"Do you play the mandolin?"
"Yes. I play many instruments."
"Would you play for me?"
"It would be my pleasure." He picked up the instrument and returned to his chair. The way he cradled the shaped wood in his hands reminded me of a man handling his lover. Long graceful fingers skimmed over the varnish as they moved up to the neck and across the front of the body. He only took a couple moments to tune the mandolin to his ear. He looked to me before beginning.
I have very little skill when it comes to creating anything musical but I have a lot of appreciation for those who can. Within my travels I have heard many styles from many instruments, but I have never responded to music the way I did to this mandolin and its master.
He coaxed the sound out from the strings with gentle touches. Soft, quiet notes rose into the air, gentle and comforting. He layered a harmony with the melody, building up the sound with joy and bliss. I was reminded of happy points in my childhood as the song frolicked and drifted through pleasant riffs and scales. The song then dove into heartbreak and loss. The strings grieved with mournful notes. As high as my spirits were, they now sunk as low. I actually felt the pricks of tears stinging my eyes before the song swung again. Rebellious and strong, bold notes broke forth in strife. They struggled for what was loss, fought to regain the peace and happiness promised at the beginning. My blood rushed as the music reminded me of similar moments when I had to fight for my life against the dangers of the road. I actually found myself at the edge of my seat as the song rose up and finally burst into triumph. Victory soared through the notes. My heart was full with emotion as the mandolin sang out.
The exaltation drifted down into quiet celebration. The battle was won and it was time to return home. I sunk back down into my chair as the music lulled me down from the rush. That honeyed tongue joined the mandolin. He accompanied the instrument without words, just lifting his voice with warm tenor tones. As I closed my eyes in order to enjoy the sound more, I felt a tear run down my cheek. Never before had I been brought to tears with a single song, but this one was incredible. Eventually the mandolin's strings still, but he continued to sing, voice shifting to a foreign language. It wasn't one I was familiar with despite my travels, but I didn't need to understand the words to understand their meaning. It was a summary of the journey that the instrument had guided through. Peace at first, then a great tragedy interrupts the tranquility leaving behind a loss that is reclaimed after a great struggle and an even greater victory, and then finishes with a triumphant return home still tinged by that tragedy.
I kept my eyes closed even after the last few notes disappeared into silence, trying to savor the beauty I had just experienced. When I open them, I was surprised to find my companion across the room, gently setting the mandolin back into the corner. I hadn't even heard him move.
I was staring at him as he turned back to me, his gold eyes soft as they matched mine. There was a brief small smile lingering on his lips that he tucked away very quickly. I felt honored to have seen it and desperately wanted to see it again, but his composure had returned.
"Are you hungry? I can have someone bring us food." He headed towards the door to do just that.
"Do you cook?"