With the ovation growing louder, Frankie lifted his head. He saw now, high in the rafters, the spirits of El Maestro, Baffa, and Aurora, beckoning to him. He reached for them and a pain gripped his chest. His guitar clanged to the floor. And then, as some have told the authorities, he appeared to rise to the ceiling. I shall clear that up now. Frankie’s body never rose. That was his soul. But so great was the desire of the world to hear his splendid music—to keep it even a few more seconds—that his spirit was tugged, momentarily, between heaven and earth. There can be but one victor in such a
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