IX Minaccioso

A dog blocked Katherina’s path to the stage entrance to the concert hall. Plump and sleek, his coat long and black, he hardly seemed like a stray. But he had no collar and there was no one in sight who could claim him. He was neither hostile nor friendly, did not bark or wag. She took a tentative step forward, and still the beast did not move. He simply glared at her through orange-brown eyes, panting softly. Then, finally, he turned and trotted away.

A bad omen for a performer, she thought, then scoffed at the superstition.

Joachim von Hausen was nothing if not a man of the theater. To dramatize the opening sound of the great choral work, he had all house lights turned off, even the emergency-exit signs. For one long moment, the audience sat in chilling darkness. Then, as if some transcendent being had opened its eye, a single needle of white light shot down from the rafter onto his upraised baton. Another thirty seconds passed and the tension in the hall was palpable. The baton sliced suddenly downward like a whip and BOOM! The timpani thundered its opening crash.

“Ooooooo Fortuna, veeeelut luna” the chorus sang, full-throated, ominous and ecstatic at once.

The emotional level set, the work took off at full throttle. Pastoral maidens, randy suitors, roasted swans, drunken monks, all sang of lust and power and inebriation and doom, their chants sending wave after rhythmic wave of sound over the audience. Finally, Orff’s thundering great wheel came full circle. The opening chorus became the last, culminating in the shattering, orgiastic, nine-measure-long fortissimo chord of lament, “Plangiteeeee. ” Hardly had the cry ended when the audience rose to its feet in ovation.

Now Katherina stood in the post-concert reception line in the green room. In a few moments the well-wishers would flutter in like a flock of doves into a dovecote. Friends, fans, and regular—mostly elderly—concertgoers who viewed the reception as part of the evening’s performance. Usually they settled for a handshake, a few moments of small talk, an autographed program.

Someone said, “What a lovely concert, ” and another, “Such a beautiful voice. ” She smiled and nodded toward the line of faces, familiar with every compliment. Sometimes they admired her concert dress or the way she interpreted the music. Katherina had struggled to craft a different response each time until she realized it was unnecessary. The hand-shakers did not really want to exchange ideas; they simply wanted to connect in some way with the musician, to prolong the evening.

She replied to each remark and tried not to glance over at Sabine, who was in animated conversation with her own admirers. Katherina had not spoken to her since the evening before and Sabine showed no interest in her.

Seduced and abandoned, Katherina thought to herself with bitter humor.

The crowd of admirers had shifted again, and she focused on the next person. White-haired, probably in his seventies, he was elegantly dressed. Sleek, she might have said, except that sleek implied softness and he had nothing soft about him. He was trim, his haircut professional, as perfect as his charcoal suit. He offered his hand and she took it, found it cool and soft.

“I trust you received my letter, ” he said.

She was confused for a moment.

“Forgive me. I suppose it would be helpful if I told you my name. ” He chuckled softly. “Raspin. Gregory Raspin. I sent the letter right after your splendid Tosca last month. ”

“Oh, yes. I did get it. Thank you. So much has happened recently, I haven’t had time to reply. ”

“That’s quite all right. It pleases me just to be sure it arrived so that you know how much you are appreciated. I am familiar with every nuance of the great women’s voices, and you should know I count yours among them. ”

“You are very kind, ” she replied, as she always did to excessive flattery. In most cases, she knew, the fan said it to every singer they got the chance to meet.

“I am also fortunate to be able to support great vocal music—in my way, ” he added cryptically.

The public had begun to filter out of the green room. “I believe your conductor wishes to speak with you. ” Gregory Raspin touched her elbow delicately with a fingertip, causing her to turn. Then he stepped away and joined the mass of departing well-wishers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have time to talk to you earlier today. ” Joachim von Hausen was already at her side. He guided her back to the rear door of the green room. “Too many last-minute preparations for the concert. ” His eyes sparkled and he paused, like a person about to bestow a gift. “As you might know, I’ve been rehearsing Rosenkavalier in Salzburg. Agnes Schongauer, who is singing the role of Sophie, has had a car accident. ”

“An accident? I’m so sorry to hear it. Not serious, I hope. ” Katherina wondered why he was telling her that. She did not know Agnes Schongauer.

“She’ll be all right—just a few broken ribs—but she has had to cancel, obviously. Salzburg does the casting, you know, but I have recommended they offer the part to you. Assuming your agent likes the contract, Salzburg’s approval will largely be a formality. They’ve never said no to me before. So the question is, can you learn the part of Sophie in two weeks? ”

Katherina felt her jaw drop and she closed it again. She was being offered the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Yes, of course I can. I am already familiar with it, ” she lied. No matter. She could learn it. She felt something tugging her arm and realized von Hausen was shaking her hand.

“Excellent. It’s settled then. I’ll have Salzburg contact your agent tomorrow. It would be lovely if you could manage to fly to Salzburg on Tuesday. ”

Katherina nodded energetically, prepared to agree to anything. Tuesday, Monday, in fifteen minutes, if necessary.

Something moved in the distance and she glanced past von Hausen’s face back into the green room. Sabine was gone, but on the far side of the room, Gregory Raspin was smiling in her direction.

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