I peeked out through the curtain. It was a full house. It usually was when Karlan conducted. I hoped some of them came to hear me. My reputation was growing and I knew I would look great in mynew tails. Nina had helped me pick them out and her taste was always excellent.

"Except in husbands," she used to say. "With all the good Poles out there, I had to marry a redneck rebel," She was teasing me about the fact that my father, in his time, had been a country fiddler,with a following on a local radio station.

"Look who’s talking," I would strike back. "Until I met you I thought all Poles were beer-guzzling bowlers."

"They are," she would admit, "until they hear a few notes of Chopin. Then they become instant royalty."

That’s where I got her nickname, my Polish Princess.

The concertmaster finished fine-tuning the strings. Karlan led the way onto the stage. I followed at a respectable distance. He mounted the podium, and when the applause subsided, nodded to the concertmaster and gave the downbeat. I waited for my entrance cue and hit the first note full on. TheAmati filled the hall with an amazing sound. It was my first outing with the instrument and it left nothing to be desired. I felt that this was one of those rare evenings when nothing could go wrong. The orchestra was at its best, Karlan was always great, and the audience was receptive.

I breathed a small prayer and concentrated on the intricate score. The music swelled and with it my spirits and all was well. Until the final movement. I was still fingering and bowing the Wieniawski, but that wasn’t what I heard. A medley of downhome country fiddling filled my ears. I knew Karlan would be furious, and threw him a glance. His beat was still right for the concerto, and the look on his face was one of extreme satisfaction. I looked out over the audience. They sat in rapt silence. Couldn’t they hear the primitive fiddling? Was I hallucinating? Had I lost my mind?

I knew the movement ended in a crescendo, and waited for the final note. There was a moment of silence, then an uproar. A few front row members of the audience took to their feet and immediately the rest rose in a standing ovation. It seemed no-one could see the stunned look on my face.

"I've never heard you in better form," Karlan whispered.

When the audience was again in control and three encores were over, I left the stage and headed toward the stage door. A thin man in a threadbare suit that may once have been fashionable stopped me.

"Scuse me for butting in," he said in a Southern drawl, "but I been a janitor here for twenty years and I never before heard down-home fiddlin’ in this place. I don’t know how you got them to let you do it, but I sure enjoyed it."

I shook his hand, stilled dazed, and went through the door.

The hotel limousine waited outside. The driver held the door for me, and closed it when I was seated. Nina was waiting, beautiful as ever, but the smile that always lit-up her face and brightened my life was missing.

"I’m afraid I have bad news," she said, after a moment of silence. "Your father passed away a short time ago. It happened so fast it wouldn’t have made any difference if you had been there. There was no time to say good-bye."

I put my arm around her and pulled her softness and her strength to me and kissed her on a moist cheek.

"He found a way," I told her, "He said good-bye."