the
wings to make an announcement that there would be a slight delay, and
ask the audience to please wait a few moments. "Tell 'em a few jokes,"
I suggested as I dashed past. I didn't wait to hear what he said next,
but ran into the back, looking for the green room. I was certain
that's where she would have gone. I hoped they had a doctor handy.

In another minute or two, I was with Jenny and the infamous Mr. Rossi,
who had his arm around her waist and was consoling her in oily
whispers. She sat with her priceless viola set across her lap--well,
it was priceless enough to me, as I couldn't afford to buy another one
like it even if I sold both of my cars. Her bow had been snapped in
two and was draped across the viola, two pieces of splintered wood
dangling from white horsehair. She wept into the palm of one hand.

"Darling, are you OK?" I asked, rushing up to her. Mr. Rossi wisely
removed his roaming hand and stood back a few steps.

"I think I just sprained my ankle," she replied, but that was not the
uppermost thing on her mind. "Oh, Daddy--look at my bow!"

"Hey, we can get a new one," I told her, lifting it up. "I saw the way
you saved your viola," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "It was a
great maneuver!"

She didn't smile. "But... how am I going to _play_?"

I turned to Mr. Rossi. "Look, I'll take her to see a doctor, and..."

"NO!" Jenny screamed. "I have to go on! There are people waiting out
there!"

"Honey," I replied, "you have to see a doctor right away."

"Daddy--people paid _money_ to see me play tonight..." She started
crying again. "If I don't go on I'll be humiliated forever!"

Under his breath, Rossi was making ecstatic noises in a thick, and
quite ineffable, European accent. He sounded like a bad Italian wine
with a French label--bottled in Austria and shipped via the
Trans-Siberian Railway to Alaska where it was smuggled south on a
Canadian ship. "She eez a true artiste..."

Try as I might, I could not convince her to come away with me. She was
stubborn in that way--more stubborn than her mother had ever been. Mr.
Rossi was no help at all in the matter either: he seemed to agree with
her!

"But you can't stand up," I added, still trying to convince her.

"I'll sit," she replied curtly. Her tears had all dried up by then.

"Oh yais, eets no problaim," Mr. Rossi interjected, "we'll seemply yoos
ainuther baow." I shot him a look that shut him up immediately.

Je