Winking eye

My girlfriend Sarah' parents were considered to be intellectuals. I was honoured to get acquainted with them and I  would pay  visit to whole family from time to time. 
 We would enjoy drinking tea and talk about poetry, literature and music.
Sarah'  father named Jack was gaunt,  dark-haired man with cinnamon face who badly suffered from tic.
 One of such blessed evenings Jack commented his defect humorously "My wife advises me  sobbing! Her doc said it  would cure me from nervous tic!"
" Let's have a nice evening at the Literature Club this evening," I  said.  "You'll have nice opportunity to let your tears flow."
"Really?" Sarah squinted at me suspiciously. "And what so awful is going to take place there?"
 " I'd rather say awesome," I answered with a smile. "The matter is Kaufman, the great tragedian you might hear of, is going to read his new play there."
" Dad," Sarah' eyes flashed,   " why not to read your own works there?! Your writings are great!"
Jack's ears flushed a dark red while lips turned into flews, he lowered his head and eyes.
" Don't be too modest!" Sarah's mother, plump blonde with opulent hairdo burst into conversation.  " Jack, listen to me, you are a genius and don't care about the fame! You've been writing for twenty years and never had anything published. That's a shame. Go wright now with this guy to that club and astound their nestlings by your masterpieces!"
"Okay, Lilly," Jack sighed. "I'll try."
   When we were leaving Jack's wife handed him a trolley saying " You'll get such quantity of flowers that it won't be easy to carry them."
Literature amatures welcomed heartily the "young writer" as they designated Jack.
 The venerable writer Sam, hefty red faced  man with curling silver streams of hair on both sides of his huge bald head, proposed that the newby should be allowed to go first. All writers agreed unanimously.
Jack leaned his elbows on the  rostrum and began to recite with feeling and passion.
Having finished Jack joined up the audience.
" Well, well," Sam drawled with sly expression on his face, "who is brave enough to tell the truth about what we just heard?"
  The awkward silence ensued.
" Oh, I see people shaking their heads?    Sam grinned.   " WeIl, you leave me no choice. l'll be the man who is not afraid to tell the truth!"
He ascended the platform and scratched his hooked nose and stroked his grey moustache.
The listeners devoured him with their eyes.
" What can I say?" Sam said.  "I have never heard such a nonsense before! What  we've been  listening to for an hour of our valuable time was just a garbage heap of words! This was just a sluggish, deadly boring text!   Okay, now I think we must get some kind of  aesthetic compensation! I mean our magic tragedian Moses Caufman.  He's going to read us his new play named "The embrace of lie!"
Kaufman turned out to be a little man of vague age with a little shaggy head and big   sad eyes.    His weak chin hardly reached the edge of the rostrum.
I was nearly lulled to sleep by his monotonous muttering when I heard a muffled sobbing. I saw Jack wipe his nose with his handkerchief. There were tears on his pale face. 
 I touched his elbow and whispered into his ear "Your wife recommended sobbing, remember? Go ahead, do it right now."
His shoulders began shaking. It looked like Jack was racing a  wild horse.
Meanwhile Kaufman having finished his performance returned to his seat.
Sam stood up,  looked over the audience and fixed his glance at sobbing Jack.
"Well, I think," he nodded at Jack and said solemnly,  "it goes without saying that the play is a masterpiece and too  powerful for unprepared listener."
Women surrounded Jack trying to console him and casting furious glances at rejoicing Kaufman.
"Take it easy,"  the tragedian addressed contritely to Jack and tapped him on his shoulder. "You are too sensitive. Don't take things at face value. That was just a hyperbolization!"
 Slightly mollified Jack with trembling fingers pushed his pilloried "masterpiece"  in his bag,  grasped his trolley and took his leave.
 I followed him.
We walked in silence to the bus stop.
 I didn't know what to say to him.
We were passing by  a flower counter when I looked at his empty trolley and his gloomy  face and exclaimed  " Look, Jack! Your eye is not winking anymore!"
He stopped abruptly and stood still for a minute then laughed heartily:
" Yeah my eye really stopped winking! Lilly told me the truth! She cured me!"
Jack dashed into the flower shop and appeared five minutes later with the trolley full of red roses.
" It's for my darling Lilly!" He said with happy smile.  His eyes  sparkled joyfully. He  took his writings out of his bag and handed them to me. 
" Throw this mess in a dustbin," he said decisively.
"You sure?" I asked slightly nonplussed.
"Absolutely," Jack confirmed without hesitation.
" Well," I sighed,  "methinks it's more important to be happy in real life than to write about imaginary and fictitious troubles!"