Pathi never forgot the sight and sound of his first anxious interview with the singer. Pathi was still a young man at time, only a boy really, and not much of a boy at that. He was no scholar and he was no athlete. The girls didn't even notice him because he was small and, he thought, not very attractive. Pathi lived most of his life in his house in his mother's shadow, because he loved his mother very much. He liked to sit out of the way and listen to her when people came to talk to her. She talked to people very well, he thought.
He didn't always stay at home, however. He liked to take, once each day, the short walk around his neighborhood — the same route every day — to see if he could predict who he would see and what they would be doing. Pathi felt something strong for all of these people, his neighbors, and he liked to believe that, although he didn't speak to them, he was getting to know them a little better every day. His favorite neighbor was the singer who lived on the edge of the neighborhood, close to the river.
Kemu carried, as often as he could afford,
More rice in his lunch than he could eat
Kemu shared rice on those days
With his workers who had brought nothing to eat
Do you see why we love Kemu?
I will tell you why we love Kemu.
Three years ago when Pathi's father, Kemu, died, the singer sang a song for him, a song for dying. Pathi learned more about his father in that song than he had learned in all the years he lived with his father, watching him get up and go to work every day, watching him come home to sleep in the late evening. Ever since that day, ever since that song, Pathi had felt drawn to know more about people. He was getting to know them a little better every day.
"Excuse me, sir," Pathi said softly, his rarely-used voice catching in the dry fear of his throat. The singer was in a sweaty struggle to move a large rock across his garden.
"I am busy now, little friend," the singer panted. "Maybe you could come back later."
"Do you need help?" Pathi asked. At this the singer stopped his struggle and straightened his back with a groan, turning to look at Pathi.
"You're not much on the outside, little friend," he said. "What help can you offer me?" The old singer smiled as he said it and sat down with a sigh on the rock, wiping sweat from his forehead with the dirty skin of his forearm.
"How did you become a singer, sir?" Pathi asked, blushing as he did so and dropping his stinging eyes to the ground.
The singer, catching his breath, didn't answer right away. "If you want to be a singer," he said finally, "you have to sing songs. To sing songs, you must have songs to sing."
"Where do you get the songs?"
The singer put his hand over his eyes. "Songs come from your eyes, little friend. You have to open your eyes wide to be a singer. Are your eyes opened wide, little friend?"
"My name is Pathi," the boy said. "You sang a song for dying for my father."
"And now you want to be a singer," the old singer said plainly. Although some part of him had already known it, Pathi knew certainly, for the first time, that it really was true. "So, sing," the old man told him.
"Sing what?"
"You walk by here every day. You walk and your eyes seem to be open. Sing what you see when you walk."
Pathi had many songs about what he saw when he walked. He sang them to himself as he walked, but he didn't know if they were good songs. He thought a long time about what to sing and decided, instead, to sing a different song.
When my father, Kemu, was alive
My mother's hands and her voice were soft
Now her hands are rough
Now her voice is rough
When my father, Kemu, was alive
My mother stood tall and breathed well
Now her back is bent
Now she wheezes and coughs
Pathi stopped, unable to sing the rest. A lump came up in his throat and the old singer knew why. "It is a good song," the old singer said softly.
"Is it?" Pathi tried to say, but his voice wouldn't really come out.
"It is a song for dying," the old singer said plainly. Although some part of him had already known it, Pathi knew certainly, for the first time, that it really was true. His mother was dying. Pathi began shake with noiseless sobs. The old singer, tears in his eyes, reached out and took the new singer in his arms.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Love.
