Philip Brunetti The Dead Trumpet
He gave up the trumpet business
for twenty a long time ago. He years and then dropped He left the must’ve given it up. It’d dead. kept him connected to business to his three things that mattered to sons, but none of them him then. But eventually wanted it so they sold it. he forgot about all that. The eldest died a couple He left his land and he years after his father. left his trumpet behind. The other two feuded He came to America for and took shots at each something, money other. Eventually one mostly. He came and he moved away, out of New found low-wage work as York, and they coexisted a dishwasher. Then in separate states and worked his way up and ever-after silence. One day, many years over to a grocery clerk. He saved money for later, one of the brothers years, started a family. had a dream. It was a Finally, at 40, he bought dream about a trumpet a business. It sold fruits that was buried in a yard and vegetables and food or field in the south of staples. He owned that Italy. It’d been bought and sold and bought and
sold and eventually turned out and cast in a rubbish heap. It was found then by a hobo, a bum, who blew it a few times and then used it as a cane. He was extremely short. His hard life had made him shorter. Then, drunk one night with a buddy, he had an impulse to bury the trumpet. The buddy said, “Why do that?” He said, “I don’t know. I just have to.” So he did. He dug a shallow grave with a long flat stone and his own clawing fingers and fingernails. He put the trumpet down into the