渐渐地,让我吃惊的是,我竟然能把几个音符连起来了。手指的协调性也好点了,还能拉出几首简单的曲子。晚饭后,父亲常常会要我拉上一、两首曲子。他躺在安乐椅里,我则笨拙地拉完“西班牙女郎”和“啤酒桶波尔卡”。
"Very nice, better than last week," he'd say. Then I would follow into a medley of his favorites, "Red River Valley" and "Home on the Range," and he would drift off to sleep, the newspaper folded on his lap. I took it as a compliment that he could relax under the spell of my playing.
他会说,“不错,比上星期好,”然后我会接着拉他喜欢的曲子“红河谷”和“山上的家”。听着听着,他慢慢睡着了,报纸叠在腿上。我把这看作是一种赞扬:他能在我美妙的演奏中放松。
One July evening I was giving an almost flawless rendition of "Come Back to Sorrento," and my parents called me to an open window. An elderly neighbor, rarely seen outside her house, was leaning against our car humming dreamily to the tune. When I finished, she smiled broadly and called out, "I remember that song as a child in Italy. Beautiful, just beautiful."
七月的一个傍晚,我正在拉“重回索联托”,拉得几乎完美无缺。父母突然把我叫到窗前。一位极少出门、上了年纪的老邻居,正靠在我们的车旁,跟着曲子沉醉地哼唱着。当我拉完时,她咧开嘴笑了,大声说:“小时候在意大利我听到过这首歌曲,我还记得。太棒了,真是棒极了。
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