The first time I heard Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik I was a one person fan club of my big brother's high school string quartet. I never imagined I would one day arrange for it to be played at his memorial service.
Years later, when my brother died of AIDS, we gathered at chapel in New York City. A Julliard student string quartet were to play Eine Kline Nachtmusik. "We're grateful to play" said the young violinist, her eyes brimming with tears, "because so many of our classmates have died of AIDS and the school doesn't allow us to honor them." The quartet played their hearts out - for my brother and for their classmates whose names I don't know, their destinies woven together on the strands of music, of history, and of Mozart.
Music speaks when words can't, just as my photo of a Dia de los Muertos altar above resonates for more than one unknown violinist.
