Walking up the steps worn by time and used to admire the Danube again from an imposing old building, in Bratislava, I saw a young man playing flute in the distance.  His music enveloped the cool breeze that was blowing that morning, letting his foreign notes listen to attract tourists.  He wore a typical costume of the region and tried to cheer up the tourists;  I saw him as if he were a harlequin.  I could not help it, I stopped to listen to him, while the others walked indifferently, so I could perceive the emotion of him to see that someone was finally paying attention to him.  He played other pm, pdifferent “you and sizes; he looked like a child trying to ingratiate himself with me. Being so young, he had a look that reflected sadness, hopelessness; I started a conversation and when he found out my origin, he looked excitedly among his yellowed sheet music, the song” Maria Moñitos “by the Venezuelan composer, María Teresa Fuenmayor. My emotion was greater than hers, because I went back to my childhood, while listening to her. I suggested that she learn the song Caballo Viejo, from Uncle Simón. This young man, while playing his flute, he released his soul to the beat of the music, until it was time to say goodbye. We gave each other a tight hug, knowing it was the first and last; then, he stared into my eyes with a look so sad that it broke the soul into pieces , and his eyes seemed to tell me:

“Madam, I am a motionless harlequin with no future, take me with you.”

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