‘My mother insisted that we needed to cultivate our artistic talent to inspire our soul and realize what it is to be human,” he continued with a deep sigh holding on to my daughter’s hand. “What is the use of mutant music, my father, yelled at her? One of the mutant servants was giving me and her fiddle lessons. We pretended it was a big secret, but he knew. There was no way we could evade electronic detection in that house, even in the bathroom. Loathing mutants and their music, he insisted that they pollute our way of life. ‘Keep away from them,’ he kept yelling at my mother, suspecting she was having s*x with them. Naturally, I was confused. The mutants showed more compassion toward me than he did. When he was around, I never played. Still, I learned to play well enough to entertain mys
