A Simple Song (Semi-Advanced)

The day was cold and windy, the low clouds overhead threatening rain. A dark-haired boy wearing a thin coat with patches on the elbows wove his way through the bustling crowds until he reached an empty street corner. There, he set down a case which looked about as old as his coat, and knelt to open it. From the case he took an old, worn violin and bow. He spent a moment tuning it, then stood and moved away from the edge of the sidewalk, placing the open case at his feet. He looked to the people passing by, took a deep breath, and began to play. A slow, sad tune lilted over the heads of the passing crowds. For hours he played, sending song after song out over the grey, dreary city, and yet when he looked down there were only a few coins in his case, a meager reward for his labors. The boy sighed, lifting the violin to his shoulder once more and beginning to play again, hoping for a more generous audience. A few rays of sunlight broke through the clouds and landed around him, yet would not illuminate the boy himself.

The boy's playing stopped, and he slowly lowered the violin. "Thank you, Miss," he answered, his words blurred by a thick accent. He glanced down at the violin case, then back up at her. "And thank you again, for your generosity." He knelt, scooping up the coins and tucking them into a pocket of his coat. Then, carefully, he put away his instrument, closed the case, and stood up again, looking over at the girl. "And thank you for the- the - what is the word? - the compliment, as well," he added. "I wish there were more who saw my playing that way. More often I am an annoyance, or should be in school, or should have a regular job, no? I wonder sometimes if more people take from the case of mine than give to it. I see many bend down, but when I look...almost no money. Such a thing is unusual, no?" He waved a hand, brushing away his words. "But I am complaining, and I should not. You have been kind. Thank you." He turned and began to walk away, his long coat fluttering a little in the wind, his head bent.

He heard the sound of someone crying and someone else shouting at her, and the violinist's heart was moved to pity. He saw the young woman crying in the street, and quietly he took the money from his coat pocket and handed it all to her. "Here, Miss. Do not cry. Take heart, and have hope. It is not always so bad as it seems." Without waiting for a reply, he moved back into the bustling crowd. The money had been the most he had earned all week, and he knew that without it, he would have no supper and no bed for the night. The violinist was used to such things, for most night had had to chose between one and the other. It showed, of course, for beneath the long coat his clothes hung loosely off his thin frame. Still, he said not a word of complaint, and instead continued down the street.

Quietly, the violinist made his way to a house on the edge of town. It was a nice enough house, if one ignored the broken window upstairs. With a sigh, he knocked on the door, which was opened by a tall, grey-haired woman with a cold expression. "Dmitri," she said darkly, staring down at him. "Did your job earn you anything today?"

He shook his head, his gaze downcast. "N- no, ma'am...but it is raining, and it will not stop tonight, and I have not eaten a decent meal for a week. Please let me in." He knew his pleading would not work, for it never had before, but he had to try. True to form, the door was slammed in his face, and he retreated with a sigh. The rain continued to come down, the drizzle changing to an outright rainstorm. The violinist - or Dmitri, as he had been called - made his way to a tall pine near the house. The case would protect his violin from the storm, he knew, so he leaned it up against the tree and huddled beside it, wrapped tightly in his coat and trying to stay as warm and dry as possible.

He looked up at the sound of her voice, eyes widening in surprise. "No, Miss Abigail, I have no place to stay the night. That house, the closest one...I stay there sometimes, but only when I have the money. It belongs to my aunt, and she charges for both meals and a room, and I rarely have the money for both. Today I could afford neither, for I have the money I earned to a young woman who seemed to need it more than I. But I am complaining again, no?" He stood and picked up his violin case. "My name is Dmitri Arefyev. If you are quite certain that it would be no inconvenience at that such a thing would be acceptable, then I think that I will accept your offer of a place to stay. I have no money at the moment, but tomorrow I can pay you for tonight. Would that be acceptable to you?" He pulled his coat a little more tightly around himself, glancing up at the sky. "We can discuss the terms of this later, no? For the moment, it is best that we make sure we are no longer in the storm."

He followed a few steps behind her, the rain slowly soaking through his coat and into his clothes. "I cannot lie, Miss Abigail. I am quite hungry, but I must insist that I pay something if I am to be given both food and shelter. My aunt, she tells me that nothing in this country is free, and since I am - how do you say it? - an...adult, I think the word is, I have to pay for what I want. If you do not accept money, then I ask that you find some other way for me to pay you, for I cannot take without paying." The storm had meant the night seemed to come far more quickly than normal, and much of the light had gone from the sky. In this dismal atmosphere, any stray bits of light that fell on Dmitri seemed only to highlight the thinness of his face and hands - the only parts of him that were not covered.

He offered the small boy a gentle smile. "Hello, Eric. As Miss Abigail said, my name is Dmitri, but I do not know if I will be staying for more than the night." He glanced over at Abigail as he said this, raising a single eyebrow. "I- I was not aware of any long term plans for me staying here, if there were any." He looked back to the girl when he heard her question, and shook his head. "I shall be satisfied with the potato soup. Please, do not feel the need to spend any money on me." He continued to stand a little awkwardly by the front door, unsure as to whether he was expected to take off his shoes and coat or not, and not wanting to accidentally make a mistake. Gingerly, he set down his violin case, sure that this could not be a breach of manners. To Eric, he added quietly, "That is a very cute kitten. May I hold him? I will be gentle, I promise."

Dmitri slid off his shoes but kept the coat on, sitting down gingerly beside Eric and gently holding the kitten. "Please, call me Dmitri," he said quietly, stroking the cat's head. "I do not know if Abigail would consider me a friend, for we have only just met today. She might have seen me before, though, because I am out on a street corner with my violin almost every day. It is not always the same street corner, but I am still out there. I do play the violin, but I do not know how much I could teach you in one night or if I am even good enough to teach. I do not always know the words that I am looking for...this language is still new to me. I- I suppose I could try, though, or at least I could play a little for you, so you might hear and judge for yourself whether or not you would want lessons of any sort from me." He broke off for a few moments to cough, covering his mouth as he did so.

He shrugged. "I know enough English to understand most things, but sometimes there is something I do not understand. I think they are called...expressions. I do not understand those, and sometimes there are words I have never heard before which you use all the time, and I do not know what they mean. I know what they should mean, but it sounds nothing like what it is supposed to. You used one right there, when you said I do not know a lot of English, but you used another word instead of 'do not'. What are those words?" He accepted the bowl of soup with a soft, "Thank you," but did not eat right away. Instead, he bent his head and murmured a soft prayer over the food before he took a tentative bite, then looked back at Eric. "I can try to teach you, but first I need to know if you have played or sung any music before, so I know how much you know." Dmitri looked toward the kitchen, hoping that Abigail would come out and eat with them.

He was quiet while they talked, hungrily eating the soup he had been given. When Abigail mentioned that he could sleep in Eric's room, though, Dmitri quickly shook his head. "I- I need not do that. I can sleep here, on your couch. It will not be a problem, really." Looking up at Abigail, he added, "The soup is very good. I do not want to sound like I am complaining, but I have not had a decent supper for about a week. Being able to eat something without worrying about how much it will cost is amazing. Did you decide what your price is going to be, though? I cannot stay here and not pay some price without having a guilty conscience." He leaned a little further back into the couch, happy that he was able to relax a bit. The kitten had curled up in his lap, and he was careful not to disturb it.