CLAIR DE LUNE'S
Part 3

In the ears of Clair-de-Lune, the music was full of longing—a longing so soft but stinging, that it could break his heart. The music seemed to be asking for something from him, which he himself wanted to give. But he didn't know what to ask for, and how to give it.

When Mr. Sparrow finally stopped playing, Clair-de-Lune's heart felt so full that for a moment he felt awakened from a magic, and felt that, when he opened his mouth, he would be able to speak.

First, in order to hear, he sat on the floor pretending to be busy with his shoe ribbon, tied it up and opened it again and again. But soon he forgot to pretend. As Mr. Sparrow continued to play, the more skilled he became, slowly releasing the tape, inching forward, standing up, and then stepping across the room toward the piano.

Tears welled up in her eyes; spilled and flowed down her cheeks. He stood at the side of the piano, bowed a little passionately, and

breathing as if wanting to talk.

But, Mr. Sparrow simply sat down, silent and quiet, staring at the piano; swept away in his own grief. A moment later, without realizing it

with the presence of Clair-de-Lune, he closed the piano. Then he got up, took his coat off the hanger, put his hand in his pocket, shoulders down, stepped towards the door and out.

For an instant, there was only silence within that long, dusty wooden space.

Clair-de-Lune stands frozen near the piano. He wanted to say thank you; and asked what music he was playing. Mr. Sparrow seems sad; he doesn't know anyone is listening. Clair-de-Lune was so eager to tell, just tell, that he existed, and he listened…

The room is empty. All have gone. Clair-de-Lune crawled into a dusty corner behind the piano, folded herself in her white workout dress, and began—no sound—cries as if her heart was breaking.

But there is nothing in this world that

completely silent; including the mute child. The cry of Clair-de-Lune was not without sound, it was just that it was so slow that only a mouse could hear it.

In the back corner of a large ballet practice room, the,

long, and dusty, there's a rat hole. And if there is a cat that can look into it, of course he will be surprised to see the scenery there.

The rat hole was a small imitation of the space that was outside of it. Along its walls lie mouse-size mirrors, which are attached to a mirror of solid powder that has been removed. Along both sides of the chamber there was a rat-sized barre made from toothpicks. At his side, in the first position, stood a mouse.

As soon as the music ended, he made a resounding salute move in front of his own reflection in the mirror. Then, with a neat, disciplined, and lithe gesture like a ballet dancer, he leaped up and down to the little chair in the corner of his mouse hole, where he placed his shabby towel. He dries sweat from his fur, folds the towel neatly, drapes it on the back of the chair, and wears his robe and scarf so that his muscles do not become cold and stiff and he does not get cold. Just now he was going to go looking for food, he heard the sound of crying.

The dancing rat pulled out his nose into the room

outside hole. Mustache moving. He needs to be careful. After all, there was a cat living in the building.

He soon sees Clair-de-Lune. Without looking for it, either,

from his hearing alone, he already knew where the girl was.

He hesitated, his ears moving

hernia.

Then, timidly, he ran doubtfully along

the edge of the wall, approaching Clair-de-Lune. He stopped about fifteen inches from the edge of the Clair-de-Lune skirt, thinking that distance was needed just in case he needed to

run away if the girl's attitude is unfriendly.

Usually, he wouldn't dare to talk to

But, of all the students of tari—and he has been watching

each in a few weeks—this girl is what she likes the most. He is the most careful, the most disciplined, the most serious of all. He understood all the instructions.

The mouse loves to dance more than anything else in the world.

Dancing makes her very happy. He did not understand why someone who could dance as beautifully as Clair-de-Lune could feel so sad.

Life, for the rats, is very simple.

He's cleared his throat.

“Mademoiselle,” she said gently, “sorry, why are you crying?”

Clair-de-Lune immediately stopped crying.

For a moment, Clair-de-Lune sat glued.

Then, slowly, he raised his head.

He stared at the mouse.

The rat rolled its eyeballs and patted its forehead with its small claws. “Ah! I'm sorry, please. Why am I so careless, so presumptuous to ask. Please let me introduce myself. I'm Bonaventure. It means good chance, good luck! This name lifts

to encourage and lighten the burden on the heart, even if only I admit it. Ah, but trying to live up to that name—that's him! I, as you can see, am a rat—but a dancing rat. It is easy to forget to introduce myself to a person who feels well known—I have often watched you dance, Mademoiselle. I really admire your dance—and I think so does Monsieur Dupoint!”

Clair-de-Lune widened his eyes; gulped; and bowed his head, saluting in confusion.

“Do you mind, if I sing a song

bedtime introduction?” the mouse offered. “My mother used to be very good at singing lullabies. It is rare for people to know that rats can sing the most melodious lullabies in the world.

Did you know I was born by the sea, in a fishing lodge? My bed, which I slept with nine of my brothers—is sea shells, just imagine! I always smell fish—and you know, here always smell of fish? The old lady who lives at number 12 is a cat. Just by smelling a fleeting fish, or a piece of shellfish, all my childhood memories will return

recalled. In short, when I grew up I wanted to see the world! Become artist! So, I jumped on a train and finally got here.”.

He stopped talking, watching the girl.

“What's up?” the tan was gentle, while Clair-de-Lune stared at him helplessly. “You don't know?”

Suddenly his mustache trembled.

“You don't know about this house, do you? Not here

maybe nothing happened. It is impossible, forever not. Anyhow bad it looks.”

Clair-de-Lune looked at him in astonishment.

Seriate…