“Something is different. Ardillo sits on the bed, as he has always done. But this time the music does not move him. He stares at the boy and watches his swift fingers as they move across the strings. A small, sad smile plays around the corners of a mouth that has, it seems, had little use for smiles. The music runs down, and in the silence that follows, the boy finally understands. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He is not yet eleven, and small for his age, and the large guitar dwarfs him as he si...ts. Ardillo looks away and says nothing. “Why? Have I done something wrong? I’ve tried as hard as …” The words dry up, as the boy fights the sudden emptiness that threatens to turn into a show of unaccustomed tears. This time Ardillo rises. His touch is cold, as always. “It was always to be this way.” The boy is shaking his head, though he knows it to be the truth. “It is over. Terminado. You have no more need of me. And I —” “And you have no more need of me.” The boy throws the guitar onto the bed, giving in, finally, to the tears.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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