Портрет художника в юности

           Stillanotherremoval!AboynamedFalloninBelvederehadoftenaskedhimwithasillylaughwhytheymovedsooften.Afrownofscorndarkenedquicklyhisforeheadasheheardagainthesillylaughofthequestioner.

           Heasked:

           —Whyareweonthemoveagainifit’safairquestion?

           —Becauseborotheborolandborolordborowillboroputborousborooutboro.

           ThevoiceofhisyoungestbrotherfromthefarthersideofthefireplacebegantosingtheairOFTINTHESTILLYNIGHT.Onebyonetheotherstookuptheairuntilafullchoirofvoiceswassinging.Theywouldsingsoforhours,melodyaftermelody,gleeafterglee,tillthelastpalelightdieddownonthehorizon,tillthefirstdarknightcloudscameforthandnightfell.

           Hewaitedforsomemoments,listening,beforehetootookuptheairwiththem.Hewaslisteningwithpainofspirittotheovertoneofwearinessbehindtheirfrailfreshinnocentvoices.Evenbeforetheysetoutonlife’sjourneytheyseemedwearyalreadyoftheway.

           Heheardthechoirofvoicesinthekitchenechoedandmultipliedthroughanendlessreverberationofthechoirsofendlessgenerationsofchildrenandheardinalltheechoesanechoalsooftherecurringnoteofwearinessandpain.Allseemedwearyoflifeevenbeforeenteringuponit.