XVII Allegro Vivace

A freezing rain fell as Katherina reached the horse pond, where a delicate lace of ice edged the shallow water. Hans Stintzing and Sybil Ruiz were already waiting together under a large black umbrella, almost unrecognizable in heavy coats and with scarves wrapped around their lower faces. Katherina laughed through her own woolen layers. “You can sure tell the difference between singers and normal people, can’t you? ”

“Normal people don’t have to worry about canceling engagements because of thousand-dollar colds, ” Sybil said.

“Exactly. So let’s get out of this rain. ” Hans directed them across the Sigmundsplatz to the Goldener Hirsch.

Gregory Raspin was waiting at the door, in a green loden jacket and a felt hat, Austrian upper-class formal clothing that gave a nod to the traditional Tracht. “I’ve reserved a special table, ladies, over there. ” He pointed toward the corner where Joachim and Magda von Hausen already sat. Katherina noted bleakly that Anastasia was absent. Boris Reichmann was obviously still in Salzburg.

Katherina surveyed the room. In a dé cor that breathed class, the cream-colored walls held simple lamps alternating with oil paintings of bucolic and pastoral scenes, all so heavily blackened with age that she could scarcely make them out.

The new arrivals seated themselves, and Katherina found herself next to the host. She looked toward the door in a final frail hope as two women entered, but neither one was Anastasia.

“Will you have some champagne? ” Gregory Raspin was holding a bottle of Veuve Clicquot suspended over her glass.

“Yes, of course, ” she answered, and waited as he filled all the rest of the glasses as well.

“Tonight is a celebration of all of you. I toast your talent and, with your permission, have ordered the house special of venison in wine. The chef has promised me absolute perfection. ”

With a general murmur of approval, everyone tapped glasses and Raspin continued. “Each one of you has, at one time or another, given me a wonderful operatic experience. ”

He turned toward Hans Stintzig. “For example, I saw your Wotan in Die Walkuere at the Metropolitan Opera. I’m sure you remember. It was the night the set caught fire. ”

“My Lord! ” Sybil Ruiz pressed her fingertips to her cheek. “At the Met? How was that possible? ”

Hans chuckled. “Wotan’s staff held an exploding cap, so that when I struck the rock, it shot out real sparks. Then the special effects were supposed to make the mountain look like it was burning. At that performance, the sparks actually set fire to the plastic rock. Of course, the scenery at the Met is fire-proofed, so there was no big blaze, but this tiny flame kept melting the mountainside. ”

“But you never missed a note, did you? ” Raspin said.

“I had to keep going. The conductor was in the pit and couldn’t see the problem, so he kept conducting. Of course, the audience began to notice the flame, and I could feel the nervousness spreading throughout the house.

“And…what happened? ” Katherina asked.

“Well, finally a stagehand crawled along behind the set with a fire extinguisher. You could hear the Huussssshh, and of course the audience could hear it too, right through the orchestra. ” He shrugged. “Sort of took the magic out of the moment. ”

Von Hausen gripped the bass fraternally on the shoulder. “Hans, the Ring is sixteen hours long. Five little minutes lost out of the middle is nothing. ”

Raspin turned toward Sybil. “You, on the other hand, Madame Ruiz, gave me a most memorable and inventive Tosca. I refer to the Hamburg performance, of course. ”

“Oh, dear. ” Sybil lowered her eyes. “I thought I had lived that one down. ”

“I definitely want to hear about that, ” Magda said as the waiter appeared with steaming plates of venison.

Sybil took another sip of champagne. “It was with Cornell Wilde, bless his heart. I had just finished ‘Vissi d’arte. ’ Cornell did all this stage business at the window and then he lumbered toward me for the would-be rape. I reached back to grab the fruit knife and…it wasn’t there. A dozen panicky thoughts went through my head on how I could kill him. Whack him with the candelabra? Choke him with my bare hands? Then time ran out and I had to do something. ”

She paused for effect. “So, I stabbed him with the banana. ”

Hans exploded with laughter, hitting the table with his fist.

“A banana? ”

“Yes, it was that or the peach. ” She continued with a straight face. “It was wood so it held up when I poked him. But Cornell was so shocked, he missed his cue. Fortunately, he only had to fall down, while I, on the other hand, ” she laid her open hand on her chest, “had to continue singing while he writhed on the floor clutching his banana and giggling. ”

“A stunning performance. ” Gregory Raspin took Sybil’s hand and kissed her lightly on the knuckles. “You must sing an opera especially for me one day. ”

Raspin looked toward Katherina. “And I have already informed Madame Marow that she swept me off my feet in Brahms’ Requiem. Her solo transported me, beyond the concert hall, beyond polite society, I would even venture to say, beyond good and evil, like all great music. ”

“Beyond good and evil? Oh, dear. And in a sacred mass? ” Katherina replied.

Raspin seemed amused. “Yes, the opera house is a veritable temple to the passions, a sordid place, after all. Quite the opposite of sacred. ”

“Beyond good and evil. ” Von Hausen chuckled, chewing on the last of his venison. “We Germans love our Nietzsche, don’t we? ”

Katherina raised her glass, changing the subject. “I propose we drink to our innocent little Rosenkavalier and leave it at that. ”

They toasted the opera, then the composer, then the Salzburg Winter festival. Feeling the wine rise to her head, Katherina thought again of Anastasia. What was she doing while the others dined at Gregory Raspin’s expense? Was she quarreling with her husband, or embracing him?

Then Hans Stintzing was standing up and helping Sybil on with her coat. The von Hausens too got up to leave, and Katherina wondered if she could also politely escape. Their host seemed to read her thoughts.

“Madame Marow, would you be so kind as to stay for another glass of wine. I have a business proposal for you. ”

“If you’d like. ” Katherina was nonplussed, but remembered who Gregory Raspin was and so waited through the awkwardness of multiple good-byes. In a few minutes, she was sitting alone next to him.

While waiters cleared the table and set out fresh wineglasses Gregory Raspin fumbled under the table—in his briefcase presumably—and a moment later he pulled out a thick manila envelope.

“You may have surmised by now that I have been monitoring, not to say guiding, your career, ” he began, and laid the envelope on the table.

Katherina frowned slightly, puzzled. “What do you mean? ”

He spoke softly, like a father gently explaining the harsh realities of business. “I mean that it was I who got you the Rosenkavalier. The Carmina Burana too. Your success in the one led to the other. ”

“I don’t know what to say. ”

“Say you are pleased. ” He slid the envelope closer. “So you can see, I have the highest regard for your talent and am devoted to advancing it. You will agree, I think, that you have done well by my assistance, not only financially, but also with regard to public exposure. In that light, I would like you to give serious thought to this proposal for your next engagement. ”

Katherina stared at the envelope without opening it. No law said that engagements could not be initially discussed directly with a singer rather than through an agent. Joachim von Hausen had in fact proposed the Rosenkavalier in this way. But something about Gregory Raspin himself bothered her. Maybe it was simply that he was not a musician, but a businessman. Maybe it was the roses.

“I am grateful for your efforts, Mr. Raspin. But generally engagements are negotiated through my agent who knows my schedule, repertoire, and fees. ”

He tapped the envelope. “I know your schedule, and I have already contacted your agent. This will be a world premiere of an innovative and at the same time ancient work, and in a format unlike you’ve ever worked in before. As such, it requires your understanding at the outset. Do not worry about compensation. I assure you it will exceed your usual fee by a wide margin. ”

“A world premiere? Who is the composer? I haven’t had any experience with experimental music, twelve-tone, and that sort of thing. ”

“Oh, you will find it is quite melodic. When you read the score you’ll see how thrilling it is. Its initial staging will be on a mountaintop. Most striking, however, is the erasing of the separation between performers and audience. ”

Katherina’s resistance weakened. “A ‘sing-in, ’ you mean? ”

“Something like that. The idea is to allow the audience to participate in the passion and the ritual of the music. A bit Dionysian, if you will. ”

“I don’t know what ‘Dionysian’ means, but the idea does sound intriguing. You haven’t told me the name of the composer. ”

“Friedrich Diener. I doubt that you will know him. The work is called Walpurgisnacht. ”

“The Witches’ Sabbath? ”

“Yes. This is the libretto, soprano part, and contract. ” He tapped the envelope again. “I have already faxed a copy of the contract to your agent. You will note that it is to be performed on the Brocken Peak in the Harz mountains, the legendary site of the Witches’ Sabbath. Although it is a high-security location, and generally closed to the public, I am in discussions with the East German government to televise a performance with an invited audience. ”

She took the envelope without opening it. “It sounds audacious. ”

“I know the offer seems precipitous, with the performance only five weeks away, but in fact we have been in preparation for weeks already and in negotiations for months. We simply needed to find the right soprano, and I am convinced you are it. ”

“I’ll look at the opera, of course, as soon as I have opening night behind me. I’m sure you won’t mind if I also discuss it with my agent. She has been looking after me for a long time now and I trust her judgment. Now, if you don’t mind, it is quite late. ”

He leapt up and drew back her chair in cavalier fashion. “Of course. Take all the time you need. ” He helped her on with her cape and she thought he was planning to offer to accompany her back to the Pension Stein. Instead, as he buttoned his alpaca coat in the doorway of the restaurant, he looked at his watch. “I do apologize, Madame Marow, but I see we have chatted a bit long. I have a business call scheduled in just a few minutes. Please forgive me if I have to leave you here. ”

“That’s quite all right, I don’t mind at all, ” she replied, shaking his hand one last time. Watching him disappear down the cobblestone street that glistened slightly with frost, she felt inexplicably relieved.

The Pension Stein was quiet as Katherina entered and crept up the stairs past Anastasia’s door. For the briefest second she considered knocking, then thought better of it. Anastasia was probably at the Hilton with her husband or, worse, in her room sleeping with him. As long as Boris was in Salzburg, there would clearly be no more of their late-night talks.

Disgruntled, she unlocked her own door and kicked off her shoes. She stood in stocking feet, too tired to go out again, and to what? But she was also too restless to go to sleep under the pain-filled eyes of the wooden Jesus.

Vaguely disappointed that a pleasant evening had lost its cheer, she tossed her bag onto the bed. The bag landed on its side and its flap opened, spilling first her comb and wallet and then the envelope Raspin had given her. Recalling the same disgorging in the Peter’s Church, the day before, she resolved to add a fastener to the flap. Idly, she sat down on the bed and gathered the items, and a wave of dread washed through her as she realized the whole bundle was too light. Something was missing.

With rising panic, she rummaged through the bag, then emptied all its contents onto the bed. The journal was not there. She glanced around the room. No, it was not there either. She had definitely taken it with her that evening to the restaurant. It had to have fallen out again.

Her mind raced to all the places where she had set down the bag that evening: the horse pond, the floor of the restaurant, the wall of the main bridge where she had stopped to watch the Salzach flow beneath her. She threw on her shoes and cloak and rushed out to retrace her steps.

An hour later she came in again, sick with anger at herself. She had found nothing, and neither had the restaurant staff. How could she have been so careless as to carry around the precious family document with her every day? It was insane. She rubbed her knuckles across her lips. The book had to be some place in the city. She just had to make sure it was identified and not thrown away. She would go out early in the morning and notify the police to say a valuable document had been lost. Probably more importantly, she would contact the Salzburg sanitation facilities to make sure it was not swept up with the city’s trash. Her costume fitting the next day was at nine o’clock, but before that, she would retrace her route meter by meter and stop at every shop nearby.

Fretting with alternating anger, determination, and guilt, she finally fell asleep only an hour before dawn.

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