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Spreading the light
Sometimes, one is compelled to look twice. Suddenly, the eyes - though sharp of focus - cannot be trusted.
- By Kevin Martin
- Published: 23:04 April 22, 2009
Sometimes, one is compelled to look twice. Suddenly, the eyes - though sharp of focus - cannot be trusted. Such was the situation with the brothers. Dan aged 10, and Brad, older by exactly one conceptual term. Two pairs of disbelieving eyes, peeping from behind the glaze-tile shopping mall pillar.
So this is where he went on Saturdays. And Sundays, in all probability. In truth, it was not their eyes that made the initial discovery. Their ears had picked up the strains moments earlier. Dan had halted as though he'd literally walked into a pillar, his hand reaching out and arresting his brother's progress.
Listen, he insisted. And the two boys cocked their ears, sifting and filtering the notes of the song from the general hubbub of shopping mall sounds: muttered conversations, babies crying, the clatter of shopping carts over cobblestone in the square, a whistle that may be a bird. But above it, the sound of a guitar strumming. And their two hearts almost magically beating in time with excitement.
'It's dad!' Dan said, stating the obvious. 'He's busking!' added Brad, no less obvious with his observation.
Complex chords played with assured felicity. Complex vocal notes negotiated with a silken smoothness.
For about an hour, the boys stood mute, observing not just the singer and his song but the ones being sung to. The public. Good music is always arresting. They noted how even the busiest shoppers slowed their stride, however minimally, as they crossed the busker's path. Others dawdled within earshot, lit a cigarette in the open square, worked the metal lever on a can of coke, and when they were done and time did indeed press urgently on their daily agendas, reached into their pockets for some coins that were tossed into the open guitar case.
From time to time, similar to the ebb and flow of the tide, the square emptied almost entirely. A mere minute. But the busker, alert even as he continued to sing, ceased the strumming to lean across, reach into the guitar case and empty it of the coins therein, transferring them to the depths of the jacket's inside pocket. By the time the next 'wave' hit the open square, the plaintive notes of the singer were compelling enough for the impoverished case to be filled once more.
'Our pocket money!' exclaimed Brad, with sudden insight. 'Genius,' said Dan. Adding, 'Awesome!'
By the time the boys were 17 and 18 respectively, they too had mastered - via lessons from their cheerful single-parent, welder-working, mortgage-paying dad - the complexities of the guitar's fret board. As well as the complexities of managing a life with laughter. Naturally, the boys were equally well disposed to all and had developed a particularly keen eye for life around them, especially the hardship in others.
Shortly after finishing school, Brad joined an organisation that helped the needy. Dan, with the mellifluous voice and an innate aptitude for guitar playing, followed in his dad's footsteps, busking on the weekends. He was soon joined by a clarinet-playing classmate and they ended up playing a lot of jazz-influenced music. Every cent earned was turned over to Brad who, in turn, earmarked the money for a worthy cause.
The boys never really knew their mother. Their dad, on the other hand, was their hero. What they didn't know was that he had been brought up with an important 'principle' pasted on the wall of his room by his own father: 'There are two ways to spread light: be the candle; or be the mirror that reflects it'.
Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.
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