The Little Eleven Year Old Girl, Mary

The little eleven-year-old girl looked every day at the glass behind which the guitar had always shone, at least that she remembered. Together with the guitar, violins, cellos and other string instruments, she composed what was exhibited inside the store called: “CARLOTE E HIJOS”. Without anyone knowing, that girl sighed daily for the guitar of her dreams. She has always had a passion for that instrument and her teacher, Ricardo, was partly to blame for it.

One afternoon Carlote was perplexed to see how that girl was staring at the guitar; she was hypnotized, she didn't blink. The trance, from which he did not seem to return, sometimes lasted several minutes, without being affected by the deafening noise that the street full of shops emitted. From that day on, he had been watching her, admiring the way she spent her afternoons glued to her window. I could have sworn that the girl was conversing with the instrument. It became a spectacle for him, almost a routine.

He carefully analyzed her face, from which sad and self-absorbed eyes stood out, oblivious to the world around her. Sometimes they shone due to the effect of the tears they avoided shedding, other times they reflected nothing but sorrow. Her careless appearance together with excessive thinness completed a picture devoid of joy. Subtly, she would sit on the curb of the window and press her tiny nose to the glass, then she would become absorbed, almost paralyzed, looking at the instrument. Ella carlote she hid behind the curtains that led to the workshop, trying to understand the obsession of that girl.

It wasn't until the day she closed her eyes, letting herself fall on the glass, that Carlote reacted and intervened. He swung her around shaking her awake from her as she yelled at him:

– Little one, are you okay?, little one, do you hear me?, little one.

She looked at him and burst into tears, falling onto the craftsman's chest.

– What's wrong, are you sick, can I help you? tell me something please – she begged him while she tried to get the baby to answer her, but she didn't say anything, she just cried wiping her tears on the sleeve of her threadbare cardigan of a color that must have been red one day.

It was impossible to comfort her, wasn't it? she told herself as she took the girl in her arms and carried her inside the store. Without releasing her, she carefully removed the instruments that hindered access to the guitar and after taking it down from where she was in front of the glass, she offered it to him.

- You like?

She didn't even hear him, she was paralyzed. She surprisingly she went on to say:

- I give it to you, it's yours, just tell me what your name is.

He felt better thinking that he had just done a good deed, in short, the guitar was a piece of junk that had caused him many headaches and it would be very difficult to sell it. He wondered to what musician he could offer a guitar determined to go out of tune and whose strings broke so easily. She couldn't believe what was happening to her, she took the guitar and holding on to Carlote's neck she kissed him and said:

"Maria, thank you!" he jumped from her side as his face lit up with joy.

For a moment he felt that the guitar was in the right hands, it was as if everything fell into place and there was a reason for everything. Suddenly he told her:

—Take good care of it, it has character, it's a rebellious guitar, I've dedicated many years of my life to it. She is as stubborn as an old mule, I tell you that I know her well. He spoke of her as if she were her girlfriend or her wife, a woman he didn't get along with but he adored. The first day he saw the girl by the window he understood that he had to let her go, that her part in that story had ended, —everything flows—he said to himself.

–Surely you will know how to make it sound –He was not able to explain why, but he felt that she could achieve it, he felt happy and upset at the same time, he was letting go of what was going to be his retirement and the trip of his dreams.

What he felt when he first held her in his hands he would never forget as long as he lived, nor the infinity of sensations he felt. She felt surrounded by a ragged crowd whispering incomprehensible phrases. She did not recognize her place, her foliage intimidated her, she could hardly move among so much vegetation. The pleasant sensation of well-being of her made her rise, float high up taking a vantage point so that she was able to get an idea of ​​the immensity of the place. She was not afraid, she was peace, an immense peace flooding every cell of her organism, breaking it down and passing through every portion of her tiny body. She got carried away, she couldn't do anything else, she had no control over anything. The smell of wood penetrated her lungs almost collapsing her breath, it was not a painful sensation despite the difficulties in breathing. When she realized she was lying on a huge wooden surface that welcomed her as her mother did when she rocked her in her arms. Some guitar chords accompanied her to come back to herself.

He learned to play, not taking long to discover that the notes that came from the guitar had something else to say. He began to practice and discovered that he had a gift for music that he did not know, or perhaps it was something else? They showed very agile in a short time. When he played he relaxed so that the music in his head passed directly to his fingers, involuntary interpreters of sometimes melancholy melodies. She was not the owner of her senses, her instrument induced her to a state of semi-unconsciousness where the music merged with strange visions that she could not understand but that became daily by dint of repeating itself in her head. her. She saw a new ship, huge and very luxurious abandoned in a dock crowded with rusty boats, other times they were exotic places where nature configured whimsical shapes and trees covered everything, I saw silhouettes of children they looked like a group but I didn't know what meaning to give to all of it. The gift became more and more evident, it was impossible to hide the guitar skills of that girl, capable of interpreting any score, no matter how complex it was, to perfection. She started to stand out and it was her teacher who decided that she should show her talent. It was impossible to hide the guitar skills of that girl, capable of interpreting any score, no matter how complex, to perfection. She started to stand out and it was her teacher who decided that she should show her talent. It was impossible to hide the guitar skills of that girl, capable of interpreting any score, no matter how complex, to perfection. She started to stand out and it was her teacher who decided that she should show her talent.

"Maria, you don't understand, but this isn't something you should hide and hoard for yourself." Ricardo said slowly, he had thought about it for a long time before launching to talk to her.

—But Ricardo, I don't want to play for anyone, I feel happy when I'm alone and…—he stopped suddenly.

And what Maria? Continue say what you have to say.

-I have nothing else to say. She sentenced.

Ricardo knew perfectly well that something else was hidden behind his silence, but he did not dare to continue investigating.

—María you don't understand but your music is different, I've never heard anything like it, and I assure you that all my life I've been entirely dedicated to it. You shouldn't hide your talent, and most importantly, you should share your music, it's something exceptional and it will do a lot of people good, I feel it.

She remained silent, pondering what to say, for her they were very intimate moments, the magic that arose when playing made her escape from reality, as if she were moving to another dimension.

"I'll listen to you," he adored his master and knew he could trust him blindly.

Rumors about her music began to spread and the theaters were packed to listen to the child prodigy of the guitar. The fluidity and quality with which she composed fascinated teachers from all over the world who came to study the case in case there was some kind of deception. After months of monitoring they could not help but surrender to the little girl's virtuosity. The sounds of the guitar showed that music had power in itself, had the ability to vibrate the deepest tissues, altered moods and was of enormous beauty, there were even those who ventured to affirm that this music could heal the sick.

—Tell me the truth, Maria, Ricardo asked her again and again, how do you do it? —but she always looked at him and limited herself to shrugging her shoulders. He watched her carefully in case she caught sight of something but after a while and almost desperate she went home without her answer, the music gushed from her fingers in gushes from her.

Carlote also echoed his successes, incognito he witnessed his performances and although proud at first to feel part of it, he began to mumble ideas in his head about how to benefit from it. If it hadn't been for her intervention she would never have risen so high. That guitar was his work, he found the wood and he wasted his health building it, the long years dedicated to it had withered him physically and as payment he had nothing, he lost a great client and his fame was affected after the disaster with the guitar. She deserved a cut of the benefit, he would demand it.