The bass player moved his fingers with ease along his instrument. Sounds from the four violinists as they rehearsed all the different parts filled the cold air of the room with confusion. The drummer explained what they were to rehearse for the concert the next day. And there he sat amidst it all, the congero, with his gray Billabong cap, his beige t-shirt, and his black jeans. His eyes looked deeply into himself, into a place no one else could reach. Silence . . .

"OK, let's start this!" was the order given by the drummer to all of them.. "Remember what I was talking to you about," he then said to the bass player.

Yet there he sat, silent as usual. The congero simply looked around at the rest as they got ready, as if he knew them as much or even better than they knew themselves. Silence is of course a great learning tool. In his silence he must have observed and heard so many things about all of them. Including her, the spectator. His silence must have read her eyes. It was impossible to ignore. None of the others had a clue, but he knew. She could see he knew. His eyes had tolde her too. She, the one who was never quiet, but knew everything that was happening to everyone . . . He, the silent one whose eyes reflected the wisdom of the world as well . . .

Oh no! What had she done just now? If he hadn't noticed before, he now knew for sure. She had stared at him and recklessly held his gaze, which, though returned for a couple of seconds that seemed like an eternity, he had turned away quickly. She saw the quick change in the expression of his eyes. It was over.