Once there was a Czechoslovakian violin player who lived in Sweden. His name was Rudolf. Some of his friends said he could not play the violin very well. He was too restless and travelled around too much.

Rudolf did travel. That is true. He travelled about Scandinavia in a small boat, stopping at small cities along the coast. Here he would give violin concerts and earn money to buy food and clothes. If he found a person to play the piano with him, good. If not, he played music that did not need a piano. Once or twice he felt a great need to play music that needed a piano. So he made believe one was playing. He would play complete sonatas for violin and piano with no piano in sight.

One year, Rudolf sailed all the way out to Iceland. He began playing at different seaport cities all around the rocky coast. It was a hard and difficult land. Yet, the people in those areas never forgot how to be kind and friendly to strangers.

One day, Rudolf was sailing from one town to another when the northeast sky turned black and threatening. A storm was blowing in over Iceland. Rudolf was sailing near a dangerous rocky place and the closest port was four hours away.

The wind began to blow stronger. Rudolf was beginning to feel trouble. Then he saw a lighthouse less than a kilometer away. The lighthouse was on a small rocky island surrounded by deep water. At the bottom of the lighthouse were big heavy rocks. In one place the rocks separated. There, the water was calm, protected by the rocks. Rudolf tried to sail his boat into the calm place. At last he did. He tied the boat to a metal ring that was stuck in the rocks. He began walking up the rocks toward the lighthouse. At the top of the rocks was a man. His body was almost hidden by the storm clouds that hung low over the lighthouse. "You are welcome." The man's voice thundered down the rocks, louder than the noisy waves.

The lighthouse man led Rudolf up the metal stairs. They went around and around to the top. They stopped on the third floor. There was a living room. The lighthouse man became very busy preparing for the storm. He had to make sure the great light on the top of the lighthouse would shine during the black storm.

The lighthouse man was very big. He had a long gray beard hanging from his chin. He moved around very slowly as if every move he made was carefully thought about before he made it. The lighthouse was his world, small as it was, and he knew every inch of it. He did not talk very much. Words were not important to him, not as important as the forces he lived with all around him. He was kind and gentle, very different from the place he lived in where the wind blew the seas high and threw ships against the rocks.

They shared a supper of black bread and boiled potatoes, herring, cheese and hot tea. Then the two men sat and studied each other. The storm struck against the lighthouse with a thousand different noises. Rudolf offered the lighthouse man some tobacco. The old man shook his head, "No", and smiled a little.

To Rudolf he seemed like an island, strong as the rock the lighthouse was built on. He needed nothing, nothing more than what he had in his lighthouse. He sat there gentle and quiet, his big hands resting on his knees. He was at peace.

Rudolf learned more about the old man. He was born in this very lighthouse eighty-three years ago. His father had been the lighthouse man before him. His mother, the only woman he had ever known, taught him to read the Bible. And he read it every day. He had no other books.

As a violin player, Rudolf had no time to read much either, but then he lived in the cities. He reached down and took out his violin, which he loved so much.

"What do you make with that, Sir?" the old man asked. For a moment Rudolf thought the man was joking. But his face showed he was not. He did not look much interested in the violin itself, but in the whole person of Rudolf, his violin and his work.

Rudolf found it hard to believe that there was someone in the world who did not know what a violin was. Yet, he could not laugh. He felt small against the calm shining from the old man.

"I make music with it", he spoke in a voice not sure of what he said.

"Music," the old man said, not completely understanding.

"I have heard of it, but I have never seen music."

"One does not see music. One hears it."

"Ah, yes," the old man said. And he looked at the violin player and gave him all the respect of a great man.

Then something in the storm and the lighthouse and the old man lifted Rudolf away from his usual everyday feelings. He was filled with understanding and love. He was lifted to a world he had never known or felt.

He wanted to play music that showed the power of fire and stars just for the old man. And with the storm and the winds to join him, he stood and played.

The moments passed. Moments that were days in the birth of fire and stars, moments of the struggle of all men, and finally moments that showed the greatness of all human spirit.

Never before had Rudolf played with such power. Outside, waves and winds beat the lighthouse with giant hands. Above, the strong light threw its life saving beams across the dark and angry seas.

Rudolf dropped his head to his chest, breathing hard. The ocean threw its water over the land with the sound of many voices.

The old man sat without moving, his wide old hands resting on his knees.

He thought about the storm outside. Music made by God. He thought of Rudolf and his music. Both were part of the works of nature, both were works of wonder.

He nodded his head up and down. Then turned to Rudolf.

"Yes," he said. "That is true!"

You have heard "The Listener". It was written by John Berry and first published in New World Writing, April 1960. Your storyteller was Shep O'Neal. The producer was Lwoan Davis. Listen again next week to hear another American Story told in Special English on the Voice of America. This is Susan Clark.