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Now the Special English Programme, American Stories.
(Music)
Our story this week is the Listener, it was writen by John Barry. Here is Shep O'Neal to tell you this story.
(Music)
Once there was a Czechoslovak violin player who lived in Sweden. His name was Rudolf. Some of his friends said he could not play the violin very well. He was too restless and travelled around too much. Rudolf did travel, that was true. He travelled about Scandinavia in a small boat stopping at small cities along the coast. Here he would give a violin concerts and earned money to buy food and clothes. If he found a person to play the piano with him, good. If not, he played music that did not need piano.
Once a twice, he felt to agree need to play music that needed piano, so he made them believe one was playing.
He would play complete saintnado for violin and piano with no piano in site.
One year, Rudolf sailed all the way out to Iceland. He began playing at different seaport cities all around the rocky coast. It was hard and difficult land. Yet, the people in those areas never forgot how to be kind and friendly to strangers. One day, Rudolf was sailing from one town to another. When the northeast sky turned black and threatening
A storm was blowing over Iceland. Rudolf was sailing near a dangerous rocky place and closed to for hours away.
The wind began to blow stronger. Rudolf was begining to feel trouble, then he saw a light house less than a kilometer's away. The light house was on a small rocky island surrounded by deep water. At the bottom of the light house was big heavy rocks. In one place, the rock seperated, there the water was calm, protected by the rocks. Rudolf tried to sail his boat into the calm place. At last he did, he tied the boat to metal ring that was stuck in the rocks. He began walking up the rocks towards the house. At the top of rocks was a man, his body was almost hid by the storm clouds that hung low over the light house.
"You are welcome." The man's voice thunder down the rocks louder than the noisy waves.
The light house man led Rudolf up the metal stairs. They went round and round to the top. They stopped on the third floor, there was a living room. The light house man became very busy preparing for the storm.
He had to make sure the great light on the top of light house would shine during the black storm. The light house man was very big. He had long great beard hanging from his chin. He moved around very slowly as if every move he made was carefully thought about before he made it. The light house was his world, small as it was. And he knew every inch of it. He did not talk very much. Words were not important to him, not as important as the forces he lived with all around him. He was kind and gentle, very different from the place he lived in where the wind blew the sea high and threw ships agaist the rocks. They shared supper of black bread and boiled potatoes, herring, cheese and hot tea.
Then the two men sat and studied each other. The storm struggled agaist the light house with thousands different noises. Rudolf offered the light house man some tobacco. The old man shook his head no and smiled little. To Rudolf, he seemed like the island strong as the rock the light house was built on. He needed nothing, nothing more than what he had in his light house.
He sat there gentle and quiet, his big hand resting on his knees. He was at peace.
Rudolf learned more about the old man. He was born in this very light house 23 years ago. His father had been the light house man before him. His mother, the only woman, he had ever known told him to read the Bible and read it every day. He had no other books. As a violin player, Rudolf had no time to read much either, but then he lived in the cities. He reached down and took out his violin which he liked so much.
"What do you make wiht that, sir?" The man asked.
For a moment, Rudolf thought the man was joking, but his face showed he was not. He did not look much interested in the violin itself but in the whole person of Rudolf, his violin and his work. Rudolf found it hard to believe that there was someone in the world who did not know what violin was. Yet he could not laugh. He felt small agaist the comb shining from the old man.
"I make music with it." He spoke in a voice not sure what he said.
"Music?" The old man said, not completely understanding. "I have never heard it, but I have never seen music."
"One does not see music, one hear it."
"Ahh, yes." The old man said and he looked at the violin player and gave him all the respect of great man.
Then something in the storm and the light house and the old man lifted Rodolf away from usual everyday feeling
He was filled with understanding and love. He was lifted to the world he had never known or felt. He wanted to play music that showed the power of fire and stars just for the old man, and with the storm and the wind to join him. He stood and played.
The moments passed. Moments that were days in the birth of fire and stars, moments of the struggle of all man and finally moments that showed the great mass of all humans' spirit.
Never before had Rudolf played with such power. Outside waves and winds beat the light house with giant hands.
Above the strong light through its life saving beings across the dark and angry seas.
Rudolf dropped his head to his chest, breathing hard. The Ocean threw its water over the land with the sound of many voices.
The old man sat without moving, his wide old hands resting on his knees. He thought about the storm outside. Music made by god. He thought of Rudolf and his music. Both were part of works of creature. Both were works of wonder.
He nodded his head and bended down, then turned to Rudolf. "Yes," He Said, "That is true."
You've heard the listener. It was writen by John Barry and first published in New World Writing April 1916. Your storyteller was Shep O'Neal. The producer was Lawan Davis. Listen again next week to hear another American Story told in Special English on the Voice of America. This is Susan Claud.