Jeb marked.
“The most important thing, Jeb, is to hear the anguish in that line. Hear it in your
head. Then let your voice show what you hear.”
Luke cued Jeb in with two bars before the voice part. The hearing aids turned the
notes shrill in Luke’s ears. By habit he adjusted the sound in his mind.
When they reached the B flat, Luke sighed. “Sometimes I think a man without
children . . . I wish you hadn’t insisted on Kindertotenlieder. You’ve never lost a child.
You—” Luke’s voice stalled. He blinked and swallowed.
Jeb hadn’t noticed. He scratched his head. “I can’t get the hang
of it.”
Luke straightened himself and played the voice line with no accompaniment.
“Listen, listen, listen. If I didn’t know you had it in you, I wouldn’t be working with you.
Listen with your heart.”
After Jeb left, Luke took Limpy to the park. She dragged along after Luke. When
he stopped, she stopped. He led her along her favorite trail, away from the macadam
walks and bike paths, through woods thick with oaks and beeches, to the edge of the
creek where the filtered sun splattered across the rollicking water. As she came from
under the leaf canopy into the mottled sunlight, she stumbled on the rocks and fell on
her side with a yelp. Her legs grabbled in alarm.
Luke stooped beside her with a wince, rolled her to her stomach, and ruffled her
fur. “Having a bad day, aren’t you, girl?”
She lowered her head to her paws and rested her chin. Her cloudy eyes were
grim.
Panic shimmered in Luke’s belly. Limpy wouldn’t live forever. He knew that.
Maybe this was a temporary setback, like others they’d been through together. He
waited until she could walk and then headed slowly toward the apartment, pausing to let
her rest. When she was settled on her mat in the studio, he gave her a pain pill. Maybe
she’d snap out of it.
She didn’t. The next day he gave her a double dose. She slept. When she
awoke, he couldn’t coax her to the kitchen for her dinner.
TOM'S TALES