Question

disfigured that his shirts had to be carefully altered and pinned to accommodate the gnarled shape, he had agility in that arm, even strength. ever since he was very young, shamengwa had, with the aid of a white silk scarf, tied his elbow into a position that allowed the elegant hand and fingers at the end of the damaged arm full play across the fiddles strings. with his other hand, he drew the bow. when i try to explain the sound he made, i come to some trouble with words. inside became outside when shamengwa played music. yet inside to outside does not half sum it up. the music was more than music—at least, more than what we are used to hearing. the sound connected instantly with something deep and joyous. those powerful moments of true knowledge which we paper over with daily life. the music tapped our terrors, too. things wed lived through and wanted never to repeat. shredded imaginings, unadmitted longings, fear, and also surprising pleasures. we cant live at that pitch. but every so often something shatters like ice, and we fall into the river of our own existence. we are aware. this realization was in his music somehow, or in the way shamengwa played it. thus shamengwa wasnt wanted at every party. the wild joy his jigs and reels brought forth might just as easily send people crashing onto the rocks of their roughest memories and theyd end up stunned and addled or crying in their beer. so it is. peoples emotions often turn on them. geraldine, a dedicated, headstrong woman who six years back had borne a baby, dumped its father, earned a degree in education, sometimes drove shamengwa to fiddling contests, where he could perform in more of a concert setting. he even won awards, prizes of the cheap sort given at local musical contests—engraved plaques and small tin cups set on plastic pedestals. these he placed on a triangular scrap of shelf high in one corner of his house. the awards were never dusted, and sometimes, when his grandchild asked him to take them down for her to play with, they came apart. shamengwa didnt care. he was, however, fanatical about his violin. he treated this instrument with the reverence we accord our drums, which are considered living beings and require from us food, water, shelter, and love. he fussed over it, stroked it clean with a soft cotton handkerchief, laid it carefully away in the cupboard every night in a 4 mark for review in the fourth paragraph, shamengwas decision to place his awards on a triangular scrap of shelf high in one corner of his house suggests that he a attaches little importance to external recognition b wishes to prevent the awards from being damaged c does not want to be reminded about the competitions d does not want his grandchild to play with the awards without permission

Explanation:

Shamengwa places his awards on a high - triangular scrap of shelf, never dusts them, and doesn't care when they fall apart. This shows he doesn't value external recognition highly. There is no indication he is worried about damage, doesn't want to be reminded of competitions, or is concerned about his grand - child playing with them.

Answer:

A. attaches little importance to external recognition