XXII Quartetto Giocoso

Katherina made her way gingerly along the slippery path that led down to the water and stopped at the edge. While light snow fell, she surveyed the pond. It was some two hundred meters in diameter, with a field of dead cattails poking up through the ice on the far side. On the near side, men were chipping with shovels at the irregular surface of the pond trying to smooth it. Behind them, where someone swept away the chips, a half dozen Salzburgers skated.

She followed the pleasant smell of wood smoke and frying sausage to a campfire on the slope. A handful of people sat on low benches in a circle around a rectangular fire pit. On one side of the fire, a grill held roasting sausages and onions. On the other side, a small cauldron hung from an iron tripod. In a handsome parka with a fur-lined hood, Magda von Hausen was just stirring it with a ladle.

“Ah, just in time for some Glü hwein, ” she said, ladling the steaming liquid into a cup and handing it to Katherina. “We have plenty of schnapps too, if you’d like something stronger to heat your blood. ”

Katherina warmed her mittened hands on the cup before sipping the hot mulled wine. With no singing engagements for the next weeks, she could let herself enjoy the two excesses: going out in frigid weather and drinking scalding wine. In fact, the wine was delicious, and it went immediately to her head. “Well, you couldn’t have picked a better day, could you? Just a little snow falling and no more performances to worry about. The only way you could have lured us out of our nests. ”

Magda ladled a second cup for herself. “That was the whole plan. We’ve done this every winter we could, though it’s not always cold enough. Of course, it’s especially fun when there’s snow. ”

“I had no idea so many people still skated on ponds, ” Katherina said, gesturing toward the skaters. Anastasia, she noted, was not there, but she recognized several of the others. Sibyl and her husband skated awkwardly together, and just on the other side of them were Anne and Chuck. They skated arm in arm, tilting toward the left, then toward the right, obviously hugely entertained.

“It’s like a Flemish painting, ” Katherina added.

“Opera people venture out here only if someone gives them the skates. So we bought a dozen of them a few years ago, the kind that you can adjust to any shoe. It’s ‘ice-skating lite. ’ You make a couple of rounds of the pond, and when your ankles begin to hurt, you come back for more Glü hwein. ”

“And there’s no danger of falling through the ice? ”

“Heavens, no. The pond is frozen solid, and the water is only a meter deep anyhow. ”

“We haven’t lost anyone yet. ” Joachim von Hausen was just crunching through the snow with an armload of firewood.

Radu Gavril arrived right behind with a crate of wine bottles. “Not to the ice, anyhow. ” He set the crate down in the snow.

“We lose a few to the Glü hwein every year, but it’s painless. ” Magda chuckled, emptying another bottle into the cauldron.

The men fed new logs into the fire, then accepted their portions of hot wine and sat down on one of the benches. A comfortable silence fell over the group as they sipped from steaming cups.

Katherina heard boots crunching on packed snow and allowed herself a glance toward the path. Finally. In a blue anorak and ski pants, Anastasia strode toward the group. A Russian Octavian, except for the blond hair that fell from under a fur cap. Boris appeared directly behind her, dispelling the fantasy.

Von Hausen stood up and held out his hands. “So glad you could come, both of you. We haven’t seen much of you otherwise. ” He shook hands vigorously with Boris who, in sheepskin coat and hat, seemed more massive than ever.

The two new arrivals took their places around the fire. Boris picked up one of the double-bladed skates and turned it, running his gloved thumb along the edge. “Children’s skates? ” he asked in a deep bass.

“Yes, of course. We’re all amateurs here. ” Von Hausen handed him the other skate. “You’ll both take a turn on the ice, won’t you? ”

“I don’t think so. ” Boris dropped both skates back onto the ground. “No high-risk sports for me. ”

“What about you, Anastasia? Give it a try. It’ll remind you of your childhood. ”

Katherina wanted to add to the encouragement, but Anastasia seemed to be avoiding eye contact. It was awkward, even painful to sense that the woman she had been embracing for the last two weeks on stage would not even acknowledge her. She turned the wine cup in her hands, her heart sinking.

“Oh, that wasso much fun! ” Anne and Chuck lurched gleefully in from the pond and dropped onto a bench. “I’m going to get complaints from a whole new set of muscles tomorrow, but it was worth it, ” Anne said. Red-cheeked and merry, she pried off her skates and continued. “Snow is just magical, isn’t it? Is there anyone in the world who doesn’t love snow? ”

“I don’t. I hate it, ” someone said, and Katherina looked around. “Sorry, ” Radu amended. “I didn’t mean to bring down the mood. ”

“What could you possibly hate about that? ” Chuck thrust his thumb toward the idyllic scene on the pond.

“Not ice skaters, of course. ” In the all-white landscape, Radu’s eyes seemed even redder than usual. “Just snow. Put it down to an old man with bad war memories. ”

There was an awkward moment. Then von Hausen said, “We all have war memories. You have to let go of them. ”

“I agree, ” Chuck added. “I don’t have ’em, but my father fought on Omaha Beach. One of the lucky ones that made it back. But that’s old news, from forty years ago. ”

“You were on the Eastern Front? ” Katherina asked Radu, her curiosity piqued.

He nodded. “In the winter of ’43, I was an eighteen-year-old in the Romanian army—20th Infantry Division—fighting the Russians just west of the Volga. They were the most terrible months of my life. It wasn’t just the fighting. I’m talking about the snow. ”

Sitting across from him, Boris nodded faintly but said nothing. Katherina wondered where he had been that winter.

“It was deep and hard to wade through, and when you sweated, the sweat froze inside your uniform. There were nights when it was minus twenty-five degrees. In the forests the bark of trees burst. You could hear it sometimes—a sharp crack. In our engines, the oil became a glue that brought everything to a stop. Wounded soldiers froze to death a few minutes after they fell. Even when we escaped the guns, every day was a fight to survive. We had to hack through our food with saws. And the snow never stopped. ”

He stared into the fire, clutching his warm wine cup. “One evening, my rubber boot soles snapped. I knew my feet would freeze that night and if they did, I’d die. So I went back to where I had seen a dead Russian and took his footgear. Valenki, they’re called. Big thick felt things they wore. They saved my life. ”

Katherina listened to the old soldier and wondered where her father had been on the day that the young Romanian had pilfered a dead man’s boots. Was he crouched behind a wall in Stalingrad shooting at Germans? Random chance, that Radu Gavril found life-saving footgear while Sergei had snatched up a costume gauntlet from the Stalingrad Opera. What possible reason could he have had for saving it?

“My father also fought at Stalingrad, ” Katherina blurted out suddenly, then instantly regretted it. What was she thinking? Now she would have to explain what side he fought on, and why. A question to which she had no answer. She poked the fire, nervously while all eyes turned toward her.

“Oh, Kä tchen! Stasya! You’re both here! ” Detlev skated to a sudden stop at the edge of the pond next to the campsite and clapped his gloved hands. Hans Stintzing stopped just behind him with slightly less grace.

Katherina was reprieved. “Yes, we got here only a little while ago. ”

“Well, you just put on some skates right now and get on out here. I’m not letting you sit this one out, you two! ”

“Don’t make us climb up there and drag you out, ” Hans threatened in his rich bass voice.

Katherina seized the moment. “All right. I will, but only if Anastasia does too. ” She dropped a pair of skates between them and began to buckle one on herself. Anastasia hesitated for a moment, exchanging glances with her husband, then accepted the skates. In a few moments they were on the ice, Detlev and Hans urging them away from the shore.

“There now. Aren’t we having great fun? ” Detlev cajoled, obviously pleased with himself.

Hans skated alongside Katherina, stumbling occasionally, humming one of the waltzes from Rosenkavalier. She elbowed him amiably. “I see that you ice-skate pretty much the way you fence. ”

“Mamselle, ” he said, using one of Baron Ochs’ expressions, “I am not skating, just as I was notfencing. I am acting like I am skating. That is all an opera singer ever needs to do. ”

“Hans, honey. I think the ladies would like a little time alone, ” Detlev interrupted gently. “Sooo, we’ll skate around the pond with both of you because we all look fabulous, but then we’ll take you back to the far side and leave you on your own, n’est pas? ”

“That’s a wonderful idea. ” Katherina half glided where the ice was smooth and minced delicately whenever they hit lumpy patches. “Hmm. Not so easy to be an ice ballerina, is it? ”

Anastasia also seemed to be concentrating on her feet. “It didn’t look this difficult in all those Breughel paintings, ” she muttered. “Do you think they had better ice in the sixteenth century? ”

“Painters are liars too, ” Detlev said. “Do what Hans and I are doing. Pretend to ice-skate. ”

“What if I pretend to fall down? Will you pretend to pick me up? ” Katherina laughed again. She was giddy and happy again after weeks of brooding. Though they seemed to be casual friends skating, a subtle feeling of conspiracy existed among the four of them. Something almost familial tied them together and separated them from the others on the shore. She ached for it to last, then glanced toward the distant campsite where she could see Boris watching.

Detlev skated adroitly in a small arabesque, which brought him alongside of Anastasia. “What were you talking about so seriously back at the fire? You all looked so solemn, like you were discussing death. ”

“We were, sort of. War stories, ” Anastasia answered, keeping her eyes on her feet.

“Oh, that. What a waste of time. Everyone over fifty fought in the war and everyone under fifty has a father who did. Time to get over it. ”

They had reached the far side of the pond. “All right, my pretties. We’ve rescued you from the nosy neighbors and now you’re on your own. ” Detlev made a graceful curve around them and the two men skated off.

Katherina guided Anastasia so that they skated back and forth at the far edge of the pond, rather than follow the periphery, which would take them back too soon to the campsite. It was awkward to talk because the strain of skating kept them both slightly breathless, and the cold kept their faces buried in layers of scarf. Shoulder to shoulder, they began to breathe in rhythm, and each of their moist exhalations joined in a single sphere of steam before evaporating in the frigid air.

“What were you going to say about your father? ” Anastasia resumed the campsite conversation.

“I didn’t mean to mention him at all. It just slipped out. I have no idea what he was doing at Stalingrad since I can’t read his Russian notes. As for the rest of his confessions, I can’t really discuss them with anyone, except maybe Detlev. ”

“Detlev? Why him? ”

They skated slowly, meandering now in curves, their gloved hands brushing past each other, touching lightly.

“Because, from what I’ve been reading in his journal, he was mixed up with some gangster lowlife named Schalk. Plus, he was homosexual, ” she added suddenly. “He had a whole other life even after I was born. A secret life within a secret life, like Russian nesting dolls. ”

“How awful for him. But homosexuality used to be a serious crime, didn’t it? After the war, too. I’m sorry. ”

“I don’t want to talk about my father. I want to talk about us. ”

“Us? ” Anastasia shook her head. “There can’t be an ‘us. ’ Not just now. ”

Katherina skated around in front of Anastasia, stopping her.

“There was an us, that night on the balcony and onstage in the last performance. It was not my imagination. Please don’t try to wish that out of existence. ”

Anastasia pulled her scarf away from her mouth, revealing lovely full lips. “I admit, something happened. Something exciting and precious. Completely new to me. But there is so much that I can’t do, that we can’t even talk about yet. ”

“‘Yet? ’ What are waiting for? ”

“Please. This is the wrong time in my life. I’m caught and can’t do anything now. ” She glanced to the side. “Besides, Boris is watching us and wondering what’s keeping us out here so long. You have to let me go. ” Anastasia covered her face again and began skating back across the pond.

“Wait! ” Katherina held her by the arm and pulled a wad of paper from inside her cape, four sheets of handwritten paper folded into a small package. “It’s the Cyrillic pages of my father’s journal. I made a copy of them. Remember? You offered to read them. It doesn’t have to be right away. I just want you to have them. Whatever’s in them, I want to share it with you. ”

Anastasia looked down at the wad, then slid it into the pocket of her anorak. “Yes, I remember, and I meant it, too. But I don’t know when I can do it. So much is happening now, so much up in the air. I’ll have to mail it to you. ”

“It doesn’t have to be word for word. I just want to know the subject. It can’t take more than ten minutes for you to read them. Whether it’s something dangerous, or intimate, I don’t care. Maybe we could just sit down over a cup of coffee tomorrow morning. Ten minutes alone, the two of us, that’s all I’m asking. ”

“I don’t know. I can’t promise anything. We may not have time. ”

They were near the campsite again and Boris was on his feet, obviously waiting for them. In a moment he would be within earshot.

Katherina felt happiness slipping away. “Please tell me what’s going on, why you’re avoiding me. ”

Anastasia took a breath. Though she dropped her voice almost to a murmur, her answer struck with violent clarity. “I’m pregnant. ”

XXIII
“Sola, Perduta, Abandonata”

With her baggage packed, Katherina went early to the common breakfast room and waited. She felt small, foolish, waiting in a public place like a lovesick fan. She sipped at her third glass of orange juice, pretending to study her music, but thoughts of everything but music swam in her mind.

Pregnant. That pulled the ground from beneath any plans, or hints of plans, even the flimsiest of hopes of plans. Katherina felt cheated, then angry at her selfishness. After all, it was Anastasia who had the crisis. Would Boris curb his philandering to be a father? He had, after all, stayed two more weeks in Salzburg. Surely that was a sign that the marriage was working again.

Katherina brooded. What was she doing anyhow, waiting like an infatuated schoolgirl for her favorite teacher to pass in the hallway? Could the whole situation be any more humiliating and absurd? She had to have a final talk with Anastasia, if for no reason other than to put it all away and regain her senses. She hated losing Anastasia to some banal family life in a Munich suburb, but she needed to get Anastasia to talk about it, to wring from her an admission of love, however unconsummated. Katherina hungered to hear the word as much as she hungered for touch.

“May I join you? ” Gregory Raspin was suddenly beside her table, immaculately dressed. He indicated the chair across from her.

He was the last person she wanted to see. “Yes. Of course, ” she said, forcing a smile.

A waiter set down a cup and saucer and poured steaming coffee from a silver pot.

Raspin stirred in sugar. “The reviews are splendid, ” he said, sliding two Austrian newspapers across the table toward her. “You’ll see. Salzburg has been a major success for you. ”

“Major success? You really think so? ” She turned her juice glass in her fingers.

“I do indeed, and since you will soon be inundated with offers, I would like to settle our unfinished business. I mean, of course, the Walpurgisnacht. This is the moment when you must make up your mind. I happen to have the contract right here. ”

He drew a long envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “I presume you’ve read it, ” he said, unfolding two copies onto the table and brushing them flat. “It is very straightforward. I have spoken at length with your agent, and she finds no fault with the terms. ” He held out a ballpoint pen.

“I’m sure she doesn’t. ” Katherina did not take the pen from his hand.

“You might be interested to know that Radu Gavril will be acting as stage manager. I know you trust him. I trust him too. I’m certain that he’ll once again reveal his genius in the staging on the Brocken Peak. Incidentally, the DDR has agreed to film it for a broadcast on the real Walpurgisnacht on April 30. I had hoped for a live performance, but a filming of a live performance is nearly as good. Film royalties are discussed in the contract and are generous. ”

At that moment, Frau Semmel passed by them with a handful of cut flowers for the tables. “Excuse me. ” Katherina touched her on the arm. “Has Anastasia Ivanova come downstairs yet? ”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. She checked out last night. It was very late, but she said she had to catch a flight before dawn. She didn’t tell you? ” The plump matron stood holding her bouquet in front of her.

Katherina felt sudden nausea. “I see. Thank you. ” She stared into the empty air for a moment, as if reading something only she could see. Then, almost angrily, she took up the pen that lay on the table and signed both copies of the contract.

Raspin beamed. “I know you’ll be pleased. It will be a new experience for you, for all of us. ” He held up his coffee cup. “Let’s toast our exciting new venture. ” She lifted her empty juice glass and brought it toward him as he swung his cup forward. At the tap of heavy porcelain against crystal, the glass broke. Tiny shards fell onto the contract.

Katherina brushed them away with the side of her hand. One shard, nearly invisible, pierced the skin at the base of her palm, bringing forth a tiny drop of blood. A second sweep of her hand smeared the droplet diagonally across the page, through her signature.

She looked down, horrified, at the bloodstained contract. “Oh, I’m sorry. ”

“Waiter! ” Raspin called. “We have some broken glass here. ” He touched his linen napkin to Katherina’s palm. “I hope that’s not serious. ”

“No, it’s fine, ” she said, embarrassed, as the waiter swept together the fragments with a hand brush and removed them from sight.

“Well, then, that’s it, I guess. I’ll see you in on the Brocken. ” He stood up with the blood-marked contract and offered his hand. It was as cold as ever.

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