Yesterday, after arriving in Madrid, I knocked on a stranger's door. "I searched on the website. Will you give me lessons?" I asked. This was the reason I'd come to Spain. Because I once believed I was meant to be a female flamenco(弗拉门戈) guitarist.
Forty-five years ago, when I was two, my father also came to Madrid and knocked on strangers' doors. A well-known classical guitarist, he admired flamenco a lot, and in Spain he learnt from anyone willing to teach him. He approached performers in bars, made friends with street musicians and managed to study with Paco de Lucia, the greatest flamenco guitarist of our time.
I started playing classical guitar when I was five. My father's hands exploded across the strings like fireworks. I practised while he instructed and criticized. I played till I had sharp pain in my fingertips. By age seven, I was called a child genius.
Then, at 11, I quit. Heartbroken, my father distanced himself. Guiltily, I followed suit. Soon we spoke only when necessary. Our relationship didn't rebound until, in my early 200s, I found myself pulled back to guitar.
When I was in my early 30s, he got sick. Before he died a few years later, my father told me there were almost no female flamenco guitarists in the world. If I kept practising, I could be one of the first. I promised, and he left me his guitar. But after he died, I couldn't bear to play it. He'd spent so much time with his arms around that instrument, and it seemed an extension of his own body. Holding it gave my grief an unbearable tangibility(可触知). So for 13 years it sat mostly untouched, coming out only when my son Ellis begged to see it. He was careful with his grandfather's instrument in a way that made me want to pass it down to him-both the guitar and the music. Problem was, I couldn't really play anymore.
Now, Antonia is sitting with me in her living room, teaching me patiently. I have been here for only two days, and already my fingers hurt. It's a sharp pain, like when a fallen-asleep limb(肢体) returns to life. The feeling delights me. It means I'm doing something right.
