrible collapse of his soul ... "Tell me, son, do you want ..."
Getting Started What words? Anyway, it was best to do it soon, because they had been ten minutes since I started training. Swallowed. Breath. "Do not you think, teacher, four hours of practice are too many?"
Everything had changed since he found the boy that made him that question now. He was a true prodigy. The lack of his hand could meet with both of the child. They were agile, rhythmic, synchronized with the heartbeat of the Universe. The child, in turn, was a passionate portrait of his own childhood, "loved music above all else, and had no God but the keys and strings that made her drawer metal music. Much of their knowledge they had been given to this sublime heir, with the sole purpose of completing the small successes along the way he had left half done. He absorbed every detail of their experience with greed. Thus, in four long years trying to be required to double the child does not miss the absent hand, had become a great pianist, despite his young age ... therefore, the hear him play, felt they were his own hands that caressed the keys, it was his own heart that had the rhythm, it was his soul that controlled the cadences ... his mind again creating headlines across the fingers of his student ... "Why do you say that, son? I do not understand ... "
The clock was relentless ... Where would I get the courage to tell her good teacher who wanted to cut classes two hours a day? He thought of the joy that overflowed in the green field, her friends playing in the ball fast plying the goal, and said: "Master, is too much for me ... every time I get tired more, and there are other things I would like to ... not everything can be, only, play the piano. I think two hours of daily practices ... "
was incomprehensible. A proposal was unacceptable as well. "Things like what, son, I would like to do instead of playing piano?". "I'd like ...". "Say! What could be? I swear I do not understand ... "Two big drops began to explore his cheeks. "I play football, master ...".
The teacher sat in his chair, while the infant was looking at him standing by his sincere tears. He paused a few seconds, trying to clarify his confused thoughts. I could not understand ...
Only when he got through, he was able to watch your aching soul reflected in those hot tears, when I felt so fragile, so young, so human, is that he could sense the seriousness of his sin. With a trembling voice, said, "Okay, son ... as you want ...".
Once the child left the room, the teacher got up and walked slowly to sit in the seat, facing the old piano. Hence, closing his eyes, sighed deeply, and the image of a small playing "Fur Elise", perhaps he, perhaps his student, probably two- ran his memory. It was a memory so vivid it could hear it, feel it, taste it ... opened his eyes and tried to hit the keys with one hand immaterial. He smiled. After closing his eyes again, resting his forehead against the smooth wood, began to mourn desolate, until the sun set in the sky ...
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