18. The Record

People differ greatly in their characters and interests. Is it possible for people with entirely different characters and backgrounds to become great friends? Read the story and find the answer.

Fred Ames and I haven't much in common. I sometimes wonder why we are friends at all. Perhaps it is Fred's skill as a craftsman that I find so attractive. He's always busy making things. Everything he makes is so perfect that I sometimes feel a bit jealous of him. If I happen to mention that one of my books is so old and torn that I shall have to throw it away, Fred takes it home with him and returns it a few days later beautifully bound. If I knock over a vase and it is broken into a thousand pieces, Fred puts it together again in such a way that only an expert would see the difference.

My trouble is that I'm one of those hopelessly impractical and incurably lazy people. Outside my work at the office (which is dull enough, God knows), the only thing that interests me is listening to classical music. I have a big collection of records and all day long the only thing I can think about is when I am going to get home to listen to a new concerto.

I've often tried to get Fred interested in music. When I'm in the mood and would like to find someone to talk to (which isn't often, by the way), I always have Fred with me. I spend hours pointing out the beauties of a certain piece. I look at him as he's gazing at that little black statue of monkey I keep on the shelf and wonder if he's heard anything at all. When I look into those big, blue, expressionless eyes of his, I realize that he hasn't been listening to a word I've said. "I'd love to make a copy of that some day," he says and makes a sign that he is referring to the statue.

One Saturday afternoon I came home from work even earlier than usual. Getting home from work is one of the few things I'm good at. It's certainly the only time I ever hurry. But this day I left the office in an even greater hurry than usual. I had just bought a new recording of Schumann's piano concerto and I could hardly wait to listen to it.

I had already played the record twice over when Fred came in. Perhaps because of the effect the music had on me, I was more than usually pleased to see him. I started talking excitedly about the record: how perfect it was, how marvellous; how he just had to listen to it. He said nothing and after he had sat down, he asked me where the little black monkey had got to. I answered that the cleaner had knocked it off the shelf and I had thrown it away. "What a pity," Fred exclaimed.

After I had put the record on, I left the living-room to make some tea. I gave Fred strict instructions to listen to the music as I was sure he would like it.

It took me some time to get the tea ready, and when I returned with a tray, the second movement had just begun. I immediately started singing loudly and did not stop till the movement had come to an end. Then I remembered that I wanted Fred to listen to the concerto, not to my remarkable version of it, so I kept quiet.

Later, when I took the tea things out, I could not help thinking that there had been a different expression on Fred's face this time. His eyes had lit up in a curious way. He looked as if he had just discovered something. Once he even smiled to himself. He had been listening!

I got back to the living-room to find Fred holding the record in his hands. It was so strange to see such a delicate object in his big, rough hands that for a moment I felt like telling him to be careful. But I was too pleased with myself to do that.

"Did you enjoy it?" I asked eagerly.

"Oh, yes ... yes." he answered vaguely.

I don't know what came over me, but at that moment I said, "Well, you can have it."

Fred was astonished. "What, the record? No, I couldn't," he answered, "You've only just ... "

"Go on, take it!" I insisted.

"Well, thanks very much. I will."

A few days later Fred arrived with a little box under his arm. He gave it to me smiling as soon as he came in. "A little present," he said.

When I opened it, I was astonished to find an exact copy of the little monkey which my cleaner had broken.

"Did you make this, Fred?" I couldn't believe it and asked.

"Yes," answered Fred simply with a big smile all over his face.

"But however did you manage it?" I asked.

"Oh, it was quite easy really," Fred answered. "I got the idea from a magazine. You just melt down an old record and then you can mould it into any shape you like."

Simplified from Essay and Letter Writing, ed., L. G. Alexander,

Longman, 1965.