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，我是圣路易斯市一家钢琴公司的推销员。那时我二十几岁。
我们的广告刊登在各小镇的报纸上，在全州范围内出售我们的钢琴。当我们收到某个地方的足够的定单时，会用小卡车把钢琴送到定购钢琴的人的家里。
每次，在密苏里州东南部的棉花之乡登广告时，我们都会收到一份写在明信片上的定单，大意是说：“请为我的小孙女送来一架钢琴，一定要红木的，我会每月用卖鸡蛋的钱，付给你们10美圆。”这位老妇人在明信片上写满了字，还翻过来在正面的四边上也写满了字，以至于几乎没有地方写地址了。