Theend,whenitarrived,provedbothtimelyandapt.NotonlyhadIlearnedeverythingMr.Martinhadtooffer,butIwassickofitall—thepractice,therepertoire,thediscipline,andtheennuiofeighty-eightkeys.BythetimeIturnedsixteen,Ibeganlookingforanexcusetoquit,awayoutthatwouldnotbreakmymothersheart.ThetruthisthatwhileIamaverygoodpianist,greateven,Iwasneversublime.Yes,byfarthebestinourremotehamlet,nodoubtourerofthestate,maybethebestfrombordertoborder,butbeyondthat,no.Ilackedthepassion,theingfire,tobeaworld-classpianist.Lookingforward,thealternativewasdreadful.ToenduplikeoldMr.Martinhimself,teagothersafterased-ratecareer?Iwouldratherplayinabordello.

    Overbreakfastonem,Iopehthisgambit:"Mom,IdontthinkImgoingtogetaer."

    "Betterthanwhat?"sheasked,whippingeggs.

    "Atthepiano,atmusic.IthinkitsasfarasIgo."

    Shepouredthemessintoaskillet,theeggssizzlingastheyhitbutterandhotiron,andsaidnothingwhileshestirred.Sheservedmeaplateofeggsandtoast,andIatetheminsilence.Coffeehand,shesatacrossthetablefromme."Henry,"shesaidsoftly,wantingmyattention."Doyourememberthedaywhenyouwerealittleboyandranawayfromhome?"

    Ididnot,butIheaffirmativebetweenbites.

    "Itwasabrightdayandhot,hotterthanHades.Iwantedabathtocooloff.TheheatsohingItgetusedto.AndIaskedyoutomindMaryandElizabeth,andyoudisappearedintotheforest.Doyourememberthat?"

    TherewasnowayIcouldremember,butInoddedmyheadasIswallowedthelastslugejuice.

    "Iputthegirlsto