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"Uh-huh."
I took my violin out of its case and pulled one
of his two chairs up closer to the bed. Then I sat,
opened the box of music, and sifted through the
sheets, deciding to start with Bartok's First Sonata. "I'm just learning this," I explained.
He nodded, looking fascinated. It warmed my heart to see how I was cheering him up and helping him feel better already. He propped himself up a little more and waited. I tuned up and warmed up and then I started on the music. Every time I stopped to start
again, he nodded enthusiastically.
"I really shouldn't do this without Mr.
Wengrow, It's hard judging yourself,"
I started again and I played for quite a while
before stopping. When I glanced at him. I saw that he
had closed his eyes. The music appeared to have
soothed him, but his face was very flushed. I set the
violin down, and he looked at in with some surprise. "You look like you've got a high fever. Uncle
Simon," I said.
I went to him and put my lips to his forehead. It
was the way Mommy always tested for a fever. I had barely done so when Grandad's cry made
me jump and turn quickly toward the doorway where
he stood, clutching his Bible. I hadn't heard him come
up the stairs.
"Jezebel!" he screamed. "Get away from him." "He's sick. Grandad."
Grandad nodded and smiled so coldly it sent a
chill across the room and into my heart.
"Yes, he's sick," he said. "Sick with the strain of evil that's in you both. You'll bring down the Lord's
vengeance on me! Whore!" he cried.
Tears flowed so quickly and freely from my
eyes, I couldn't flick them away fast enough. Suddenly Uncle Simon rose from his bed, and
to my shock, he was naked. He waved his mallet of a
fist at Grandad.
"Get out of here with your garbage talk," he
