“In every picture there’s many a story,” he said as he lent forward to look more closely at the picture of the two musicians. “Take these two, for example,” he added, glancing at the young girl that sat across the table from him before turning his attention back to the picture. “They’re called Mujigka. They’re very good. I heard them the other evening with my parents,” she informed him. She came once a week for a discussion. Her parents called it a lesson, but he preferred to talk of a discussion, an exchange. “It’s not so much these people themselves, but rather it is something that speaks through them.” “How can a picture talk? I can’t hear anything,” she asked, perplexed. He couldn’t help laughing. “It must be confusing when I talk in images of images that can talk,” and he would have laughed again with renewed gusto had he not noticed that she was on the verge of being upset. “Let me give you an example. Can you imagine what they are thinking as they look at each other? They seem to be in an intense private wordless conversation.” “Maybe they can read each other’s minds,” she said, warming to the idea. “Whatever it is they are thinking to each other,” she pursued, “the conversation seems to have them bound tightly together.”