“Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. I’ve been smoking cigarettes in the preparation-room and thinking this out. “I always get off here and lean over that rail for a bit. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. Auntie has taken the nails out of my palms, but the scars will always be there. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed.
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