der. “You see, Son, don‘t you? There's no time. You owe it to me and to yourself to develope your greatness.” She smiled, and patted his shoulder. Nathan balled his hands into fists. He looked down at her eyes. He breathed with his lips clenched shut The smell of her face powder nauseated him. Finally he spoke. “Mother,| a ae don’t want to become _ pianist.” Nathan could feel something in his shoulder under her fingers. It felt like a once forgotten wound whose pain was now vividly remembered and barely felt. He stared at her, and his eyes had fringes of pain: “Mother, do | have to play the cus he pleaded. The vice of her fingers tightened into his shoulder. When she spoke, she bit each word after its last letter. Her voice remained harsh and steady. Her fingers jerked like a pi » “Yes, you must because I’ve given my vice into his shoulder. Her face tight-— life so that you could become great. ened into planes of powdered marble. Yor father gave up when he died, Her eyes widened until her eyelids but | didn’t. You'll be great someday. seemed to cringe behind the bones above her eyes. She stared at him, and her red rimmed eyes focused on a point behind his te Nathan closed his eyes. He remain- ed still and unmoving. Finally his lips moved. “Yes, Mother,” he whispered.