Once there was a Czechoslovakian violin player who lived in Sweden.
His name was Rudolf. Some of his friends said he could not play theviolin very well. He was too restless and travelled around too much.
Rudolf did travel. That is true. He travelled about Scandinavia in asmall boat, stopping at small cities along the coast. Here he wouldgive violin concerts and earn money to buy food and clothes. If hefound a person to play the piano with him, good. If not, he playedmusic that did not need a piano. Once or twice he felt a great need toplay music that needed a piano. So he made believe one was playing. Hewould play complete sonatas for violin and piano with no piano insight.
One year, Rudolf sailed all the way out to Iceland. He began playingat different seaport cities all around the rocky coast. It was a hardand difficult land. Yet, the people in those areas never forgot how tobe kind and friendly to strangers.
One day, Rudolf was sailing from one town to another when thenortheast sky turned black and threatening. A storm was blowing inover Iceland. Rudolf was sailing near a dangerous rocky place and theclosest port was four hours away.
The wind began to blow stronger. Rudolf was beginning to feel trouble.
Then he saw a lighthouse less than a kilometer away. The lighthousewas on a small rocky island surrounded by deep water. At the bottom ofthe lighthouse were big heavy rocks. In one place the rocks separated.
There, the water was calm, protected by the rocks. Rudolf tried tosail his boat into the calm place. At last he did. He tied the boat toa metal ring that was stuck in the rocks. He began walking up therocks toward the lighthouse. At the top of the rocks was a man. Hisbody was almost hidden by the storm clouds that hung low over thelighthouse. "You are welcome." The man's voice thundered down therocks, louder than the noisy waves.
The lighthouse man led Rudolf up the metal stairs. They went aroundand around to the top. They stopped on the third floor. There was aliving room. The lighthouse man became very busy preparing for thestorm. He had to make sure the great light on the top of thelighthouse would shine during the black storm.
The lighthouse man was very big. He had a long gray beard hanging fromhis chin. He moved around very slowly as if every move he made wascarefully thought about before he made it. The lighthouse was hisworld, small as it was, and he knew every inch of it. He did not talkvery much. Words were not important to him, not as important as theforces he lived with all around him. He was kind and gentle, verydifferent from the place he lived in where the wind blew the seas highand threw ships against the rocks.
They shared a supper of black bread and boiled potatoes, herring,cheese and hot tea. Then the two men sat and studied each other. Thestorm struck against the lighthouse with a thousand different noises.
Rudolf offered the lighthouse man some tobacco. The old man shook hishead, "No", and smiled a little.
To Rudolf he seemed like an island, strong as the rock the lighthousewas built on. He needed nothing, nothing more than what he had in hislighthouse. He sat there gentle and quiet, his big hands resting onhis knees. He was at peace.
Rudolf learned more about the old man. He was born in this verylighthouse eighty-three years ago. His father had been the lighthouseman before him. His mother, the only woman he had ever known, taughthim to read the Bible. And he read it every day. He had no otherbooks.
As a violin player, Rudolf had no time to read much either, but thenhe lived in the cities. He reached down and took out his violin, whichhe loved so much.
"What do you make with that, Sir?" the old man asked. For a momentRudolf thought the man was joking. But his face showed he was not. Hedid not look much interested in the violin itself, but in the wholeperson of Rudolf, his violin and his work.
Rudolf found it hard to believe that there was someone in the worldwho did not know what a violin was. Yet, he could not laugh. He feltsmall against the calm shining from the old man.
"I make music with it", he spoke in a voice not sure of what he said.
"Music," the old man said, not completely understanding.
"I have heard of it, but I have never seen music.""One does not see music. One hears it.""Ah, yes," the old man said. And he looked at the violin player andgave him all the respect of a great man.
Then something in the storm and the lighthouse and the old man liftedRudolf away from his usual everyday feelings. He was filled withunderstanding and love. He was lifted to a world he had never known orfelt.
He wanted to play music that showed the power of fire and stars justfor the old man. And with the storm and the winds to join him, hestood and played.
The moments passed. Moments that were days in the birth of fire andstars, moments of the struggle of all men, and finally moments thatshowed the greatness of all human spirit.
Never before had Rudolf played with such power. Outside, waves andwinds beat the lighthouse with giant hands. Above, the strong lightthrew its life saving beams across the dark and angry seas.
Rudolf dropped his head to his chest, breathing hard. The ocean threwits water over the land with the sound of many voices.
The old man sat without moving, his wide old hands resting on hisknees.
He thought about the storm outside. Music made by God. He thought ofRudolf and his music. Both were part of the works of nature, both wereworks of wonder.
He nodded his head up and down. Then turned to Rudolf.
"Yes," he said. "That is true!"You have heard "The Listener". It was written by John Berry and firstpublished in New World Writing, April 1960. Your storyteller was ShepO'Neal. The producer was Lwoan Davis. Listen again next week to hearanother American Story told in Special English on the Voice ofAmerica. This is Susan Clark. |