(BELLA)
He holds the passenger door of his shiny new Volvo open for me, but when I'm seated inside, he doesn't close it at once. Instead he keeps standing there, gripping the door handle, and frowns down at me.
I want to ask him what's going on, but before I get a chance, he snaps out of whatever internal debate he's having and gives me an apologetic look.
"Bella, is it ok if we don't talk while I'm driving?"
"Sure," I answer, and his relief is palpable.
I have a feeling that Edward won't be up for much more conversation for quite a while. Even though everything went pretty well with Tanya, it must have been a 'Close Encounters of the Third Kind' sort of thing for him. It has clearly worn him out.
"Don't worry," he says, still frowning.
"I won't," I say, puzzled at his cryptic comment. "What could I possibly worry about?"
"Me talking? Your lunch? I don't know..."
Even that concise reply seems to strain him right now; it sounds more like a question, as if he's suddenly uncertain about the whole situation. He did so well at the drugstore, it was easy to forget that he's not comfortable with meeting new people, especially without warning... and I have trouble keeping up with Tanya's filthy wit sometimes myself, at that!
Admittedly, I can't imagine why Edward would think my lunch could be an issue, but right now is not the time for any inquiry on that part. Right now he needs a break, so I keep it short and sweet.
"I'm not worried," I assure him again, simple as that.
It works. He nods his head and smiles at me timidly before he finally closes the passenger door and darts around the car at an almost unnatural speed.
"I'll make sure you get something to eat," he mumbles as he pulls out of the parking space, and that's the last thing spoken for the entire ride.
I have no idea where we're heading; he didn't tell me and I'm not going to ask now. He is a good driver, calm and circumspect – as long as he doesn't have to talk. When we take a turn to the left and leave East Lauridson Boulevard, I lean back in my seat and look out of the side window.
I usually don't get around much in Port Angeles. I go to work and back home on the bus, and shopping 's not an issue either. For everything not available at Denali's, there's a grocery store in immediate vicinity of my place. I don't regret leaving the car to Jake. During our marriage, he had monopolized it most of the time anyway, so I rarely ever got to drive anywhere. I don't miss that old ride at all.
But fact is that I didn't go out much. After only two more turns, I don't recognize any streets or houses anymore. I've never been here. I smile to myself at the sight of all those age-worn boats leaning against patient garage walls or slowly sinking into the dirt under make-shift wooden shelters. Everyone in this part of the town seems to own a boat, even though most of those crockleshells look like they haven't seen any water in ages.
When Edward pulls over after just a few minutes and shuts down the engine, I turn to look at him. He appears to have relaxed a great deal during the short ride; the crease between his brows has smoothed out and a small smile is playing around the corners of his mouth.
"We're here," he says.
I glance around, looking for... I don't know, some place to eat maybe. But I can't spot anything even close to a diner or a restaurant. There are just a few homes, standing wide-apart from each other. Some of them very much need a paint-job, but the front lawns are mowed and tidy. It's a typical working-class neighborhood, and the street is pretty quiet at this time of the day.
I raise my brows quizzically at Edward. He looks excited, a little cocky even.
"Okay," I sigh in surrender. "You gotta give me some answers."
He tilts his head and slightly squints his eyes as if considering carefully and says, "Yes... no... to the other side... a wrest..."
I gape at him. He is obviously... teasing me? I don't think I've seen him like that yet. But strangely, I also get a weird sense of déjà vu, as if I've had this kind of conversation before. Or maybe it was a dialogue in some movie I'd seen? I don't know...
Misreading my puzzled expression, he starts to elaborate, "A wrest is a special tool you need..."
"I didn't want to know how to tune a piano," I cut in.
"You knew that?" He seems genuinely surprised.
"I'm not only reading Tanya's 'InTouch' magazines, you know," I retort, a little snippier than intended. "So what were you talking about just now... yes, no, other side and else?"
"You wanted me to give you some answers," he shrugs.
He is clearly enjoying keeping me in suspense; this is fun. I decide to play along to see more of cheeky Little Green.
"Yeah, right. You win, I'm curious now. So what did you think were my questions?"
His playful grin is in full force now. Also, his chatterbox skills have recovered remarkably well during the short drive. Counting them down with his fingers, he rattles off questions and answers. He's even using different voices, taking turns doing a pretty convincing Bella-impersonation and speaking in his own velvet lilt.
"This is where you wanted to take me?" Then in his own voice again, "Yes." - "Are we going to eat here? No." - "So where are we going then? Otherside of the street." - "What for? To get a wrest."
And with that he opens the door and gracefully winds himself out of the driver seat. Again he is at the passenger side of the Volvo so quickly that I don't get a chance to exit the car on my own. I take the hand he is offering me, but instead of just gallantly helping me up like I expected, he pulls me close and into his arms as soon as I am standing.
"I was just kidding with you," he whispers against my temple. "Did you catch it?"
Oh hello, goose bumps! "Certainly..." I breathe.
His hand is caressing the nape of my neck, his lips brushing my cheek. "Did you like it?"
"Yes, you're good at kidding," I confirm. "For a moment I thought you might have caught the Tanya bug."
"Tanya's cool. Funny. And smart." He pulls his head back and looks at me thoughtfully. "She's not always just kidding, you know."
"She's a good person. It's just hard to tell at times whether she's serious or not, right?"
He shakes his head. "It's a bit of a challenge, but I like that she's not acting differently with me. It makes me feel less... different. Besides, she gave me a clue. It will be easier from now on."
"A clue?"
"Yes. If she's serious, she calls me Edward instead of Eddie, so I will know it's not a joke."
"Wow, I wish she'd give me a clue like that, too." I laugh. "That's really nice of her."
"And smart."
"Yes, that too." I smile. I think I like Tanya even more now.
"I want to kiss you, Bella," Edward suddenly says. "Appropriate?"
Oh, totally!
Instead of an answer I press my mouth on his. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss and his long fingers rake through my hair and cup the back of my head. I feel that familiar liquid heat wash through me immediately, head to toe, and I whimper into his mouth. I can't help it; this is just the way it is with Little Green.
Too soon for my liking, he breaks the kiss and says, "You must be hungry."
Jesus, you have no idea...!
"Let's go and get the wrest. Then we'll find some place to eat, okay?"
Oh... eat. Yes, I'm hungry for food, too, I guess.
He takes my hand and leads me across the street. It's only when he stops in front of one of the smaller brick houses that I notice the inconspicuous shop sign at the door:
~ VOLTURI VIOLINS ~
The sound of a small bell, strategically fixed above the door, greets us when we enter the shop. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light inside, but then I find myself in a little wonderland. What looked like just one of those family homes from the outside, is harboring the kind of enchanted, antique place you might find described in an old bedtime story... you know, where the shopkeepers seem odd until you find out they're actually wizards or something.
The room is crammed full of musical treasures, mainly stringed instruments... violins, cellos, guitars, nothing but beautifully crafted, old-fashioned instruments. They're hanging on the walls and from the ceiling, tightly packed. Some are resting in stands on the floor, surrounded by hand drums and wooden boxes full of small percussion instruments and all kinds of rattle-and-jingle stuff. An intimidating double bass is towering above it all in the center of the room, its only serious competition the black baby grand standing next to it.
Everything in this tiny universe of its own is shiny surfaces and elegant curves, and every item oozes tradition and awe-inspiring craftsmanship. Strangely, this place that holds the promise of symphonies and other sonic sensations, is eerily quite, except for the ticking of a huge antique wall clock.
I look up at Edward and find him smiling blissfully. "Marvelous, isn't it?" he whispers.
A voice from somewhere in the back calls out, "Just a second, please. I'll be right with you."
I almost expect someone in white tie and tailcoat to appear, a violin in the left hand and a fiddle stick in the right, ready to serenade their customers. But the first thing that comes into sight, when the curtain in the backroom door parts, is a blond Mohawk and a bright smile.
I involuntarily start counting the piercings that adorn the ears as well as certain facial areas of this otherwise extremely handsome young man who seems to belong anywhere but here. His entire appearance, from the worn biker boots and shredded blue jeans to the band shirt, screams Rock 'n Roll. Or Punk. Or whatever... But his face is young and boyish with those bright blue eyes and warm smile, cute dimples and all.
"Hello," he greets us cheerfully. "My name's Jazz; how can I help you guys?"
Edward isn't smiling any more. All of a sudden he is back to stiff posture and furrowed brows.
"Hello... Jazz," he says intently. "I would like to buy a wrest, please."
I almost forgot that his happy, easy-going persona is really just a precious gift reserved for me. Edward doesn't exactly look uncomfortable talking to a stranger, but he is reeling off his social behavior like reading his lines from a script. He is being polite again, not really making any connection with the friendly guy in front of us. Once again, I marvel at how well things went with him and Tanya. Until just now, I hadn't realized how exceptional that was.
I think this is the first time I really perceive the way he's acting in a situation like this. One could easily confuse his aloof attitude with arrogance, I guess, even though nothing could be further from the truth.
However, Jazz doesn't take offense or show the tiniest sign that he even notices anything unusual about Edward's demeanor.
"Piano tuning, huh?" he says, regarding his uptight customer thoughtfully. "Wow... wouldn't have thought you'd do it yourself. Don't you guys have personal staff for stuff like that?"
Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Edward's face remains unreadable, as he simply answers, "No."
The two men look at each other in silence - Edward fixating on his favorite safe spot; that Jazz guy still blatantly gazing. After a few seconds his dimples deepen and the million-dollar smile is back in full force.
"Well," he says, "I guess they're down-sizing everywhere these days. Anyway, I'm not sure whether we have such a thing for sale. Let me ask the boss, okay?"
Edward gives a brief nod. "Yes, please."
Jazz turns on his heels, granting us a glimpse of his right butt cheek peeking through an XXL rip in his jeans, and slips through the curtain.
"Okay, that was weird," I say. "Do you know that guy?"
Edward shakes his head no, just like I expected. I mean, he hasn't been here in years. And how did he know about this place anyway? It's not like there's a neon sign flashing the words 'music store' outside. Maybe Jazz has just confused Edward with someone else.
I'm kicked out of my musings when the curtains part once more and an elder man appears, young Jazz in tow. I suppose, this must be Mr. Volturi Violins in the flesh.
"Buongiorno!" he says in a musical voice, confirming my suspicion. He is a small but wiry man with olive skin and oily hair, which is still thick and jet-black, even though I reckon him to be in his sixties. The countless wrinkles in his face, mainly laugh lines as it seems, increase as his eyes fall on Little Green, and he smiles up at him so warmly as if he's just found the prodigal son.
Things get even weirder when Jazz leans forward and whispers into the man's ear, "It's him, right? Told you, it's him."
Mr. Volturi clutches his own chest in a typical Italo-dramatic gesture.
"Edward?" he breathes. "Is that you?"
.
.
.
(PORT ANGELES, MAY 2005)
"As you can see, I have a variety of guitars to choose from. If you want to try a few and play a little, feel free to look around," Aro Volturi told the elegant lady who stood awkwardly in front of the low, glass cabinet that served as his counter desk. From time to time, she threw a glance over her shoulder as if to make sure that there was an emergency exit... just in case.
Aro smirked at her. He was a luthier with heart and soul, and he knew that the masterpieces he had created with his hands sometimes had that effect on people.
"But you know," he winked at the woman, "sometimes it's more like the instrument chooses you instead of the other way round. And these little beauties here often tend to be pretty stubborn; they'll feel if you don't love to play them, if you don't really love the music."
"Oh no," Esme said. "I'm not looking for myself. I want a guitar for my son, Edward."
Once again, she nervously looked at the front window behind her. Aro started to wonder if she was being persecuted. She seemed to be checking for a tail... maybe she had just robbed a bank or something? His handcrafted instruments came at a price, that's for sure, but they weren'tthat expensive!
"His teacher thinks that he might have some musical talent and she suggested having an instrument or two in the house, so they are at his disposal. We just want to see if it is something he would like to try."
Aro frowned. He didn't like where this was going. However, his first impression of this woman was not that of the usual over-ambitious mother who forces her kids into doing something they don't really want, just to impress the other members of her Tuesday bridge circle.
"So the kid doesn't play any instrument yet?"
"No," Esme admitted. "But..."
"And this was his teacher's idea, not his own?"
"Yes... no! I believe he would like to play though."
Esme found the man intimidating; she almost regretted coming here. However, the idea that music might help Edward improve had sounded so convincing. But maybe she should have gone to one of those big stores in Seattle instead of this secret hideout.
"Well, if your son wants to play the guitar, I think it would be best if you bring him here and let him pick his instrument himself," Aro suggested politely but firmly. If the bambino appeared to not really be into it, Aro would simply refuse to sell anything to his mother.
That's how I roll, he thought to himself; none of my beauties will ever help torture an unsuspecting kid. If you love Regina Musica, then she will love you back and protect you when times get rough. But your heart must speak to you; you can't force it, or else the portal to this magic world might close forever.
"That's what I was planning on," Esme said, a little desperately. "He is here, but..."
Once more she looked back over her shoulder, and this time Aro followed her gaze and saw the boy standing outside. The kid was looking down at his shoes, hands in his pockets and shoulders almost pulled up to his ears, as if he was sulking.
"Ahhh..." Aro said softly.
Esme was agitated now. "Listen," she addressed the rebellious Italian shopkeeper, "my son is... Edward is a bit different, okay? He has special needs, like... you know, communicating is really tough for him, but we know he has it in him. We think... we hope that music will help him to express himself. So if you could just help me to find the right instrument, I would be very grateful indeed."
"I see," Aro mumbled thoughtfully, impressed by her barely contained temper. This woman really cared for her child. Instinto materno...ammirabile! If her son was at all passionate like her but just unable to let it out, music might indeed be his catalyst.
"So let him come in," he said, not averting his gaze from the tightly wound boy outside.
"That's the problem," Esme sighed. "He won't come in. I tried, but he just... won't."
They both watched Edward for a few moments. He seemed to be completely unmoving, but Aro noticed that every now and then those long lashes would flutter – then the boy's eyes would dart around, scanning what's behind the glass, and his shoulders would twitch for the briefest moment before he cast his eyes down again.
"Oh, I think he will," Aro replied confidently. "La musica lo chiama. The music is calling out to him... something inside here is calling out to him. Attenzione!"
He slowly walked to the front door and opened it as if to let some air into the room. Without even so much as turning his head in Edward's direction, he returned to his place behind the cabinet.
Leaning on his elbows on the glass surface, he pointed his chin towards the collection of wind instruments inside and said softly, "Why don't we take a look at these flutes for a while instead of making your son more nervous than necessary, Mrs..."
"Cullen," Esme introduced herself to the odd salesman.
"Pleased to meet you, Signora Cullen. I'm Aro Volturi. How do you like the one all the way to the left, the flauto dolce here? Isn't she a beauty? It's a Moeck flute, a very old German manufacturer."
Esme stared at him incredulously; was he serious? She couldn't admire his flutes right now, and she couldn't care less if some hermit in the German Alps had carved that thing out of his own wooden leg. She needed to keep an eye on Edward, for Christ's sake! What if he decided to take a walk, or someone came along the street and he panicked or something? Her head twitched into the direction of the window.
"Don't. Look!" Aro stage-whispered, effectively making Esme freeze. "He's coming inside."
Edward stood in the door, finally able to let his eyes roam freely. He was very glad that Esme had found something else to focus on. He didn't like to be watched all the time. Sometimes, her protectiveness was like a narrow cage that made it impossible for him to move or do anything. It was as if she was literally waiting for him to do something weird or silly.
The funny thing was, if she watched him like that long enough, most of the time he did something weird in the end. Edward was relieved that the old man had distracted her in time before it happened again.
He knew why Esme had brought him here. It had scared him when she told him she wanted to buy a musical instrument, most likely a guitar, because 'it's a good instrument for beginners.' It would be nice to have some musical instrument in the house, she had said.
But Edward wasn't dumb. He knew what she was planning on, and he felt pressurized. Even though he liked music and was intrigued by the idea of an instrument that could lend its 'voice' to him, he didn't want to have just another thing in his life that would add one more proof to his long list of failures. What if the guitar didn't obey his fingers? What if music failed him just like words still did?
He'd come a long way since the day the dog attacked the most important person in his world. He would answer yes-or-no questions, tell Esme whether he was hungry or not, and even report little things from school. He said hello and good-bye, please and thanks. But he couldn't voice any of his deeper thoughts to save his life.
He knew the words, but they were somehow stuck inside. They fought to stay inside of him with claws and teeth; sometimes it felt like they would rip him open on the inside if he tried to force them out. Except for when he was alone with Easybella; with her he could have talked freely. However, he never did, because talking just wasn't necessary with Easybella – she understood him without words.
"La musica ti chiama, no?" a soft voice behind him spoke. Edward didn't turn around. He knew it was the old man, the owner of this shop. Even though Edward didn't know the words, he found their melodic sound very soothing. He nodded his head, in spite of himself, and thought,yes...lamusica lamusica...I think the music likes me. I like music, too.
This place was full of unplayed, unheard music. But Edward could hear the music. It was everywhere around him, trying to find a way inside of him. Or maybe it was the other way round... maybe music had always been inside of him and this place made it want to come out finally. Edward couldn't tell.
"Do you see something you like, ragazzo?" Aro stepped in front of Edward and gestured to the row of concert guitars on the wall. "It's not forbidden to touch these pretty ladies here. If one of them calls your name, let me know. I'll get her down for you."
Edward just stared blankly at the instruments. He couldn't hear a call or anything else from them. But maybe that was just because the music in his mind grew louder by the minute.
"Your mother and I were just looking at some beautiful flutes. Maybe you'd like to take a look, too? They are over there in the cabinet."
Edward turned his head to see where the man was pointing. Encouraged by the boy's reaction, Aro walked over to where Esme was still standing, marveling at the way her son seemed to have some sort of communication with a perfect stranger.
It was only when he heard the sound of a single piano key struck behind him, that Aro noticed the boy hadn't followed him. He turned around to see Edward standing in front of the old baby grand, with his hands behind his back. His mouth was open and he was breathing loudly, as if the fact that he had elicited a sound from the big black thing in front of him scared him to death.
Aro quickly snatched his old piano stool from the backroom where he had used it as he tuned cellos. He carried it over to the piano and left it there with a quiet, "Prego, bambino."
Edward didn't sit down at once; he found the keys were at a comfortable height as it was. But he figured, by offering a chair to him, the man obviously wanted him to know it was alright to touch the big piano, too. So he brought his hands forward again and lifted them above the keys.
Because here's the thing: that single note he had just played had lit up in his head like a firefly at night. He really, really wanted to do it again.
Reluctantly, he stroke the same key once more, and there it was – a golden light in his head, illuminating a certain point in the three-dimensional grid that was the music playing only in his mind. He knew exactly where this light was positioned, even when it was off. He was also aware of the hundreds of other spots in this grid; he just hadn't known that they could be turned on like little lamps.
Excitedly, he pressed another key. The light in his head flashed exactly where he knew it would, but this time it was of a deep purple. A small laugh escaped him unwittingly. He raised his other hand, too, and played both the golden and the purple sounds simultaneously, with a little more force. The colored dots lit up brightly, and they seemed to reach out to each other with glimmering straight lines.
Edward watched his inner visions in awe, with his hands hovering over the keyboard, until the sound had completely died down and the lights and colors had faded to grey again. He gave a loud moan and eagerly climbed onto the piano stool. Totally oblivious now of his two spectators, he started to play a melody. He played it single-handed; his left hand rested limply in his lap. And he played it fluently.
Esme and Aro watched the spectacle with bated breath. Little did they know about the luminescent chain reaction unfolding in the boy's mind. He had closed his eyes, and they could see his eyeballs moving underneath the lids. They could see his body swaying like a willow tree in a breeze, but they knew his mind had gone somewhere else.
Esme recognized the melody he was playing; she had heard Bella sing it a few times on those days when Edward wouldn't go to bed unless Bella agreed to stay by his side until he fell asleep. It was something about a little green and northern lights... yes, that was it. 'Little Green'. A sweet song.
And now he played it by heart. As if that wasn't astounding enough, Edward raised his left hand too, and built a harmonic counterpart on the lower keys, with even a few broken chords thrown in.
All three persons in the room gasped in unison - Esme and Aro because they simply couldn't believe what they were seeing and hearing, and Edward because the fireworks that went off in his head with the musical harmonies he created was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"È incredibile..." Aro whispered and surreptitiously wiped away the single tear that had run down his cheek. "You didn't know that, did you?"
Esme shook her head; she couldn't speak right now. She was mesmerized by the way those delicate fingers danced over the keys as if it was something they always had wanted to do. How Edward could do this was beyond her, but she was beguiled by the way her beautiful son lost himself in the music.
After a while, when she was certain that her voice wouldn't fail her, she turned to Mr. Volturi and said, "I need to buy a piano, don't you think? I need to buy it today!"
.
.
.
(BELLA)
I have no fucking idea what's going on here. The only thing I understand is, everyone seems to know who Edward is, even though he has just assured me that he's never met Jazz before. Mr. Volturi, however, is a different story.
Edward nods his head and says, "Buongiorno, Signor Volturi. Come sta?"
Mr. Volturi's eyes grow wide. He raises his arms and waves his hands as if he's seriously trying to lift off.
"Dio mio, parla Italiano!" he laughs. But then he suddenly stills. "No... aspetta – you are talking! You just talked to me!"
"Yes, I did," Edward says and smiles timidly. The difference between Edward meeting the old storekeeper and Edward meeting young Jazz is striking. He definitely knows the man, and even more, he likes him. And yeah, what the fuck, Edward speaks Italian?
"Signor Volturi, this is my girlfriend Bella," Edward introduces me. He raises our joined hands between us, maybe to emphasize the connection we have. His pride as he calls me his girlfriend is radiating off of him like warm sunbeams.
"Molto piacere, Signorina Bella!" Mr. Volturi takes my hand, but instead of shaking it he bends over and breathes a kiss on my knuckles. "And your name suits you, if I may say so. Una bella ragazza, indeed!"
"Thank you, Mr. Volturi," I answer, resisting the urge to wipe the back of my hand on my jeans.
"Ah please... call me Aro, both of you, per favore. And you already met Jasper, my charming but no-good handyman."
Jazz a.k.a. charming but no-good handyman Jasper grins and tips his Mohawk, apparently his substitute for the non-existent hat.
"It's so wonderful to see you, Edward, all grown up and healthy. And speaking, dio mio! I cannot wait for November, porca miseria! Your mother must be thrilled beyond measure! I'm so... we all are so proud of you!"
I'm still outwardly calm, but I swear I'll be going berserk any moment if I have to endure any more of Aro's audible exclamation marks without someone finally telling me what's going on. Also, it didn't escape me how Edward flinched at the mention of his mother.
Jazz leans down on one elbow on the glass cabinet and raises his right hand as if to give Edward a high five.
"I already got the tix, man. You're a celeb!"
Edward frowns at Jasper's palm, wondering what to do.
"Come on," Jazz chuckles, "gimme five!"
To my surprise, Edward does it. But he doesn't seem to like it, because now he's frowning at his own palm. I think I've had enough!
"Okay," I say, forcing a smile on my face to not let my irritation show. "Can someone please enlighten me? I'm a bit at a loss here... November? Celeb? Tickets?"
The two men look at me incredulously, you know, that too-bad-she-is-pretty-but-batshit-crazy kind of look. Then Jazz wordlessly shoves one of those leaflets that are lying at the side of the cabinet towards me and taps his index finger on it. There's a photo of a huge illuminated concert stage and very little text.
I take it and read. Then I read once more. And then, a third time. I read the words, but they make no sense to me at first. My brain needs a moment to follow...
...
"The Last Wonder of the World"
Friday, November 4, at 8pm
Benaroya Hall.
Downtown Seattle (3rd & Union)
Mateo Messina and Edward A. Cullen, composers
Anthony Spain, conductor
Northwest Symphony Orchestra
featuring piano soloist, Edward A. Cullen
The Last Wonder of the World is the Symphony Guild's
14th annual fundraising concert.
Join us in celebrating the enduring hope
and unbreakable spirit of the patients
at Seattle Children's Hospital
and in all of us.
...
What the...?
I'm rendered speechless.
Partly because this is just un-fucking-believably amazing! Partly because I feel ashamed for not knowing about this.
I realize I never even asked him what he was really doing; it never even crossed my mind to ask him just once about his plans, his graduation, his advances, his career... I mean, he already has a fucking career that everybody but me knows about!
What the hell was I thinking? I made love to him as a man, but unwittingly still pegged him as a boy without a life? I wasn't thinking at all, that's the problem. Or maybe I was just thinking with my lady parts. Oh, Little Green, notwithstanding all the love in my heart, I did so wrong by you...
I feel the heat rise to my cheeks with embarrassment and guilt as I raise my eyes to his face.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I whisper, crestfallen.
He smiles at me as if this is nothing, and shrugs.
"It just didn't came up, I guess."
Buongiorno! - Good morning!
bambino - small boy
Regina Musica - Queen Music
Instinto materno... ammirabile! - Motherly instinct... admirable!
La musica lo chiama. -T he music calls out to him.
Attenzione! - Attention!
flauto dolce - recorder (flute)
La musica ti chiama, no? - The music is calling you, right?
ragazzo - boy (kiddo)
Prego, bambino! - Here you go, kiddo!
È incredibile... - This is unbelievable...
Come sta? - How do you do?
Dio mio, parla Italiano! - Oh my God, he speaks italian!
Aspetta! - Wait!
Molto piacere - Very pleased (...to meet you)
una bella ragazza - a beautiful girl
Porca miseria! - Damn!
No comments:
Post a Comment