カテゴリー別アーカイブ: life

Is there a violin in Heaven

I am a violin. Plain looking as I am, I have a wonderful sound. I used to play soft, sweet rhythm in the hand of my young master. But now, lying in the complete darkness, I’m totally discarded, forgotten, waiting for my end in this dead silence. The flown time appeared like dream in my declining memory. Those bitter and sweet days made an imprint on my vision that is all I still get. So here comes the story about beauty, music, friendship and loneliness.

My father was an intelligent master craftsman. Though his gift didn’t bring him any fame or fortune, his zest for the violin making had never been worn away. One day in an odorous, dirty sty he discovered a wedge of spruce, which is light and strong—perfect for the violin. Joyfully, he trade a packed of food for it with the puzzled countryman. After three weeks’ hard work, my sister and I were born into this world. My father couldn’t afford the expensive varnish for us. But I can assure you, plain as we are, we are the first-class violins with the hypnotic sound you’ve never heard!

How long did I take in the shelf to wait for my master coming up? Two years, three years? Memory puzzles herself to reply this question. Besides, I always fell confused about the time in human’s world. But it’s definitely a long, long time. All I can recall about that is many, many people have passed by without even offering me a glance. How helpless unattractive I am! Finally I got a terrible feeling that my master perhaps would never show up, and my beautiful voice would be buried forever without even a chance to be heard.

It was a day like usual, colourless and gloomy. Like a dream a little girl, probably 6 years old, suddenly came up to me. For some reason, her beautiful eyes looked so empty and sad. But she was actually looking at me! Excited, my long lost hope rose up. I hold my breath, dreading to freight her away. Her mother came up and asked softly: Are you sure? The little girl cast her eyes down to the floor, she answered in an almost unread voice: Yeah. I cried for this single word. It sounded like a word from the heaven. At last, I found my master! Thousands words I tried to say, thousands questions I’d like to ask: Is she a good player? What kind of music is her favourite? She reached her hands for me. Her fingered felt so cold! Oddly, she didn’t give a try on me like most other masters would do. Lowering her head, she followed her mother out of store and down to the street. Few minutes later, with my excitement for the future calming down, I soon realized there was something wrong. My little master was obviously deeply troubled and upset. She grasped me tighter and tighter with her little fingers. She was fighting hardly a urge to cry but failed. Tears swelled up to her eyes.

One drop of her tears fell apart on my skin. It was hot, and …hurt. She grasped me tighter and tighter with her little fingers as if I was the only thing left in the world she could hold on. I got a strange feeling that this little girl was frightened, frightened to death. The mother finally sensed her daughter’s unusual emotions. She stopped with doubts, and pulled her daughter.

“What’s wrong, honey, you are trembling.”

The little girl raised up her tearful eyes towards her mother. For a while, she tried to regain command of herself and behaved well, but she failed and wept a deep, abandoned sobbing.

“Oh, mum, please, please don’t send me away. I promise I would be good. I know Papa hates me because I were not a boy. But I will try, try to be good…” she suddenly couldn’t continue her desperate appeal. Overwhelmed by a mixture of sorrows interlarded with great fears, she gave away to uncontrollable weeping.

The mother was obviously taken back by her daughter’s imploration. She frowned, as if she was labouring at the efforts to organize her thoughts into the soothing words. Then she held her daughter’s little trembling body into her arms.

” Honey, your daddy and I have a rough time. We fight a lot, you know. We are trying to figure some way out, but both of us hate to get you involved. So we decided to send you to Star, it’s a very good boarding school. Auntie Liu is my best friend, and I am sure she will take care of you. Mum hates to leave you, but I have no other choice, honey, when you grow up, you will understand.” Though the reassurance of her tone did hold some quality of comfort, it surely is not strong enough to sweep all my master’s worries away. She wept, tried to absorb in every word her mother just said. Try to grow up soon, so she could get a better understanding, but now she just found herself caught up in a strong sense of helplessness. She murmured in a stammered voice: ” But, but Cousin he told me Star is a terrible place, a charity school. He said only children from poor family or unwanted children would be sent to charity school. He said I am a great trouble, and you fight a lot because of me. Now, you and dad don’t want me any more….” She broke off, her breath came in short, hot gasps as if the courage she gathered to speak aloud those painful words suddenly collapsed.

カテゴリー: life | 投稿者tysufhdvxv 12:03 | コメントをどうぞ

the saving grace

For years Tom Anderson’s life was withered up by the memory of his part in a fraternityadventure that resulted in the death of one of his classmates theradome. He and his wife separated after six years of marriage. Then the news about Tom changed. His wife Betty came back; he earned a fine position. One day he told me what had changed his life. “I used to think, `Nothing can undo what I have done.’ The thought of my guilt would stop me in the middle of a smile or a handshake. It put a wall between my wife and me.

  Then I had an unexpected visit from the person I dreaded most to see — the mother of the college classmate who died. “Years ago”, she said, “I found it in my heart, through prayer, to forgive you. Betty forgave you. So did your friends and employers.’ She paused, and then said sternly , “You are the one person who hasn’t forgiven Tom Anderson. Who do you think you are to stand out against the people of this town and the Lord Almighty theradome HK?” “I looked into her eyes and found there a kind of permission to be the person I might have been if her boy had lived. For the first time in my adult life I felt worthy to love and be loved.”

  It is only through forgiveness of our mistakes that we gain the freedom to learn from experience. But forgiving our shortcomings doesn’t mean denying that they exist. On the contrary, it means facing them honestly, realistically.

  Can a person be all-forgiving and still be human? A scientist I know spent four years as a slave laborer in Germany. His parents were killed by Nazi street bullies; his younger sister and older brother were sent to the gas chambers. This is a man who has every reason to hate. Yet he is filled with a love of life that he conveys to everyone who knows him. He explained it to me the other day: “In the beginning I was filled with hatred. Then I realized that in hating I had become my own enemy. Unless you forgive, you cannot love. And without love ego one mega, life has no meaning.” Forgiveness is truly the saving grace.

カテゴリー: life | 投稿者tysufhdvxv 16:48 | コメントをどうぞ

It Should Once Again See Light

Several years ago, a physician from southern France contacted me university ranking. His granddaughter had taken ill with a disease that baffled the physicians there. He called after reading several of my articles on disorders of the autonomic nervous system. His granddaughter’s symptoms seemed to match those I had described, and he asked me if I could help. I readily agreed, and for many months, I collaborated with the child’s French physicians by telephone and by fax, directing their diagnostic testing. At last we came to a diagnosis, and I prescribed a course of therapy. During the next several weeks, the child made a seemingly miraculous recovery. Her grandparents expressed their heartfelt thanks and told me to let them know should I ever come to France.

In the summer of 1996, I was invited to speak at a large international scientific meeting that was held in Nice, France. I sent word to the physician I had helped years before. Upon my arrival at the hotel, I received a message to contact him. I called him and we arranged a night to meet for dinner.

On the appointed day we met and then drove north to his home in the beautiful southern French countryside. It was humbling to learn his home was older than the United States. During the drive he told me that his wife had metastatic breast cancer and was not well, but she insisted upon meeting me. When introduced to her, I saw that despite her severe illness, she was still a beautiful woman with a noble bearing.

I was thereafter treated to one of the most wonderful meals I have ever eaten, complemented by the most exquisite of wines. After dinner, we sat in a seventeenth-century salon, sipping cognac and chatting. Our conversation must have seemed odd to the young man and woman who served us because it came out in a free-flowing mixture of English, French and Spanish. After a time the woman asked, “My husband tells me you are Jewish, no?” “Yes,” I said, “I am a Jew.” They asked me to tell them about Judaism, especially the holidays. I did my best to explain and was astounded by how little they knew of Judaism. She seemed to be particularly interested in Hannukah.

Once I had finished answering her questions, she suddenly looked me in the eye and said, “I have something I want to give to you.” She disappeared and returned several moments later with a package wrapped in cloth. She sat, her tired eyes looking into mine, and she began to speak slowly.

“When I was a little girl of eight years, during the Second World War, the authorities came to our village to round up all the Jews. My best friend at that time was a girl of my age named Jeanette. One morning when I came to playielts score, I saw her family being forced at gunpoint into a truck. I ran home and told my mother what had happened and asked where Jeanette was going. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘Jeanette will be back soon.’ I ran back to Jeanette’s house only to find that she was gone and that the other villagers were looting her home of valuables, except for the Judaic items, which were thrown into the street. As I approached, I saw an item from her house lying in the dirt. I picked it up and recognized it as an object that Jeanette and her family would light around Christmas time. In my little girl’s mind I said, ‘I will take this home and keep it for Jeanette, till she comes back,’ but she and her family never returned.”

She paused and took a slow sip of brandy. “Since that time I have kept it. I hid it from my parents and didn’t tell a soul of its existence. Indeed, over the last fifty years the only person who knew of it was my husband. When I found out what really happened to the Jews, and how many of the people I knew had collaborated with the Nazis, I could not bear to look at it. Yet I kept it, hidden, waiting for something, although I wasn’t sure what. Now I know what I was waiting for. it was you, a Jew, who helped cure our granddaughter, and it is to you I entrust this.”

Her trembling hands set the package on my lap. I slowly unwrapped the cloth from around it. Inside was a menorah, but one unlike any I had seen before. Made of solid brass, it had eight cups for holding oil and wicks and a ninth cup centered above the others. It had a ring attached to the top, and the woman mentioned that she remembered that Jeanette’s family would hang it in the hallway of their home. It looked quite old to me; later, several people told me that it is probably at least 100 years old. As I held it and thought about what it represented, I began to cry. All I could manage to say was a garbled “merci.” As I left, her last words to me were “Il faudra voir la lumière encore une fois”— it should once again see light. I later learned that she died less than one month after our meeting. This Hannukah, the menorah will once again see light. And as I and my family light it, we will say a special prayer in honor of those whose memories it represents badminton court island east. We will not let its lights go out again.

カテゴリー: life | 投稿者tysufhdvxv 15:43 | コメントをどうぞ