The Violinist

When 80-year-old John was done playing the saddest tune on his violin, the people crowding around grew inquisitive, one asking, “Amazing, was that a Mozart symphony?” 

John gripped his violin and said, “Yes, the forty-fifth one. My wife Jennifer is fond of it. She's in the hospital.”

Heavy sighs filled the air and increased when he added, “She’s bedridden for the last six months with cancer. We have so many bills for medicines and the hospital.” 

His words were so contrary to the melodious tune. He bowed and he bowed as if he was performing in some great auditorium. His audience of empathetic passers-by filled his upturned hat with the heartening tune of money. A mother asked her little boy to help the old man pick up the hat and held it as he took out the money.

The old man put the hat on his almost-hairless head and bowed again. Turning once as he headed down the street, he waved the weakest of waves. Once the crowd was out of sight, he turned the corner and entered the nearest liquor store.