He walked slowly among the pillars in the large and largely empty palace. Little by little, his ears began to pick up light trickling notes. Going towards the source of the sounds, he approached and passed under an ornately carved arch. Beyond it lay an immense rectangular pool, and across it, sat an old man in a hat.
On his slightly elevated left knee sat a guitar, its polished body glinting in the evening sun. The youngster paused, a hand on the wall of the arch. A passionate run of low notes stirred his heart. He began to walk, half in a trance, between more pillars, ornamented plants and finally arrived at the far edge of the long pool, directly opposite the sitting man.
The guitar player carried on his serenade, unfazed. The notes flew fast and furious, casting a spell which grew thicker with every ring from the guitar’s cedar body. The energy was irresistible, drawing the youngster ever closer. He was now at the corner of the rectangular pool. The guitarist’s right hand stirred from its rather passive position, the fingers curling up in turn to deliver a resounding rasguedo. The youngster’s eyes widened ever so slightly, his breath quickened. Another one rang out, resonating around the huge courtyard. The series of chords separated by a flurry of notes grew louder and louder, then the youngster arrived at the side of the guitarist.
His playing stopped abruptly, he looked up slowly. Looking the young man full in the face, he got his left foot off the small metal stool it was on. He got up, every movement full of deliberation. The guitar, grasped easily but securely by its neck in his calloused and thick fingered left hand was slowly brought up to a standing position. He held it up, wordless, offering it and his chair to the young man.
The young man’s face did not shift, nor his heart, in a state of drifting half-peace, half-wonder, nor his mind, completely empty of all thoughts. He accepted the guitar with his own spidery left hand, and took to the seat. Lifting the instrument to position, he brought up his right hand and began to play. The old man breathed deep and sighed, stroking his grey hair. Smiling a mouthless smile, his feet turned slowly round, and he headed back towards the arch.
Walking slowly among the pillars in the large and largely empty palace, little by little his ears were released by the allure of the slow, light trickling notes. It was a difficult walk, the music tugging at his heart’s strings to bring him back, but eventually, he was in the silence, slowly working his way down the empty stairs of the palace. The spell however, had not yet lifted. His face shifted not, nor his mind, nor his face, nor his heart; in a state of drifting half-peace, half-wonder.