Aaron said. “You think?” asked Simcha. “The old lady with the knitting. She’s put down her wool and is looking over here. Now she is getting up out of her chair and heading for the door.” I got up on the windowsill to watch. The old lady had something wrong with her legs. She staggered rather than walked, holding on to the house walls and anything else she could lean on while she took step after painful-looking step. “What is all this singing?” she asked, but her wrinkly old face was smiling. Ms. Fahima went over to her and the two women talked quietly, the teacher glancing in the direction of our little house. The smile left the old woman’s face, but she put it on again when she talked to the children. “You are such pretty singers that I am going to sit right down here and listen to you. Would that be all right?” The little kids thought that would be just great.
