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FICTION-ONLINE
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An Internet Literary Magazine
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Volume 1, Number 1
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Spring, 1994
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EDITOR'S NOTES:
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FICTION-ONLINE is a new quarterly literary magazine publishing
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electronically through e-mail and the internet. The magazine will
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include short stories, play scripts or excerpts of plays, excerpts
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of novels or serialized novels, and poems. Some contributors to
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the magazine are members of the Northwest Fiction Group of
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Washington, DC, a group affiliated with Washington Independent
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Writers. However, the magazine is an independent entity and
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publishes material from other sources and solicits works from the
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public.
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To subscribe or unsubscribe or for more information, please e-
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mail a brief request to "ngwazi@clark.net" (no quotes). To submit
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manuscripts for consideration, please e-mail to the same address.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: The copyright for each piece of material
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published is retained by its author. Each subscriber is licensed
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to possess one electronic copy and to make one hard copy for
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personal reading use only. All other rights, including rights to
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copy or publish in whole or in part in any form or medium, to give
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readings or to stage performances or filmings or video recording,
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or for any other use not explicitly licensed, will be in violation
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of the authors' copyrights.
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William Ramsay, Editor
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ngwazi@clark.net
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=================================================================
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CONTENTS
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Editor's Note
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Contributors
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"Three Portraits": verses
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Joseph Forsthoffer
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"Ginger Doll," a short-short story
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George Howell
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"Detente," a short story
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Judith Greenwood
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"Boy," an excerpt (chapter 1) from the novel "In Search of
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Mozart"
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William Ramsay
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"A New Prometheus," a ten-minute play
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Otho Eskin
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=================================================================
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CONTRIBUTORS
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OTHO ESKIN, former diplomat and consultant on international
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affairs, has had numerous plays read and produced in Washington,
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including "Murder is a Fine Art," "Duet," and "Season in Hell."
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"The New Prometheus" was produced at the Source Theater Festival in
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1993.
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JOSEPH FORSTHOFFER is a writer living in Salisbury, Maryland.
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"Small Town Lives" consists of three poems taken from his verse
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drama, "The Fosters Chronicle."
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JUDITH GREENWOOD, international interior and garden designer and
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West Virginia farmer, also writes fiction. She was the founder of
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the Northwest Fiction Group of Washington, DC.
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GEORGE HOWELL is a fiction writer living in Takoma Park, Maryland.
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He has written art reviews for "Eyewash" and the "Washington
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Review."
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WILLIAM RAMSAY is a physicist and consultant on Third World energy
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problems. He recently published a short story, "Heritage," in
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"Nebo." He is on the Board of Directors of the Writer's Center,
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Bethesda, Maryland.
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=================================================================
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THREE PORTRAITS
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by Joseph Forsthoffer
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The Jilted Bridegroom
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Last night, carrying groceries
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from the car, I was struck
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by the silence. Yesterday's frost
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had killed the last crickets.
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The sense of loss still haunts me, a sudden
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and recurring revelation of absence.
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I stayed home this morning
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listening to the furnace
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cycle off and on, expecting
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to see you cross the room,
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the wake from your body
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disturbing the dust floating
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in a slanted column of sunlight.
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The Sunday School Teacher
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It was all so simple once:
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God was the yellow crayon
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beams of sunlight drawn
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on blue-lined notebook paper.
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The children glue together
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construction paper cut-outs
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of Joseph and Mary and never
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question the glances that pass
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between a man and a woman.
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No one noticed when I stayed late
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to type his sermons. I was surprised
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to find his hands so cold, the taste
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of bourbon on his lips so sweet.
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The Mathematician
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As a child, I stood in darkened fields on moonless nights,
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under the cold, black dome of a winter sky, to learn
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the patterns of stars. I traced their movements and took comfort
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in the mathematical precision of the heavens. The universe,
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I decided, was a perpetual motion machine whose blueprint
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could be found in numbers and geometry.
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But now, at night, I hear the machinery creak and groan:
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a lone cricket, somehow surviving into November,
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rubs his legs and gains no response in the chill night.
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And I sit until 3 a.m. ordering coffee and donuts
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from a woman with a slender waist and red hair
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who will never ask my name.
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=================================================================
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GINGER DOLL
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by George Howell
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Along dusty sidewalks uprooted by big trees, in front of tiny
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storefronts garlanded with blossoms, crowds wander, crowds of
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lovers, business men, high school girls and priests. And down
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little alleyways, dark even in the middle of the day, intrigue
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calls, adventure calls.
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I have returned to the scene of the crime. Sober now, I
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wander the narrow streets of the Vieux Carre, wander the streets of
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New Orleans. But the noise makes me nostalgic, reminds me of
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drunken walks, together, in the noisy crowd. She died. I sobered
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up, she died. Simple as that.
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Little plazas lead to shops, bookstores, bars. The stale odor
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of spilled beer mixes with sickly sweet blossoms crushed on broken
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sidewalks, a swirl of aromas. I walk through bookstores, browse
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through thick volumes of picture books -- the river, mansions --
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browse portfolios of decaying menus. I am nostalgic. I sobered
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up, she died.
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I follow a walkway past pink wisteria, through a dark
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courtyard, to the doll shop. With her hair pulled back in a tangle
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of dark braids, her skin brown as the bark of blossoming trees
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guarding her shop, the sales girl smiles as she talks.
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"These are traditional dolls," she explains. "And this is
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Ginger Doll." She holds up a small brown cloth figure -- no face,
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no eyes, no mouth, four thin stumps for arms and legs, a blue and
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white checkered apron hanging from the limp brown doll. "She's the
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kind of doll a child would need to forget her harsh and cruel
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surroundings." The sales girl smiles as she tells her tale. How
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can I refuse? I buy Ginger Doll, carry her under my arm, back to
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my hotel.
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Pages drift in a gentle breeze, drift from the bed to the
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unpolished floor. Ginger Doll can't see the pages drift, can't
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hear the pages rustle on the floor. No eyes, no ears, no mouth.
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I can't read this letter from a dead girl to a doll with no ears.
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I can't see my memories in a doll with no eyes. A doll that takes
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in nothing, gives nothing in return.
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I could take her into bars, prop her up against half-drunk
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bottles. I'd drink cokes and tell her about adventures, tell her
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about love and intrigue down narrow alleyways, in shady courtyards.
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I could stuff her in my suitcase, dump her at the airport.
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Some small child, lonely and frightened in the corridors of glass
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and busy feet, could find her, find some happiness in Ginger Doll.
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I could burn her. Smoke drifts up old grey walls, curls above
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the window. Ginger Doll, in flames, in the waste basket. An empty
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face devoured by flames. A moment of peace and forgetting.
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I will leave soon, leave this old hotel, but what can I do
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with Ginger Doll? Outside these dusty windows, crowds shuffle
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along old broken sidewalks, loud, robust, alive. But inside, the
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room is silent and, for once, I am at peace. I'll leave her here
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in this silent room, leave Ginger Doll here.
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I make a shrine for Ginger Doll. Prop up the doll on the
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wooden dresser, half open the dusty louvered blinds. Vanilla bars
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of street light fall across a bowl of candy on a doily. Something
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to please a child, make a child's toy rejoice. But how can Ginger
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Doll rejoice -- no eyes, no ears, no mouth, a sad bag of cotton
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with a blue and white apron?
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No more adventures call, no more restless walks through dusty
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courtyards and sad plazas. I will give this doll a face. A black
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stitch for a mouth, two buttons from my shirt for eyes. Fold her
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arms around a letter, put my memories in the arms of a doll. Take
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a piece of candy and watch the sun rise. I can leave soon. I
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sobered up, she died.
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=================================================================
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DETENTE
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by Judith Greenwood
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A dingy gray sky fills the bedroom window and the
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local weatherman uses his minute of breakaway time during
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the Today show to say nothing will happen today. No sun.
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No rain. No wind. No thunderstorm. Nothing to vary the
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mild, gray nothingness of seventy-five degrees and low
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clouds.
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And everything else will stay the same. Nothing will
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come over the phone or in the mail or down the street to
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alter a gray life. Hope seems over. In less than two
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weeks a few people will gather in a courtroom to
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formalize the dissolution of hope. A few weeks after
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that she will receive a certified letter announcing that
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man has put asunder...
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How bright the sun had been the day the promises were
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made. She had photographs to prove it. Over the months
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she looked at them and cried for the girl in embroidered
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white organdy and the man in the gray cutaway and all the
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beautiful youngsters in morning coats and pastel dresses
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who'd believed in forever then.
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He'd called at seven. She'd come home early with
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live lobsters and Montrachet, and the call surprised her.
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"I forgot to tell you I'm going to a seminar directly
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from here," he said.
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"Oh, David," she protested, "I came home early to
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make dinner."
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"Go ahead without me. I'll grab something on the
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way."
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"But it's your birthday!" she cried. "I don't want
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to eat your birthday dinner. I'll wait for you. Come as
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early as you can."
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There was a long and oddly silent pause. The
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suspicion that he wasn't at his office flickered through
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her mind. His office was never that quiet. He chuckled.
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"Leave it to you to remember. I've written the date all
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day and didn't think a thing of it. I thought we'd
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celebrate this weekend, so I mentally moved the birthday
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to then -- like George Washington."
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"Well, it's today."
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"I'm sorry, Laura, but don't wait for me. You know
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how these things are. I need the contacts I make at
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these things. Don't wait up; we'll do something this
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weekend." After she hung up the phone, she stared at it
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as if David were inside. In a sudden leap of intuition
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that was unlike her, she knew David was lying. He
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hadn't forgot his birthday, and he knew she'd remember,
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too. She was so sure of it that for a minute she thought
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of getting in her car and finding him, feeling that her
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certainty would lead her to him, wherever he was.
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She didn't do it, of course. She cooked the
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lobsters, carefully picked the meat out and put it away
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in the refrigerator. The unusual domesticity calmed her
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a little, although she still felt shaky as she searched
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for clues from recent life to what or who was so
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important to David that he'd lie and convince himself
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that she'd buy the lie.
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She drank the Montrachet and paced the kitchen,
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trying to think of what to do next.
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David had a secret. She was aware of it all the
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time. There were no more gross slips like the birthday,
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but Laura felt it lying between them in bed. She heard
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it like an intruding voice from another table when they
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met for dinner. She sometimes smelled it on him when he
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came home, the sensation as ugly as the clinging odor of
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burnt hair. Oh, most of the time he really did go where
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he said he did. She might see him at the tennis courts
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when she drove by on her way to the hairdresser on
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Saturday. And yet he would come in reeking of his
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secret. She tried to be more attentive to him; she
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brought work home or sent someone else on a trip in her
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place. She couldn't think of what else to do, so she
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hoped it would just go away. Oddly enough, it was at
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their own annual Christmas party that she found out
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David's secret. No one told her. No one was caught
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hiding in the bedroom piled with coats. There weren't
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any intercepted guilty looks. The clue was something
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that was missing. David was avoiding someone. A silly,
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flirtatious, normal repartee between David and Sharon had
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become cool distance. Her face jerked away from them as
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if she'd been slapped; she caught Marion's . Hot shame
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flooded her. Marion knew! Did everyone know? Everyone
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but Laura?
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The next morning she dug out the white leather
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wedding album. There they were: David -- Laura -- and
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Sharon, dressed in bridesmaid pink. She hadn't caught
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the bouquet.
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Sharon and David? Not possible! There had to be
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another explanation. Sharon was her best and oldest
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friend!
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She blundered along in a daze until February. No one
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meant to hurt her; it was the last thing they'd meant to
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do. That's what he said. It was just that once when she
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was away, they'd run into each other in a bar, and
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sometime during the scotch and water their eyes met...
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They'd tried, but it was no use. Now they had experience
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and memory to which Laura was not a party. "She wants
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you to know how sorry she is, Laura. You don't know how
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unhappy she is about it. We're both miserable. We
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didn't want you to know, because we hoped we'd get over
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it." Laura looked at him with swollen eyes and a
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tear-streaked face, unable to comprehend how David could
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say something so thick-headed and think it made a
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difference to her. Did he expect her to be sorry for
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Sharon's guilty conscience?
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Sharon from French Club in high school, in the next
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shower stall in gym. Sharon, the one she told when she
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finally "did it". Sharon, who confessed to Laura that
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"it" hurt and was a big disappointment. Sharon gave the
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bridal shower. Sharon knew how hard it was for Laura to
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wait, as they'd agreed to, to start a baby. Sharon was
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one of their tennis crowd. Sharon was at their friends'
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parties when Laura was traveling. Sharon, Sharon, always
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there, always everywhere -- and Laura's friends knew.
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Laura lost the privilege of looking into a friend's eyes
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and taking loyalty for granted. Betrayed. When David
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left her, she didn't know whom to call. If she
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confided, would her words later be used against her?
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They were choosing sides. Who was choosing Laura? Might
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they later change sides and expose her to the others?
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Whom could she trust? Where was truth and where was
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danger? Utterly alone, she spent weeks picking through
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the wreckage. Half the memories from half her life
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included David or Sharon. She'd have to take herself
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apart to find all the useless shreds of her love for
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them.
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Laura decided to jettison Sharon and try to save her
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marriage. "Help me, David! Help salvage us! This is a
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nightmare. We have to try, babe. Please." She pled
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history, love, and (in degrading moments she hated to
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recall) economics. Nothing moved him.
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The salt of swallowed tears turned to a bitter gripe
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in her throat. She rushed home from work with fresh
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flowers and spent hours polishing silver and cooking food
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she couldn't eat. David wouldn't talk. He didn't even
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see the new Laura. She sat on the floor one night,
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looking through a glass of Cabernet at the fire she'd lit
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and she thought about it.
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Housekeeping hadn't won him, and it wouldn't win him
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back. I don't run my business like this, she thought,
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giving the customer what he doesn't want. What does he
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want? Why did he love me?
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He liked my organization and my drive. He was proud
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of me. And sex. Once he'd wanted sex with Laura more
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than anything.
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David was no adventurer. He didn't just leave; he
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made sure there was somewhere to go first. She realized
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that she might be braver than he, and she knew she was a
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little more successful than David.
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She resolved to plan and execute a campaign to get
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him back. It was what she was best-suited to do, and
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would use all the qualities that set her apart from other
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women. A few days later, she sent him by courier a list
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of all their marital assets, divided and disposed with
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unerring sense and accuracy. She changed the locks on
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the doors. He called.
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"Why do we have to sell the growth stocks?" David
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asked. "And the cars, how did you decide I get the
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Honda?"
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"If I take the house, I get the mortgage, and I just
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don't want the car loan on the Honda," she replied.
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"With the stocks it's a valuation problem. They're down.
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Would you take them valued at what we paid for them?"
|
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"That's hardly fair, is it?"
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"Well, if you take them at their present value and
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sell them when they go up, then I've taken the entire
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loss. So I figure the only fair way to settle it is to
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sell and split the proceeds and the loss. That seems
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fair."
|
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"You've got it all laid out, haven't you? Pretty
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cold-blooded, isn't it?"
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Laura said nothing for a while. "I don't feel the
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least bit cold-blooded about it, David. Not about any of
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it."
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There was silence again, and then, "What's the
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matter? Are you there? Laura? Are you okay?"
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"I'm okay, David. Listen, this isn't working over
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the phone. Write up your own version and I'll consider
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it." Weeks went by with no response. She heard that
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Sharon was in London. She called David and asked when
|
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she could expect his settlement offer.
|
||
He hadn't accomplished a thing. He'd taken it all
|
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apart. He'd looked at the pieces and tried to glue them
|
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back together, but it was the kind of thing David had
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never been good at. His intuitive, expressive strengths
|
||
didn't transfer to the analysis of their assets and the
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decisive slashing apart required. And reading lists of
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things they'd bought together and lived with depressed
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him. It was exactly what Laura had expected.
|
||
She offered to meet with him to work it out. They
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planned to meet at the house. She dressed in a severe
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suit with a silk teddy underneath, and she made hazelnut
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coffee, which David didn't really like. She told herself
|
||
that one way or the other, it was over.
|
||
He stayed.
|
||
The agreeable Laura radiated strength and warmth.
|
||
She was the image of decisive flexibility, the
|
||
negotiator, listening to his view and then transforming
|
||
it into a fair proposal. "We bought the growth stocks to
|
||
pay for the children's education," she gently reminded
|
||
him, "now there won't be any children."
|
||
"Take what you want, David, furniture, books, music,"
|
||
she offered, "but I have to have the house." She didn't
|
||
give a reason, but she insisted. She was logical, kind,
|
||
female. He was fascinated again, and couldn't seem to
|
||
remember why leaving had been so important.
|
||
But when Sharon came back, their careful, slightly
|
||
jerky detente failed.
|
||
He didn't walk out. He lay in bed with his back to
|
||
her. Sometimes she woke up when the bed shook with his
|
||
silent sobs. She pressed her pelvis into the mattress,
|
||
looking for heat she couldn't find. Even the quantities
|
||
of scotch he drank at night didn't help.
|
||
It made her sick. He made her sick with his weakness
|
||
and lies and drinking and silence when she tried to talk
|
||
about what was happening to them. She told him, "You're
|
||
selfish and childish and tiresome! You've got to have
|
||
what you want, the way you want it, or make me pay!"
|
||
It was during that time that Laura began to talk to a
|
||
voice in her head. The voice asked cruel questions that
|
||
hurt to answer.
|
||
_Who is Laura_? it asked one lonely night. "I am a
|
||
moderately successful, modestly attractive woman of
|
||
thirty-two," she answered herself, "who will have this
|
||
man and this marriage even if I never have another
|
||
carefree day, another intimacy or another minute of fun.
|
||
I am a scorned woman who uses anger and trickery to tie
|
||
his unwilling body to an eight year memory." She let him
|
||
go. For one blind week she hated them both so much she
|
||
wanted to kill them.
|
||
And then for a while, when the lawyers had taken
|
||
over, she dreamed that he came back. He appeared in
|
||
landscapes of flowering trees and early grass, and they
|
||
fell together in sensual embraces. She woke up sweating
|
||
and empty. The dreams dwindled away in the petty
|
||
meanness of legal moves. When she cleared his closets,
|
||
she got boxes from the Safeway. She threw his Brooks
|
||
Brothers suits, the Polo weekend wear, the Turnbull and
|
||
Asser shirts into the boxes. Cufflinks and tie clasps
|
||
fell among the shambled clothes. Shoes and tennis balls
|
||
went in at random. Without a conscious thought, she
|
||
started to throw some of her own clothes on top. In went
|
||
anything pale and gauzy. Silk nightgowns and ruffled
|
||
sundresses lay like cake frosting over layers of wool and
|
||
gabardine. She ripped bright little cashmere nothings
|
||
off padded hangers and flung them across the room where
|
||
they caught on the cartons and punctuated his grays and
|
||
navies.
|
||
She stood, panting a little, in front of her closet
|
||
when it was over, and saw nothing there but what might be
|
||
armor.
|
||
She'd bought wide strapping tape with nylon threads
|
||
in it. She punched the garments down, closed the flaps
|
||
and sealed them with the indestructible tape. The next
|
||
day a mover collected the cartons and David was gone.
|
||
She settled down to learn how to live alone and the
|
||
gray came over her windows. It would be six months from
|
||
separation to severance. She had the time for anything,
|
||
if she knew what it ought to be.
|
||
_Laura, Laura, who are you now_?
|
||
"I," she answered, "am a woman coming to terms with
|
||
disillusion. I am free to discover what sex feels like.
|
||
I can climb a mountain, go to Africa or make a pile of
|
||
money. I'll learn to make small talk, meet strangers and
|
||
learn to take the best of what I find and not pine for
|
||
what I don't have."
|
||
_Laura, what will become of you_?
|
||
"I don't know! Don't torture me with unanswerable
|
||
questions! Who ever knows just who she is? I'm Laura.
|
||
That's enough!"
|
||
_It wasn't for David_.
|
||
"Maybe it was too much for David -- did you ever
|
||
think of that?"
|
||
This morning she gets out of bed and goes to the
|
||
window. In her bed she could see only the gray sky, but
|
||
from here she sees the trees and the houses that hem it.
|
||
This is Laura's neighborhood. This is Laura's house.
|
||
This is Laura. If there is a house, a neighborhood, a
|
||
body; if Bryant Gumbel speaks to her from Radio City, if
|
||
she hears, there must be a Laura. There'll be a desk at
|
||
nine o'clock in a room with a window that is Laura's
|
||
office, a woman who is Laura's secretary: there must be
|
||
a Laura.
|
||
_What will you do_?
|
||
She shivers and turns toward the bathroom where Mr.
|
||
Coffee has brewed while she slept. "I don't need you, go
|
||
away. I'm going to live!" she says to nobody.
|
||
|
||
=======================================================
|
||
|
||
BOY
|
||
|
||
by William Ramsay
|
||
|
||
[Note: This is an excerpt, chapter 1 of the novel "In
|
||
Search of Mozart"]
|
||
|
||
|
||
The lights! It was fantastically, wonderfully
|
||
bright. He had never seen so many candles in his life.
|
||
He was alone in the luminous glare -- alone at the
|
||
keyboard, waiting, eyeing the fat lady with the slit-
|
||
mouthed smile who stared at him from the dark painting
|
||
beside the window.
|
||
"Think about the music, Wolferl, the music comes
|
||
from God and the Blessed Virgin, imagine that you're in
|
||
church, that you're facing the altar."
|
||
"And don't forget to count!" his father had added.
|
||
He was always telling him that.
|
||
He recalled his father's words in the coach from
|
||
Salzburg to Munich: "You will be doing something sacred -
|
||
- just like the priest at the altar. He can't worry
|
||
about the people in the church. He's turned away from
|
||
them, facing the holy place."
|
||
Well, that part was the same, thought Wolfgang. He
|
||
couldn't see the people behind him -- but that didn't
|
||
mean that he didn't worry about them. He looked down at
|
||
the keyboard and then up, over the top of the music stand
|
||
to the wall beyond and a cluster of golden-edged pictures
|
||
of people with shifty eyes and long, dark wigs.
|
||
His stomach felt empty and cold. The little finger
|
||
on his left hand quivered. This gigantic palace and all
|
||
the important people-- counts and dukes, and one fat old
|
||
man in a bright yellow suit who Papa had told him was a
|
||
real prince. What if he should freeze up now, miss the
|
||
notes, and the dukes and the Prince should frown?
|
||
A million chandeliers were sparkling in the mirrors
|
||
lining the mustard-yellow walls of the immense room.
|
||
It was not that he wasn't used to playing before an
|
||
audience. Father was always bringing home people who
|
||
wanted to hear him play. But other people didn't
|
||
criticize him as his family did, so usually it was easier
|
||
to play before strangers than it was to play just for his
|
||
parents and his sister Nannerl. But tonight! So many
|
||
people, so many beautiful things, furniture, paintings --
|
||
such gigantic rooms! He glanced around. His father,
|
||
sitting chin in hand, was fidgeting. Something bitter
|
||
rose in Wolfgang's throat. He was suddenly afraid he was
|
||
going to throw up.
|
||
He began the counting to lead into the first measure
|
||
of the Handel. Eins, zwo, drei, vier, eins, zwo, drei,
|
||
vier... "Don't cheat on the counting," and "Count out
|
||
loud half the time," and -- oh, he got awfully tired of
|
||
hearing about counting!
|
||
Beautiful ladies wore jewels covering their white
|
||
throats -- the glistening specks of light from the
|
||
diamonds and rubies were sharp and clear as raindrops.
|
||
He began. The first notes echoed, twinkling,
|
||
clinking with the slight, piercing sound of the bright-
|
||
toned harpsichord.
|
||
"The people sitting behind you," his father had
|
||
said, "Even if they're great princes and ladies, are all
|
||
there to hear you. But God will be the most important
|
||
person, your gift is from Him, your talent is one of His
|
||
works. He will be there to see if you're making good use
|
||
of that gift. Do your duty to Him."
|
||
Suddenly his mind went blank -- what was the next
|
||
measure? He shut his mind off and let his fingers go.
|
||
His fingers knew the way -- on, on, into the ritornello!
|
||
Glimpses through the tall windows. The world was
|
||
sparkling outside, the light from the full moon shone on
|
||
the icy lawns of the palace gardens.
|
||
Eins, zwo, drei, vier, eins, zwo...
|
||
It was really frightening to think of God and the
|
||
Virgin listening to him play. But when he imagined how
|
||
he felt when he was hearing mass, then he thought he
|
||
understood his father. Music was like the mass. It was
|
||
always easy to concentrate on it because there was always
|
||
a new way of hearing it.
|
||
"Brhhhmmmhhh!" Someone behind him coughed.
|
||
Never mind. It was his duty to perform well.
|
||
Concentrate on making each note sound just as beautiful
|
||
as he could. His father was right. His father was
|
||
always right.
|
||
He finished his first piece. The clapping broke
|
||
like a deafening torrent behind him. He turned and saw
|
||
a mist of brightness and smiles. His father motioned to
|
||
him. He wanted to wipe his forehead, but he didn't dare.
|
||
He bowed deeply. Blood rushed to his head, he became
|
||
slightly giddy. The big fat Prince in the bright yellow
|
||
suit with all the ribbons and medals and jewels called
|
||
him over: "Wonderful, extraordinary, I've never heard
|
||
such playing in my life! And from such a tiny little
|
||
maestro. Five years old. Imagine!" Pat, pat on his
|
||
head, the impacts muffled by his periwig.
|
||
The Handel had gone well. His father hugged him and
|
||
gave him a wet kiss on his cheek. A terrible desire
|
||
arose, to lay his head down on the harpsichord and close
|
||
his eyes. But it was almost time to play again.
|
||
Scarlatti this time. He remembered how a few weeks ago
|
||
he had given Scarlatti the "tin soldier" treatment -- he
|
||
would hit all the right notes and keep the rhythm -- but
|
||
still play badly. He called this playing like a tin
|
||
soldier, because he would pretend in his mind that his
|
||
arms and legs were stiff and hard, and that he couldn't
|
||
think at all beneath his imaginary tin helmet. Papa
|
||
would get upset and bewildered, and yet he wouldn't be
|
||
able to put his finger on what was wrong. It served Papa
|
||
right! Him and his constant "Don't forget to count!"
|
||
Tonight he felt unable to pretend anything. His
|
||
chest seemed to tremble, his face felt hot.
|
||
More applause for Scarlatti.
|
||
And now his own sonata. The ladies "ooh"-ed and
|
||
"aah"-ed at his having composed a sonata. My goodness,
|
||
he had written that back last summer. He could do much
|
||
better now. Didn't anybody realize that?
|
||
Six eighths.
|
||
Eins, zwo, drei, vier, fuenf, sechs, eins, zwo,...
|
||
He remembered just a few weeks before, Abbe
|
||
Bullinger sitting sprawled in the great oak chair in the
|
||
Mozart parlor in Salzburg, listening to him play this
|
||
sonata while his father read sermons.
|
||
"Oh, Wolferl, that's a lovely cadenza," said the
|
||
Abbe. "Whose is it? Vivaldi's?"
|
||
"No, I made it up."
|
||
"It sounds so familiar."
|
||
"It's mine."
|
||
"You're sure you aren't teasing me, Wolferl?" said
|
||
the Abbe. "I know I recognize it."
|
||
"It's mine, it's mine! You don't know anything!"
|
||
The Abbe opened his mouth wide, then he shut it
|
||
again and shifted his gigantic body, rocking the folds of
|
||
black cloth that spilled out over the edges of the chair.
|
||
Wolfgang saw his father's face turn red. "Wolferl, go to
|
||
your room -- immediately!"
|
||
The tears were dry on his cheeks by the time his
|
||
father knocked on his bedroom door. His father sat down
|
||
on the bed and motioned to him to lean over. Then Papa
|
||
took him by the shoulder, bent him down, and spanked him
|
||
hard, twice. Then he picked him up and shook him so
|
||
that, when he set him down again, his eyes blurred.
|
||
"When you grow up, Wolferl, then you can talk as much as
|
||
you want about how much you know. But in the meantime,
|
||
don't talk back to adults!"
|
||
He remembered the feel of the stinging in his
|
||
behind. Adults! They thought they were like kings, they
|
||
could do anything!
|
||
Clunk! Someone dropped something right behind him,
|
||
near where the Prince in his shining yellow suit was
|
||
sitting. It clinked merrily, like silver, a knife or
|
||
fork.
|
||
Keep counting, keep counting. Eins, zwo, drei,
|
||
vier, fuenf, sechs.
|
||
He finished playing his own sonata. Everybody
|
||
clapped loudly. His father hugged him. The Prince shook
|
||
his hand with a gentle, moist grasp. Ladies tried to
|
||
kiss him. One of them had a big black spot on her cheek.
|
||
Then his father told him that he could go ahead and eat
|
||
whatever he wanted from the big silver trays. There
|
||
were all sorts of lovely cakes, cookies, and candies. He
|
||
thought his father would tell him to stop after a while,
|
||
but he just kept on eating, and nobody told him not to.
|
||
All he wanted! And the beautiful ladies gave him little
|
||
kisses and stroked his face, and told him to take even
|
||
more cakes. He wanted to take some home to Salzburg to
|
||
Mama. He said so, and the ladies and gentlemen laughed.
|
||
He still would have, but his sister Nannerl told him very
|
||
sternly, no. Finally he nestled into the arms of a nice
|
||
lady in a marvelous, snow-like white dress and his eyes
|
||
grew heavier and heavier. He woke up with Nannerl
|
||
shaking him. "Wolferl, time to go home!" He heard one
|
||
of the ladies say, "The little angel," as he trotted
|
||
along, stumbling, holding onto his sister's hand.
|
||
Angels lived in Paradise, and that's certainly what
|
||
the palace felt like -- a bright heaven, full of lights.
|
||
He had played well. He had done his duty.
|
||
He started to wonder about this "duty" and why
|
||
exactly God was making him do it -- every day, and for so
|
||
many hours. But he was too tired to think -- all he
|
||
wanted was to go to sleep. And then after that -- to go
|
||
home, home to Salzburg!
|
||
#
|
||
Morning came, bright, chilly, and clear. He looked
|
||
out the window, leaning on the cold, frosty sill.
|
||
Munich! It had taken him a moment to realize that he
|
||
still wasn't home in Salzburg, he was in this marvelous
|
||
inn, where there were so many chickens -- he could make
|
||
them out in the coops behind the courtyard wall. He
|
||
wondered if the big brown pig with the long, drippy snout
|
||
would come around again and root some more in the garbage
|
||
scattered about the court below.
|
||
He wished father and Nannerl would get up. Maybe he
|
||
could go down to the kitchen and see Gertrude, with her
|
||
fat arms and her big smile with the two teeth missing in
|
||
the middle. She was so nice to him and might give him
|
||
cake to eat again. He loved Gertrude. The only thing
|
||
was, poor Mama.
|
||
Finally breakfast was over -- he had been too full
|
||
of cake to eat much. "I'm sorry Mama didn't come, Papa.
|
||
I miss her." He was playing with the little black dog
|
||
that belonged to the innkeeper, cuffing at it and then
|
||
pretending to feed it so that it would jump up at his
|
||
hand. He missed his dog, Bimperl.
|
||
"I'm sorry too, Wolferl." His father was busy
|
||
reading and just glanced up at him and then back at his
|
||
book. His father may have been sorry. But he was really
|
||
sorry.
|
||
"Why couldn't she come?" The dog slobbered on him
|
||
slightly. His hand turned warm and sticky.
|
||
"Next time, Wolferl, maybe she can come next time."
|
||
"Papa." Hot tears gathered on his left cheekbone
|
||
and then rolled down, some running onto his upper lip.
|
||
He licked at them.
|
||
"Oh, Wolferl!" said his sister. "Stop that!"
|
||
Nannerl took a handkerchief from the bosom of her dress
|
||
and helped him blow his nose.
|
||
Everything would be O.K. But he did miss Mama, he
|
||
did. He missed home.
|
||
He remembered Willy waving good-bye as the horses
|
||
started up and the coach lurched and began to jangle down
|
||
the Getreidegasse on the way out of Salzburg. He had
|
||
given Willy his best marble, the one with the yellow and
|
||
orange streaks in it. As a special going-away present.
|
||
Willy had made a little gasp, then his face had hardened,
|
||
and then he said that he couldn't take it. But finally,
|
||
his smile creasing his freckles, Willy opened his hand
|
||
and clasped the marble. Willy would remember him while
|
||
he was away.
|
||
#
|
||
The next day, after breakfast, his father took him
|
||
on his lap: "Son, I must talk to you."
|
||
Uh-oh. He thought he knew what was coming. "Are we
|
||
going to make a visit tonight?" He chewed on the stringy
|
||
end of a piece of goat cheese.
|
||
"No, no visit tonight. Wednesday -- and you'll have
|
||
to practice hard. Wolferl, I have something very
|
||
important to tell you. Pay attention!" his father said,
|
||
as Wolfgang turned to peek out the window at a dove
|
||
pecking away at a piece of grain in the courtyard.
|
||
"Remember at the Count's the other night? No more of
|
||
that!"
|
||
He remembered squirming on the hard, narrow bench in
|
||
the grand salon of the Count's mansion -- waiting,
|
||
waiting. It wasn't as big as the Prince's palace, but it
|
||
had a better harpsichord. When his father had signaled
|
||
him and he began, "One, two, three, one, two, three."
|
||
Just as he hit the first note of the Handel, someone
|
||
laughed. His finger slipped on the next arpeggio, and he
|
||
had to play the next measure faster, catching up to the
|
||
rhythm, and then a high, piercing female voice said,
|
||
"She'll never be able to show her face in Munich
|
||
again."
|
||
'Show her face?' What did that mean? His fingers
|
||
started to stumble again, but he caught up with the
|
||
rhythm again and threw himself into the playing. That
|
||
awful old Countess continued to talk. But he clenched
|
||
his teeth and didn't make any more mistakes. He finished
|
||
the piece, really drawing out the ritardando at the end.
|
||
He heard the hands clapping but saw only a blur of faces.
|
||
He leaped up from the keyboard and scurried over to his
|
||
father, wiping his eyes with his knuckles as he hid his
|
||
head in his father's lap.
|
||
"You mustn't cry when people talk while you're
|
||
playing," said his father. The dove in the courtyard
|
||
flapped and soared up to perch just below the roof.
|
||
"But I didn't cry! And besides, Papa, they should
|
||
have been listening."
|
||
"Wolferl, if the Countess" -- that ugly, silly old
|
||
lady, Wolfgang thought -- "wants to talk, it's her right.
|
||
It was her home."
|
||
"But Papa." The dove flew off, dark against the
|
||
bright sky.
|
||
"If you run off and cry like that again, people will
|
||
stop inviting us and there will be no more visits." His
|
||
father's mouth was pursed and his blue eyes looked angry.
|
||
"I don't care," he shouted. "I don't care!"
|
||
His father raised his hand, and Wolfgang felt tears
|
||
rise in his eyes. But the hand stopped in mid-air,
|
||
trembled, and slowly sank down. "Go practice your
|
||
violin."
|
||
"No!"
|
||
"Yes, right now!"
|
||
His father took hold of his shirt collar and led him
|
||
to the door and pushed him toward the bed and the
|
||
battered black violin case that lay beside it. As he
|
||
took out the violin and tuned it, he thought: suppose
|
||
there were no more visits, so what!
|
||
#
|
||
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's father, Leopold, told
|
||
himself he had cause to feel satisfied -- very satisfied.
|
||
It was Christmas, and there were wreaths up on the houses
|
||
as they returned to their inn in Munich in a small gig
|
||
from an afternoon visit to the Duke of Zweibruecken. It
|
||
was cold in the open air, and only his son's bright blue
|
||
eyes and the bridge of his nose were visible under the
|
||
folds of a thick brown wool scarf. The New Year, 1762,
|
||
was just around the corner, as well as his son's sixth
|
||
birthday. Who would have thought that he, the Deputy
|
||
Music Director at the court of the Prince-Archbishop of
|
||
Salzburg, would this Christmas be the guest of honor --
|
||
well, the father of the guests of honor -- at the court
|
||
of Maximilian III, the Electoral Prince of Bavaria? At
|
||
the age of forty-two, something was finally going right
|
||
for him in his life. For so many years he had been
|
||
resigned to the fact that his place was on the edges of
|
||
crowds of courtiers! But that first night at the palace:
|
||
"Herr Kapellmeister, right this way, bring the children
|
||
up close so that His Highness can get a good look at
|
||
them." The voice of the Prince's music director had been
|
||
sweet and charming as he waved his hand in an elaborate,
|
||
feminine gesture toward the Electoral throne. And then
|
||
later the Bishop of Chiemsee had leaned over to Leopold
|
||
during the concert: "Herr Mozart, how fortunate that your
|
||
children have had a father with such musical knowledge!
|
||
How lucky for the world!"
|
||
Just then, Wolfgang had made some awful mistakes,
|
||
two right in a row. Leopold felt a sharp pain in his
|
||
stomach. But he looked closely at the bishop's face,
|
||
with the pig-like but friendly little brown eyes set
|
||
deeply into fat cheeks -- it was impassive. The lady on
|
||
his other side with the large beauty spot on her cheek
|
||
was staring straight ahead, eyelids half-lowered.
|
||
Leopold looked over at the slim little figure in the
|
||
periwig, perched up on two pillows on the harpsichord
|
||
bench. Wolferl had played through his mistakes, keeping
|
||
up the tempo -- good boy! The bishop turned and smiled
|
||
at him, making a silent gesture of applause. Leopold
|
||
smiled back. But as he stretched his lips in a display
|
||
of satisfaction, the thought of Wolferl's mistakes
|
||
chilled his heart. He couldn't depend on audience
|
||
ignorance forever. Perfection, that must be their goal.
|
||
Nannerl was coming along fine. But Wolferl must be
|
||
disciplined to practice. At home, it was easy, the child
|
||
loved the harpsichord, he could hardly be kept away from
|
||
it -- except when the other boys came around pestering
|
||
him to come out and play. But when they were traveling,
|
||
there were so many distractions. After all, when the
|
||
Duke's daughter invited Wolferl to go on an outing with
|
||
her that afternoon, who could have refused her? His son
|
||
came back from the excursion, his periwig askew, his
|
||
normally white cheeks flushed pink with excitement,
|
||
bubbling over with all the wonderful things he had seen,
|
||
the tame deer, the windmill, the twin calves. How could
|
||
a father begrudge him that -- especially when the blonde
|
||
little seven-year-old duchess held his son so tightly by
|
||
the hand and whispered in his ear as if they had known
|
||
each other forever? His son bouncing up and down on the
|
||
seat cushions.
|
||
"You had fun, today, didn't you, Wolferl?"
|
||
"Oh yes, Papa, she showed me all kinds of things!"
|
||
He patted his son on the head. As they reentered
|
||
the courtyard of the inn, Wolfgang jumped out of the
|
||
carriage before him and started to run across the court.
|
||
"Wolferl, where are you going?"
|
||
"Nowhere, Papi."
|
||
Leopold could see where two boards were missing in
|
||
the back fence to a small field beyond. Two boys in
|
||
woolen breeches and heavy blouses were standing tossing
|
||
a ball back and forth. "Time to practice."
|
||
"Oh, Papi, not now. I'm tired."
|
||
"Not too tired to play ball, I suppose."
|
||
"Oh, Papi."
|
||
"An hour with the violin, then you can play ball."
|
||
"A half hour?" Wolfgang looked at the two other
|
||
boys.
|
||
"An hour."
|
||
His son walked off, head hanging. Leopold went into
|
||
the public room, ordered a glass of stout, and listened.
|
||
The sounds of the violin scales came from the room above.
|
||
Faster and faster the notes came. One mistake, then
|
||
another, then his son settled down. Soon the sweet
|
||
sounds of a Vivaldi sonata reached him. He reached into
|
||
the purse containing their earnings from this tour and
|
||
tipped the waitress a silver thaler.
|
||
A good boy. But, associating with little duchesses,
|
||
would he learn not to talk back to the aristocrats, not
|
||
to care if the old Countess blathered on during his
|
||
performances? Wolferl was only five years old. Still,
|
||
if he didn't learn something about tact, and fast, he
|
||
could ruin everything -- everything!
|
||
#
|
||
It was the most beautiful spring day Leopold had
|
||
ever seen in Salzburg. Well, a touch of mist, but
|
||
nothing much. A soothing chill touched the air.
|
||
"Leo, I've never seen you look so happy." Abbe
|
||
Bullinger's bulging cassock looked like a small black
|
||
mountain, with enough wool in it to have made up clothing
|
||
for two ordinary-sized priests.
|
||
Leopold smiled, and rubbed the shiny knee of his
|
||
third-best suit. He had bought it when he was twenty-
|
||
five, but it still fit perfectly. Maybe now he could
|
||
afford a new best suit. "Yes, it was an experience."
|
||
"How did the children stand all the excitement?"
|
||
Leopold took another sip of coffee and stretched out
|
||
his long legs under the table in the coffee house.
|
||
"Well, Wolferl was a little wild at times, but
|
||
really he was very good."
|
||
"How did he play? Our little music machine, as
|
||
usual."
|
||
"No, no, don't even say that in fun, Sepp! Not a
|
||
machine. He's sensitive, a more sensitive musician even
|
||
than I am. Well, I suppose that's what you'd expect.
|
||
But he did play like a -- well, like a performer. Of
|
||
course, so did Nannerl."
|
||
"He has plenty of self-confidence, I can attest to
|
||
that." The Abbe put on a comical face.
|
||
"I punished him for talking back to you about the
|
||
cadenza, Sepp, it won't happen again."
|
||
"Oh, I don't mind. I like being treated like
|
||
family. But it's going to be difficult for a child with
|
||
his talent and his temperament not to rub people the
|
||
wrong way."
|
||
"I'll teach him, Sepp, don't worry."
|
||
"You can't drive him too hard, though, Leo."
|
||
"I won't."
|
||
"You don't realize the power you have over him.
|
||
I've never forgotten when he was only four, I was
|
||
questioning him about God and Christ and the Virgin
|
||
Mary, and he told me that God was first, but after God
|
||
came Papa."
|
||
They both laughed.
|
||
"I know what you mean, Sepp, I understand the
|
||
responsibility."
|
||
"Let him be a boy, Leo."
|
||
"Of course, of course. But he has to be a musician
|
||
too."
|
||
"You can't ever give him back his childhood, Leo."
|
||
Sepp didn't seem to understand. He hadn't seen the
|
||
expression on the face of Maximilian III. "Oh, Sepp! If
|
||
Wolferl works hard, he could be great -- my little boy
|
||
could be a great man!"
|
||
#
|
||
Marianne Mozart was in the parlor, crocheting a
|
||
bright red scarf, using the new skeins of wool that her
|
||
husband had brought her from Munich. She looked up over
|
||
at him, where he sat in his favorite rocking chair,
|
||
tuning his violin. His profile, with its decisive chin,
|
||
looked handsome against the sunlight from the narrow
|
||
window looking out onto the Getreidegasse.
|
||
"Mozart, I found the money on my dressing table.
|
||
Five ducats!"
|
||
He smiled. "Go buy yourself something pretty,
|
||
Marianne." Marianne Pertl Mozart's plump face blushed,
|
||
she pulled at the prominent, fleshy nose that she called
|
||
her 'Pertl dowry,' and said, "But five ducats!"
|
||
"Marianne, we made 175 ducats in just three weeks in
|
||
Bavaria. More than twice my annual salary."
|
||
"But shouldn't we be saving something for the
|
||
future?"
|
||
"No, what we have to do right now is to spend, we
|
||
need clothes, wigs, I'm even going to buy a portable
|
||
keyboard so that the children don't miss practicing when
|
||
we travel."
|
||
She straightened her brown muslin skirt. "Spend
|
||
more money? Leopold!"
|
||
He leaned forward and pounded on the table, knocking
|
||
off a hymnal. She leaned over and picked it up, placing
|
||
it reverently out of the way. "Fame, Marianne. That's
|
||
what we must aim for, fame! We must display the children
|
||
to the whole world. First, here in Germany. This fall,
|
||
we'll go to Vienna for the start of the winter season.
|
||
The children must play for the Emperor." Marianne felt
|
||
a hollowness in her stomach. "Oh, Mozart! Not again,
|
||
not another trip."
|
||
He grinned at her. "Don't worry, we'll all go this
|
||
time, the whole family, we all missed you in Munich."
|
||
She smiled and blushed, and he kissed her hand.
|
||
"I hope We won't have to be parted, the four of us,
|
||
ever!"
|
||
"Oh, Marianne, we can't say that, who knows what
|
||
will happen? The important thing is to make a reputation
|
||
in the capital, before the Emperor and the Empress.
|
||
Their Imperial Majesties, think of it!"
|
||
"Oh. Yes, of course."
|
||
"The children will have to practice hard. This is
|
||
our big chance."
|
||
"Yes, Mozart, I understand." She looked away, her
|
||
lips pressed together. He patted her on the shoulder and
|
||
walked away. She picked up her crochet work and began to
|
||
work again on the red scarf for her son.
|
||
Vienna might well be only the beginning. Her
|
||
husband had also talked about a Grand Tour of Europe the
|
||
following year -- if Their Imperial Majesties were
|
||
pleased. Wolferl would need more than scarves -- he'd
|
||
need the red-blooded strength of the Pertls to survive
|
||
this new life of theirs.
|
||
#
|
||
Wolfgang was tired of the summer. The heat was
|
||
awful. And he'd cut his left shin in two places slipping
|
||
on a rock up on the back slope of Castle Hill. The scab
|
||
was peeling off and it had started to bleed at the left
|
||
edge.
|
||
Papa said they were going away again. Vienna this
|
||
time. The capital of the Empire. In pictures, Vienna
|
||
had been very bright, people dressed in fur coats, lots
|
||
of snow. Would it be winter there already? And how
|
||
could they go there in a big boat? The Salzach looked to
|
||
be too small to get a big boat on it. Would the boat
|
||
break up going down the rapids? That would be cold.
|
||
They'd freeze!
|
||
It was worrying. Did they speak German in Vienna?
|
||
Or Turkish? If it was Turkish, how would he be able to
|
||
ask for anything? Did Papa speak Turkish? Probably.
|
||
Did you say "Giddyup" and "Whoa" to Turkish horses? How
|
||
did you say C major in Turkish?
|
||
What do you say to Turkish horses, anyway?
|
||
#
|
||
They weren't freezing at all -- and it was a big
|
||
river -- the Danube. It was early morning, the air crisp
|
||
with the feel of autumn. He and his sister watched the
|
||
waters of the Danube slowly ripple around the stern as a
|
||
brisk wind filled the sails.
|
||
"Watch closely, now, keep a sharp eye out." The
|
||
bearded captain leaned over him. A big puff of smoke
|
||
from his pipe made Wolfgang cough.
|
||
"What?" he said.
|
||
"Just watch, as we go around this bend."
|
||
"Yes, don't talk so much, Wolferl, just watch, like
|
||
I do!" said his sister.
|
||
The river was straightening out again. He saw the
|
||
spires! Off to the right, back some distance from the
|
||
banks of the river, first one, then two or three, then
|
||
finally a forest of church steeples over the intervening
|
||
trees -- it was Vienna! It sat like a little toy town,
|
||
shining and sparkling on the green plain leading from
|
||
the river to the city.
|
||
They docked, with a loud thump, and he ran down
|
||
right behind Nannerl as soon as the gangplank was down.
|
||
Two men in the blue uniforms picked up their luggage and
|
||
began looking through it.
|
||
"What are they looking for, Papa?"
|
||
One of the customs officials, a short man with a red
|
||
face, answered, "We're just looking to see what you've
|
||
got, young fellow."
|
||
"I've got my clothes and some toys and my music and
|
||
my violin."
|
||
"Oh, so you play the fiddle, do you?" The official
|
||
screwed up his face and winked.
|
||
Wolfgang looked up, "Of course, it's mine, why would
|
||
I be carrying it around if I didn't play it? I've been
|
||
playing for years and years!
|
||
"A good trick that is!" said the red-faced official,
|
||
looking down at him kindly. "Well, you can bring your
|
||
fiddle into Vienna if you can prove it's yours. Play us
|
||
a tune."
|
||
Wolfgang frowned. Not his fiddle! He grabbed his
|
||
violin, tuned it hastily, and struck up an easy minuet.
|
||
A crowd had begun to gather. A couple of boys his own
|
||
age, wearing flat blue caps, stared at him. He bet that
|
||
they couldn't play the violin! Everyone applauded loudly
|
||
and then cheered when he started yet another minuet, and
|
||
then another. Finally, a very tall dark man in a blue
|
||
uniform picked him up, gave him a big kiss on both
|
||
cheeks. Wolfgang didn't usually mind kissing, but he was
|
||
tired. His eyes began to sting. He didn't want to cry,
|
||
he was embarrassed. Papa took him from the arms of the
|
||
strange men, put him on his feet, and whispered to him:
|
||
"Stop crying, Wolferl. Pull yourself together, smile,
|
||
and make a bow to the gentlemen."
|
||
"But they aren't gentlemen," he whispered loudly in
|
||
his father's ear. "They aren't wearing stockings."
|
||
His father looked at him oddly. "Any appreciative
|
||
listener is a gentleman," he whispered. "Bow! Low!"
|
||
He wiped his nose with his fingers and bowed.
|
||
"And smile, Wolferl, don't forget to smile!"
|
||
He gritted his teeth and smiled at those men in the
|
||
dirty leggings. They looked all right, but they
|
||
certainly weren't gentlemen. Why did people always tell
|
||
such lies?
|
||
As they walked out to find a carriage, Nannerl
|
||
pulling him by one hand, all Wolfgang heard were people
|
||
speaking German. So Vienna was not full of Turks after
|
||
all, there were just a lot of Germans pretty much like
|
||
those at home. But there were so many of them. So many
|
||
people, so many horses -- but they weren't Turkish, just
|
||
plain German horses -- and many carts pulled by animals
|
||
and others pushed by people. Papa, sweat marks showing
|
||
on the armpits of his coat, hustled them into a
|
||
carriage. They jounced along some of the narrow streets
|
||
until they came to their lodgings. The street was called
|
||
the Ditch, and they were just down the street from the
|
||
Cathedral of St. Stephen. They went up some rather steep
|
||
stairs into a suite of mustard-colored rooms. Papa
|
||
lifted him up onto a bed and pulled off his dusty black
|
||
shoes, and he immediately fell fast asleep.
|
||
When he awoke, it was dark, but candles had been
|
||
lit, and he could see that Father had already found them
|
||
a clavichord. He had missed the clavichord these last
|
||
days, since they had left the palace of Count
|
||
Schlecklischluckli [Schlick] in Linz. He got up, sat
|
||
down at the keyboard, and threw himself into it. He
|
||
played some of the familiar pieces that he knew well,
|
||
especially some dance suites that Papa had told him
|
||
people in Vienna would like. Then he set himself to
|
||
practice his scales -- D, A. He imagined the power that
|
||
he would have in his fingers when he had become strong
|
||
enough to master the B-flat minor scale. And his trills
|
||
and bass figures, he worked on those too.
|
||
The trills were sounding better. Father should be
|
||
pleased. Maybe if Papa heard his trills, he wouldn't be
|
||
so worried about going to the palace. It was so good to
|
||
play again! He was well into his new pieces,
|
||
experimenting with one of the minuets he had been playing
|
||
at the customs shed, making up what his father called
|
||
"variations," when his mother came in, pulling her
|
||
wrapper about herself. She grabbed him by the ear.
|
||
"Wolferl, do you know what time it is?"
|
||
"But Mama!"
|
||
"To bed, now. Now!" She helped him take off his
|
||
clothes and tucked him under the feather bed. He
|
||
started to fall asleep. He felt wonderful. He looked up
|
||
at his mother standing over his bed and saw that her brow
|
||
was wrinkled up and her mouth looked sad. He didn't
|
||
understand. He felt so happy! All of them together, in
|
||
Vienna, with a clavichord -- and Papa would be so happy
|
||
about the trills.
|
||
#
|
||
Giant walls loomed up ahead as their coach
|
||
approached the entrance to the palace. A large crowd was
|
||
gathered in front of the gates. They shouted at the
|
||
coach, some of them in words that Wolfgang didn't
|
||
understand. One of them stuck his face and his hand
|
||
inside, almost in Nannerl's face, his toothless mouth
|
||
gaping, and croaked out: "A penny, please, Miss, for the
|
||
love of God."
|
||
"'Love of God,' I'll teach you, you worthless, lazy
|
||
scum!" said his father, swinging at the man's hand with
|
||
his gilt-headed cane, but missing. Wolfgang ducked. The
|
||
man moved away. Wolfgang raised his head. He felt
|
||
trapped in the coach, afraid that the people outside
|
||
would try to force their way in and maybe hurt them, even
|
||
kill them. And Papa was so angry, muttering "miserable
|
||
rabble" and "ungrateful swine." Wolfgang didn't know
|
||
what they were supposed to be grateful about. Grateful
|
||
because they could stand there and talk to people, even
|
||
put their arms inside coaches?
|
||
"Why is that man begging for a penny, Papa?"
|
||
"Because he's lazy, that's why, lazy rabble."
|
||
"Could I beg for a penny too?"
|
||
His father grasped his arm tightly. "Never! No son
|
||
of mine will ever beg. Never, never, never! No Mozart
|
||
ever has and no Mozart ever will!"
|
||
Just then the gates were opened for them, and they
|
||
entered the grounds of Schoenbrunn Palace. They passed
|
||
by buildings with rows of tall windows, servants in gold-
|
||
embroidered livery, vast beds of mums and asters.
|
||
Here they were! The palace!
|
||
#
|
||
Leopold was glad he had hired the fanciest coach
|
||
available and that he had dressed out Wolfgang in his
|
||
first really fine suit, white moire silk with doubly
|
||
embroidered gold facings. If the suit made his son feel
|
||
like a prince, that would help when he had to meet real
|
||
princes. After all, it would be a daunting experience
|
||
for a boy that age to be meeting such exalted personages.
|
||
He felt uneasy enough himself -- if they failed today, it
|
||
would be the end of his dreams of glory.
|
||
#
|
||
When they were ushered into the waiting rooms for
|
||
the royal suite, Wolfgang thought the people standing
|
||
around were all princes and nobles. Imagine! It turned
|
||
out they were just servants! Finally the door opened,
|
||
and they walked inside. The doors were gold and white
|
||
and taller than any he had ever seen. And inside, the
|
||
Emperor and the Empress were sitting there, waiting for
|
||
them.
|
||
She seemed so warm and motherly, and she had on the
|
||
most beautiful pale blue dress, just like the Queen of
|
||
the Fairies in the picture in the Archbishop's palace in
|
||
Salzburg. The Empress, Maria Theresa. What a nice,
|
||
singing name!
|
||
#
|
||
"Mozart, Mozart!" Marianne Mozart whispered
|
||
urgently into her husband's ear as they stood
|
||
respectfully at a distance of some twenty feet from the
|
||
throne-like chairs where the Imperial party sat.
|
||
"Shhhhhh!"
|
||
"He's climbing onto the Empress' lap!"
|
||
"Shhhh!"
|
||
"But Mozart!" He placed his finger over his lips
|
||
and bowed his head low. She shrugged. The world had
|
||
gone crazy.
|
||
#
|
||
The Empress smiled at him. He told her how much he
|
||
liked the trip on the river. She said she liked the
|
||
river too. He told some of the stories the sailors had
|
||
told him about elves and river maidens. She seemed
|
||
interested, opening her mouth wide and saying, "Oh, my!"
|
||
Then he tried to climb down.
|
||
"No," she said. "Sit here while the Emperor plays."
|
||
The Emperor played the harpsichord. A piece by
|
||
Bach. He was pretty awful. Wolfgang looked up at the
|
||
ceiling and saw golden cherubs looking down on him from
|
||
a blue sky. Then the Archduke Joseph, the Crown Prince,
|
||
began to play. He was even worse. Wolfgang kicked his
|
||
foot idly, back and forth, looking around the room at all
|
||
the people. A tall man in a purple suit leaned over and
|
||
pushed at Wolfgang's foot to stop the kicking. He
|
||
squirmed away from the hand and slipped slowly off the
|
||
blue silk lap. The Empress patted his head. When the
|
||
Crown Prince finally stopped playing, Wolfgang ran over
|
||
to his father. Suddenly he slipped on the shiny waxed
|
||
floor. The world turned upside down. He was on his back
|
||
and he was dizzy. It was hard to breathe and his chest
|
||
hurt. The tall little girl, the Archduchess Antonia,
|
||
kneeled down beside him and pulled his head onto her lap.
|
||
"There," she said. "Are you all right?" The man in
|
||
the purple suit came over and tried to pull her away.
|
||
"Yes thanks." He recovered his breath. She looked
|
||
down at him. She was beautiful. "I'm going to marry you
|
||
when I grow up!" he said. She giggled. He heard the
|
||
Emperor laugh. The Crown Prince Joseph came over and
|
||
looked down at him. He was almost grown up and had a big
|
||
nose. His mouth was like a very thin straight line. He
|
||
pushed the Archduchess away and motioned for a servant
|
||
to help Wolfgang up. "Just horseplay. The little boy's
|
||
all right, Father," he said.
|
||
"More than all right, if he appreciates a pretty
|
||
girl already," said the Emperor.
|
||
After he had gotten up again, Herr Wagenseil came
|
||
forward and motioned for him to sit down and play at the
|
||
harpsichord. But first his father gestured for him to
|
||
come over to him and handed him the score for a piece
|
||
Herr Wagenseil had composed. He sat down at the
|
||
keyboard. His head still felt a little dizzy. "Herr
|
||
Wagenseil," he said, "I'm going to play one of your
|
||
pieces. Please turn the pages for me."
|
||
The Emperor and the Empress laughed. So did almost
|
||
everybody else -- except Herr Wagenseil and the Crown
|
||
Prince, who made a face. Wolfgang felt in a good mood,
|
||
and he knew he was playing well. He made one mistake
|
||
while trying a chord in the bass that was still too much
|
||
of a stretch for his hands. It jarred when he hit the D
|
||
instead of the C. But he played through, and nobody
|
||
seemed to notice -- except the Crown Prince, who winced
|
||
and shook his head.
|
||
Everybody clapped at the end. But the Crown Prince
|
||
didn't clap very hard, and he still looked sour. He felt
|
||
like telling the Crown Prince to count when he played,
|
||
for heaven's sake.
|
||
"Herr Mozart," said the Emperor, "how delighted we
|
||
are that you could bring these marvelous children here
|
||
today." As his father had taught him, Wolfgang bowed
|
||
very deeply, and the queue from his wig flapped over the
|
||
top of his head. As he straightened up, he felt his head
|
||
to be sure the queue was back in the right place. The
|
||
Crown Prince laughed. "A curious little boy," he said.
|
||
His father motioned to them and they all bowed again
|
||
and left the salon. As they walked back through the
|
||
giant halls of the palace, his father smiled and said,
|
||
"I thought the Empress was going to keep you for good!"
|
||
He caressed Wolfgang's head. "But, Wolferl. You may
|
||
have offended Herr Wagenseil. And I don't think the
|
||
Crown Prince liked your fidgeting while he was playing.
|
||
I've warned you about saying things about adults."
|
||
"But the Prince can't play at all!"
|
||
"A prince always plays well, Wolferl. Always."
|
||
Wolferl shook off his father's hand. "Why do we
|
||
have to go now, anyway?"
|
||
"We have to go home."
|
||
"Home, really home, to Salzburg?"
|
||
"No, here, to the inn on the Graben."
|
||
"I want to stay here in the palace."
|
||
"Only princes live here, dummy," said his sister.
|
||
He stuck out his tongue at her. "I could be a
|
||
prince too. Couldn't I, Papa?"
|
||
"Wolferl," said his mother. "Stop talking such
|
||
nonsense."
|
||
"Why can't I be a prince, Papa?"
|
||
"You can be something better," said his father.
|
||
"But what, Papa?"
|
||
"A dummy baby," said Nannerl. He jumped at her, but
|
||
she scrambled out of the way. He began to chase her, but
|
||
she ran faster than he could follow.
|
||
As they waited for the carriage, Wolfgang stood,
|
||
rubbing the head of a stone lion, and thought, "Prince
|
||
Wolfgang." He liked the sound of it. Princes could do
|
||
whatever they wanted to. Even play the harpsichord when
|
||
they didn't know how to. They didn't even have to count!
|
||
They could order people to bring them anything they
|
||
wanted. He didn't understand his father -- "something
|
||
better." What could be better than being a prince?
|
||
#
|
||
The children need a rest, thought Leopold, as they
|
||
climbed back into their carriage. What a day! The whole
|
||
sky seemed to sparkle. Schoenbrunn had been a triumph.
|
||
The Emperor had been insistent that they come again.
|
||
"Bring more music next time. We'll play some things
|
||
together!"
|
||
It had been the high point of his life. Nothing had
|
||
ever been equal to that moment, watching his son on the
|
||
Empress' lap. The Lord had been merciful to him, the son
|
||
of a bookbinder, the grandson of a peasant.
|
||
But it was going to mean even more work for the
|
||
children. It was God's will -- they must labor to
|
||
fulfill the genius he had vouchsafed them.
|
||
#
|
||
Back inside the grand salon of the palace, all the
|
||
guests from the soiree had left. Archduke Joseph said,
|
||
"Why did you let him sit on your lap, Maman?" As usual,
|
||
he spoke in French.
|
||
"Oh, he was such a cute little boy!" said Maria
|
||
Theresa.
|
||
"What's the matter, son," said the Emperor, his
|
||
father. "Did you find that undignified?"
|
||
"It certainly wasn't what I had expected." Joseph
|
||
frowned. "After all, they're just musicians."
|
||
"Well, when you get to be Emperor, you can see that
|
||
the Court is better behaved. Are we a little lax,
|
||
darling?" he said, turning to Joseph's mother.
|
||
"From time to time," said the Empress giggling.
|
||
"That boy said he was going to marry my sister," he
|
||
said.
|
||
"Don't worry about that," said his father. "I'm
|
||
sure Toni won't settle for less than a grand duke for a
|
||
husband."
|
||
"I'm going to marry a prince or a king -- and not
|
||
just any prince or king." His eight-year-old sister,
|
||
Archduchess Maria Antonia -- Marie-Antoinette -- held her
|
||
blonde head up proudly. "He'll have to be important."
|
||
"As long as it isn't some musician off the streets,"
|
||
he said.
|
||
"Don't worry, I won't forget I'm a Hapsburg." She
|
||
stroked her long blonde hair.
|
||
"Just don't forget that Hapsburgs are rulers, not
|
||
gods," said his father. "Some of our royal cousins
|
||
forgot that in the past and came to grief."
|
||
Toni made a face. "That little boy might be nice as
|
||
a friend, though -- he's clever."
|
||
"'Friend'! I'd like to see a musician's snot-nosed
|
||
kid sit on my lap," said Joseph. "What a friend he would
|
||
be!"
|
||
"Just because you don't have any friends," said
|
||
Toni.
|
||
No friends -- so what! thought Joseph. "A prince
|
||
doesn't need any friends. He has a higher destiny."
|
||
"Nobody would be your friend!" she said.
|
||
"Children, children!" said his father. "Stop or
|
||
I'll take my cane and lower both your destinies a bit!"
|
||
#
|
||
Wolfgang sat at the clavichord in their rooms on the
|
||
Ditch, staring at the dark oak wall. into space. It had
|
||
been so wonderful. Herr Schmidt, the organist at
|
||
Schoenbrunn, had let him play the organ in the Emperor's
|
||
Chapel, and had shown him how to use all the stops.
|
||
Wait till he showed old Herr Dittmyer, the organist back
|
||
in Salzburg, about all he had learned on this trip.
|
||
But he'd have to be careful about showing people
|
||
things. Like the time the old Chief Kapellmeister at the
|
||
Residenz had asked him about chords. The old man had
|
||
said, "Do you know what this chord is -- in the key of
|
||
C?" playing on the organ a G, B, D, and F.
|
||
"Yes, the dominant seventh."
|
||
"And what does it resolve into?" he said, his
|
||
wrinkled old lips pursed up.
|
||
He thought a minute. "Well, lots of things, it
|
||
depends."
|
||
"No, it must resolve into the tonic."
|
||
"No, it doesn't have to."
|
||
The old man looked at him in disgust. "You need to
|
||
study more."
|
||
"No, you do, you're wrong!" he said loudly. Signor
|
||
Lolli raised his arm as if he would hit him, then lowered
|
||
it again. He got up hurriedly from the keyboard and went
|
||
off down the nave, his black and white robes swirling
|
||
behind him. Wolfgang stuck out his tongue at the Chief
|
||
Kapellmeister's back, as far as he could, until it hurt
|
||
at the roots.
|
||
His father beat him, three lashes with the wide
|
||
leather belt, when he heard about that. "Don't talk back
|
||
to adults."
|
||
Or at least don't get caught at it, thought
|
||
Wolfgang.
|
||
The dominant seventh. Of course often it didn't
|
||
always resolve into the tonic, not right away, or else
|
||
where would be the fun in the music? Sometimes it was
|
||
hard to remember what all the names of the chords were!
|
||
But not hard at all to remember the chords themselves,
|
||
they were just like individual people, with their own
|
||
personalities. Anyway, one chord might have one
|
||
personality when you put it in with one set of chords
|
||
around it, and entirely another kind of personality when
|
||
you put it with other ones. It was all so obvious! You
|
||
didn't have to know all those names, you could just hear
|
||
it! And nobody listened to him, they thought he didn't
|
||
know anything.
|
||
And his father kept at him to learn all the names of
|
||
the chords, and how to put them together -- then he got
|
||
mad when he told old stinky-pants Lolli he was wrong. It
|
||
wasn't fair!
|
||
"Don't talk back to adults."
|
||
Adults! He had to talk forward to adults all the
|
||
time, eat with them, play for them. Sometimes they
|
||
pretended he was a person. But it wasn't like being with
|
||
other kids -- the grown-ups treated him like a kind of
|
||
toy person. They never took him seriously. But someday
|
||
he'd be as big as anybody. Then they'd listen to him.
|
||
Someday.
|
||
He looked out the tiny four-paned window onto the
|
||
roofs of Vienna. It had started to rain, and the little
|
||
pop-pops on the copper roofing were accelerating into a
|
||
low drumming. He was tired of the toys Mama had found
|
||
for him here in Vienna. He wanted to go home, to see
|
||
Bimperl. And all the boys. He hadn't played ball since
|
||
forever. By this time Willy might not even be his best
|
||
friend anymore. When could they go home to Salzburg --
|
||
home to stay?
|
||
|
||
|
||
[CHAPTER TWO OF "IN SEARCH OF MOZART" WILL BE EXCERPTED
|
||
IN VOL.1, NO.2 OF "FICTION-ONLINE]
|
||
|
||
=======================================================
|
||
|
||
THE NEW PROMETHEUS
|
||
|
||
by Otho E. Eskin
|
||
|
||
|
||
CHARACTERS:
|
||
|
||
|
||
Dr. FRANKENSTEIN The mad doctor.
|
||
|
||
IGOR Moves around in a kind of crouch,
|
||
servile and groveling before Dr.
|
||
Frankenstein. Dressed in a
|
||
shapeless peasant outfit.
|
||
|
||
MISS LULU MILLSLIP A young woman, very businesslike
|
||
and earnest, dressed in sensible
|
||
clothes.
|
||
|
||
THE CREATURE Solid and inarticulate. Moves
|
||
stiffly. He is dressed in dark-
|
||
colored, ill-fitting clothes.
|
||
|
||
Ms. MONSTER The Bride of Frankenstein
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Scene: Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory.
|
||
|
||
=======================================================
|
||
|
||
AT RISE: Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory. Ms. MONSTER
|
||
lies on an examination table. Hovering
|
||
around the table are Dr. FRANKENSTEIN and his
|
||
loyal assistant, IGOR. FRANKENSTEIN adjusts
|
||
wires and attachments while he gives orders
|
||
to IGOR. Outside there is the sound of
|
||
thunder and flashes of lightning.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
Is there enough power, Igor?
|
||
|
||
IGOR
|
||
Almost, Master.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
Are the chains and manacles in place?
|
||
|
||
IGOR
|
||
They are as you said, Master.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
Set the Neurostat to maximum.
|
||
|
||
(IGOR scurries about, doing
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN's bidding.)
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
(Continued)
|
||
Adjust the Cell Modulator. Calibrate the Vector
|
||
Analyzer. Reset the Brezelor Counter.
|
||
|
||
IGOR
|
||
Yes, Master.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
When the storm reaches its zenith we will begin. With
|
||
the help of my loyal assistant, Igor, I will this night
|
||
achieve immortality. Then the world will know the
|
||
genius of Dr. Frankenstein. Are you ready, Igor?
|
||
|
||
IGOR
|
||
I am ready, Master.
|
||
|
||
(Enter LULU MILLSLIP. She holds a
|
||
clipboard in her hand.)
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
Hold it right there, buster!
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
Who are you?
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
I'm Inspector Lulu Millslip. I represent the
|
||
Bureaucratic Enforcement Administration.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
(Screaming)
|
||
Get out of here!
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
Not so fast, Doctor. I must inform you that you are not
|
||
in compliance with applicable Federal and State
|
||
regulations.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
I don't care. I'm a genius.
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
You better care, buddy. You want to lose your NIH
|
||
grant?
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
Igor, get rid of her.
|
||
|
||
(IGOR slouches toward LULU. LULU
|
||
suddenly turns on IGOR.)
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
OK, let's see your Green Card, Senor.
|
||
|
||
(IGOR recoils in fear.)
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
Get out! Get out! With the help of my loyal assistant,
|
||
Igor, my life's work is about...
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
You are in violation of Occupational Safety reg 2798.4.
|
||
Your employee (LULU gestures toward Ms. MONSTER) is at
|
||
risk of being struck by lightning.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
She's supposed to be struck by lightning, you stupid
|
||
broad!
|
||
|
||
(FRANKENSTEIN gestures wildly at
|
||
IGOR to attack LULU.)
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
Kill! Kill!
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
Have you had a peer group review for this project?
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
I have no peers.
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
(Looking at her clipboard)
|
||
I'm going to have to see your EEO compliance records
|
||
for the last six years.
|
||
|
||
(THE CREATURE shuffles in.)
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
What's that?
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
One of my first efforts. I'm afraid it's seriously
|
||
flawed.
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
You're kind of short for a monster.
|
||
|
||
(THE CREATURE looks slowly around
|
||
the laboratory, turns to IGOR, who
|
||
cowers before him, and reaches out
|
||
to touch IGOR's tunic.)
|
||
|
||
THE CREATURE
|
||
Don't you know -- nobody's wearing taupe this year.
|
||
(THE CREATURE looks around the laboratory.) Who
|
||
decorated this place? I adore the chains but you must
|
||
do something about this laboratory. Some hanging
|
||
plants and a few throw pillows would do wonders.
|
||
|
||
(There is a flash of lightning.
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN rushes to the table.)
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
The time has come to complete my great experiment.
|
||
Tonight I will create my greatest achievement -- the
|
||
perfect woman.
|
||
|
||
(There is a second flash of
|
||
lightning and a crash of thunder.)
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
This is one of the most flagrant violations of the
|
||
Employment Rights Act I have ever seen. These manacles
|
||
are not in compliance with Occupational Safety and
|
||
Health Administration regulations.
|
||
|
||
(There is a flash of lightning and
|
||
Ms. MONSTER stirs.)
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
It's alive! It's alive! Alive!
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
I'm going to have to cite you for over-acting, as well.
|
||
|
||
(Ms. MONSTER slowly climbs off the
|
||
table.)
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
I've created new life out of clay and dead carcasses.
|
||
The elemental forces of nature have been unleashed to
|
||
form natural woman, uncorrupted by civilization. Listen
|
||
now to my slave, my love goddess. Listen to the words
|
||
of the new Eve.
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
Can it, Meathead!
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
Something seems to have gone wrong!
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
Forget your pathetic male, chauvinist fantasies, baby.
|
||
If you think I'm going to be your slave, cleaning the
|
||
toilets and baking Goddamned cookies for you, you've
|
||
got the wrong creation.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
Igor, my loyal assistant, did you calibrate the Vector
|
||
Analyzer?
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
And you can knock off the love goddess crap, too. Your
|
||
patriarchal, phallocentric attitude makes me sick.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
This is awful. Igor, my loyal assistant, did you remember to set
|
||
the Neurostat correctly?
|
||
|
||
IGOR
|
||
Yes, master.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
Then I think I had better talk to you about body parts.
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
(To MS. MONSTER)
|
||
I'm Inspector Lulu Millslip from the Bureaucratic Enforcement
|
||
Administration. I would like to know whether you have
|
||
experienced any untoward or inappropriate treatment or actions by
|
||
management or your colleagues.
|
||
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
I'm glad you asked me that. This place is a disgrace. Most of
|
||
Frank's co-workers -- all the ghouls and vampires, werewolves and
|
||
zombies -- are kept in cells and bound with chains.
|
||
|
||
(LULU scribbles furiously in her notebook)
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
(Continued)
|
||
There is entirely too much vulgar language around the laboratory
|
||
-- loose talk about Bunsen burners and rheostats. The worst of
|
||
it there is an absolute barrier to promotion.
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
Scandalous!
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
Unless you happen to be male, white and a human being there is no
|
||
possibility of advancement.
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
I must report all this immediately.
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
I have no chance to assume management responsibility simply
|
||
because I was created out of bits and pieces of discarded
|
||
corpses.
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
This is one of the most flagrant examples of anthropocentrism
|
||
I've ever encountered.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
(To LULU)
|
||
Lady, you can't...
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
You'll have your chance to answer these charges during the
|
||
hearings.
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
This whole operation is a blatant effort to politically
|
||
marginalize the living dead.
|
||
|
||
LULU
|
||
I'm getting mad as hell!
|
||
|
||
THE CREATURE
|
||
Me too! Look at this outfit he's given me to wear. It's a
|
||
scandal! I can't be seen in public in sackcloth.
|
||
|
||
IGOR
|
||
What about me!? I haven't had a day off in seventeen years.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
You're interfering with important scientific research.
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
We're going to put a stop to these outrages.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
Get out of my laboratory! All of you.
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
We will defend the rights of the werewolves and those who are
|
||
hirsutedly disadvantaged.
|
||
|
||
THE CREATURE
|
||
Hear! Hear!
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
We will fight for the protection of vampires and other creatures
|
||
who are dietarily challenged.
|
||
|
||
IGOR and THE CREATURE
|
||
All power to the undead!!
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
Igor, call 60 Minutes and tell them to get a film crew down here
|
||
immediately. Creature, get some chains and attach yourself to
|
||
the front gate of the castle.
|
||
|
||
THE CREATURE
|
||
I love it.
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
You can't do this to me! I haven't got tenure yet.
|
||
|
||
MS. MONSTER
|
||
Lulu, bring in as many lawyers and bureaucrats as you can find.
|
||
We're going to close this place down.
|
||
|
||
(MS MONSTER, LULU, IGOR and THE CREATURE
|
||
exit, singing "We Shall Overcome.")
|
||
|
||
FRANKENSTEIN
|
||
What have I done!? I've created a monster.
|
||
|
||
|
||
THE END
|
||
|
||
=================================================================
|
||
=================================================================
|
||
=================================================================
|
||
|