Out of Guts, a Heart

"Our Maria!"

Maria walked among them and not an atom of shyness showed. Her elegance and proud carriage awed the famous and the rich, who were gathered there, and who knew where she came from. But the burnt-out South Bronx was far behind and forgotten. Maria came close to the table and the guests stood up, a glass of champagne in their hands. The host of the house lifted his glass and said, "Happy Birthday, Maria! Now, I want you to know that all these persons here have heard your story, and they want to give you a present It will be a book. Your story, Maria. Published and publicized by every medium. Here you have on this side a movie mogul, there, a Broadway producer, a famous book publisher, and television personalities. They are all friends and relatives of mine. They are all interested in your story, but they want you to give them a title for the book."

Maria was truly impressed. A weakness, an emotion, a sensation was felt, all inexplicable, of having all the fibers of her being touched by a fluid spirit flowing through her spine and veins. It conveyed to her the feeling of being loved, cherished, respected and admired. She could hardly talk.

"Maria, you are the only one who can title your story."

"I am no writer," said Maria. "I can only think small."

"We will wait."

"But if you don''t mind, there is a saying in my language, the Spanish language that is applicable to situations like our lives. I would like to call my story with the translation of it, "Out of guts, a heart" In Spanish, you would say, "Hacer de tripas, corazón."

The host of the house said, "Maria you did it again." He lifted his glass of champagne, "Ladies and Gentlemen, a Toast! To a dreamer, Glory!"

All glasses were lifted.

"To Maria!"

"Thank you. I am touched, here." And Maria placed her right hand on the left side — her heart. "But I am not finished yet There is still breath in my body and empty spaces in the world, clamoring to be filled by needy people with gentle souls."

THE END