She told me her name was Elise and since her grandmother couldn’t afford to pay for lessons， she had learned to play by listening to the radio. She said she had started to play in church where she and her grandmother had to walk over two miles， and that she had then played in school， had won many awards and a music scholarship. She had married an attorney in Memphis and he had bought her a grand piano.
Something else entered my mind. “Look， Elise，” I asked， “May I ask you what kind of wood is your first piano made of， the one your grandmother bought you？”
“It’s red mahogany，” she said， “Why？”
I couldn’t speak.
Did she understand the significance of the red mahogany？ The unbelievable audacity of her grand-mother insisting on a red mahogany piano when no one in his right mind would have sold her a piano of any kind？ I think not.
And then did the old lady understand the marvelous accomplishment of that beautiful， terribly underprivileged child in the feed sack dress？ No， I’m sure she didn’t understand that either.
But I did， and my throat tightened.
Finally， I found my voice. “I just wondered，” I said. “I’m proud of you， but I have to go to my room.”
And I did have to go to my room， because men don’t like to be seen crying in public.
多年以前，我是聖路易斯市一家鋼琴公司的推銷員。那時我二十幾歲。
我們的廣告刊登在各小鎮的報紙上，在全州範圍內出售我們的鋼琴。當我們收到某個地方的足夠的定單時，會用小卡車把鋼琴送到定購鋼琴的人的家裏。
每次，在密蘇裏州東南部的棉花之鄉登廣告時，我們都會收到一份寫在明信片上的定單，大意是說：“請為我的小孫女送來一架鋼琴，一定要紅木的，我會每月用賣雞蛋的錢，付給你們10美圓。”這位老婦人在明信片上寫滿了字，還翻過來在正麵的四邊上也寫滿了字，以至於幾乎沒有地方寫地址了。