"Can you play us a song?" the farmer asked. I looked at the fat man and then at the small farm near the port town. My voice was gone. I could not sing. The sun rose fast, and the air smelled of salt and fish. My father’s words came back. "Music is your duty," he said. But my heart wanted to rest.
I took my old guitar. The farmer smiled and sat near the wooden fence. "Play fast or slow," he said, "but please play." I played soft, empty sounds. I thought about the farm and the fat man’s warm eyes. The town stirred with light and sound. I felt my desire and my duty fight inside me.
At last, I stopped and looked at the dawn. The farmer clapped, happy. "Your music is strong," he said. I smiled, feeling hope. I could not sing, but I could still give joy. The town was waking, and so was I. Maybe one day, my voice would come back fast and clear, like the morning sun.
