Evening star., 1939-11-12
Il Short Story Complete in This Issue

ringlets on her forehead, and checked the i'm
pulse to throw it on the sofa. Instead she went
to the closet and laid it carefully on its little
wooden hat stand. She drew off her gloves,
pulled each finger separately until all wrinkles
We're gone, and laid them, palms together, be-
side the hat.
The letter still lay on a side table - the let
ter that had come before she went to the
Conservatory for the day IS work She pickedit
up, then tossed it down again. 1t had done its
work, with its fine, spidery Spencerian script
that was as much part of Aunt Priscilla as
the mended lace at her lined throat. 1t was
calm but compelling reminder of the chaos Of
her childhood.
This brilliant cellist you call Josef Kocian,
her aunt had written, lis an artist. Your
father, my dear. was an artist, charming and
irresponsible. Have you forgotten being
dragged from one European pension to an
other? You. my dear, are the kind of woman
who needs husband who will care for his own
and put their welfare and happiness above his
talent, above anything in life. You say this
man has genius. Your father had genius and
he broke your mothers heart.
She crossed the room to the bay window
and looked down at the row of brownstone
fronts across the street where her friends, mu
sicians and artists, lived. She was proud OF
being the best studio accompanist at the Con-
servatory with more outside engagements
than she could possibly fill, and, since she had
to make her own living, she was glad to be
in music" She had inherited her fathers
musical facility, but not the fire of his genius.
Perhaps it was just as well. She was afraid of
genius: it was ruthless. 1t had no kindness.
Josef too was genius. That was why she was
leaving for Boston, for home. at the end of the
week and would not be back - not ever
Before you involve yourself too deeply
Aunt Priscilla had warned, "ask yourself. who
are his people?"
Who indeed are his people," Lucia Won
dered. Josef rarely spoke of his family, he was
so busy rushing from one enthusiasm to an
other. She knew vaguely that they ran some
sort of store in Delaware He spoke of them in
an atfectionate and oddly naive way as Papa
and Mama
4 EAKS RdtneIeu OIl IlcI udI Il ldSIlcS DIS Sic
glanced about the high ceilinged room that
had once been the acme of Victorian elegance.
In front of the ornate fireplace she had
listened to so many student condolences,
triumphant or despairing. She would miss the
passionate after concert arguments of Josef
and his fellow symphony players. Most of all
she would miss Josef - Josef who loved her
and had asked her to be his wife.
Familiar footsteps on the stairs outside
startled her. She had not planned on seeing
him until evening. She wanted to tell him Of
her decision calmly, dispassionately. without
tears or anger. There was no use pretending
not to be at home. There was an urgency in
his assault of the stairs. Perhaps his boyish
impulsiveness, or his ready temper had got
him into some kind of trouble. She flew to the
door. josef blond and six feet two, bounded
in violin case under his arm, wide grin on
his face.
"A surprise, sweetheart, a SURPRISE he
shouted and grabbed her with one strong arm
and danced her around in circles.
stop it," she gasped Josef, you fool. you
darling, can't you ever be serious?'
why should be serious: We're going to
celebrated Look what I've got!' He thrust
worn fiddle case of alligator at her. ~ ou know
that old bum told you about, whom Papa
took care of so long because he could play and
came from the same town in Austria?''
Yes" said Lucia.