4768. The Corelli performance was a
failure in every way. I sat on the edge of my seat, I rocked slightly back and
forth, but the tears, they just wouldn’t come.
4769. After that we rode home on
the subway, and I sat next to B. in a rather depressed state of mind. We
sat across from the doors, and at a stop two people got on the train and they
captured my interest at once.
4770. The two of them reminded me
of some characters in “Crime and Punishment” which I just happened to be
reading at the time. They were beggars, an old man, and what might have been
his daughter, an intensely beautiful black eyed, thin girl of about fourteen,
with a face of sad abstraction.
4771. He had a violin, which he began to play, and a moment
later she began to sing in a soft, slightly tremulous untrained voice. From the
very first instant, when that bow began to scratch across a string I began to
feel my heart ache, and when the child’s voice emerged, as if it had been
hidden in the sound of the violin string, I suddenly felt as if I was going to
pass out, so intensely did I feel the sound of her voice unexpectedly in the
center of my heart.
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