Damiano's Lute
Page 29
Saara had no time to reply to this unjust accusation, for Gaspare exploded. “But what he was, was the best! The very best in all of Italy and in France besides!
“For one year. One little year,” Gaspare concluded in a softer voice. He shrugged. “And that is it, I guess.
“I won’t see one like him again.” Gaspare gazed down at the blackened and meaningless flesh that had contained his friend, until the lights of pearl which were reflected even over that sunken cheek and dead hand caused him to raise his eyes.
He stalked over to Raphael. “Hey. Raphael. I can see you.”
The angel was taller than the boy. Slowly he smiled down at him and gently he extended his hand.
Gaspare took it less gently, in both of his. He did not return the smile. “You were supposed to give the plague to me, not him.”
The angel did not correct this version of the story.
“You got it wrong, so you owe me something,” Gaspare declared.
Still the angel made no denial, but gazed seriously into the laughable gooseberry eyes. Gaspare said to him, “Teach me the lute.”
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1984 by R.A. MacAvoy
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ISBN 978-1-4976-0279-3
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