From Where It Went Wrong

A woman

was holding a mandolin.

“Would you

play a little?”

Her fingers

settled on the strings.

One note.

Another note.

At the third

the sound went slightly wrong.

The woman's hand

came off the strings.

“I got it wrong.”

The woman

looked at me.

“Shall I start

from the beginning?”

“I'm listening.”

The woman

looked down at the strings.

Her fingers

moved again.

The next note

was a little softer.

Another note

came.

This time

the woman did not look at me.

One note passed,

and another passed.

I

painted the fingers on the strings.

The last note

trembled briefly.

The tip of my brush

trembled with it.

The woman's hand

was already

on the next string.