sea of sound, tossed from wave to crescendoing wave, not aware of anything or anyone else. Then, after eighteen glorious minutes, it was over.
Abruptly he opened his eyes and stared at the stage. Tatiana was smiling shyly, with a look of relief on her face, holding the violin and bow in one hand. Everyone around him was standing and applauding enthusiastically, including his parents. Daniel rose to his feet and clapped as hard as he could. He felt a sensation he didn’t really understand, like a sudden sense of panic; he had to tell Maestro Gomez how amazing that violin was, about the extraordinary sound, as if he was the only one who really knew.
Three acts later there was a twenty-minute intermission. His parents headed to the aisle and up toward the Grand Foyer. Daniel dawdled behind them. Instead of turning left, he turned right and wandered down toward the stage. He could see the maestro over in the far corner, talking to an African American woman who held a clipboard. She was nodding her understanding. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and she walked away.
Daniel stood by the aisle, waiting for his mentor to see him. But before he did a very tall, thin man rushed up to Rafael. He seemed agitated, or very angry, about something and began talking fast and gesturing with his hands, pointing to the stage, his movements jerky and dramatic. Daniel could see by the body language that Maestro Gomez was placating him, one hand on his arm, and speaking strong, convincing words, but the man would not be pacified. Everyone in the vicinity had moved away, unwilling to be drawn into the heated conversation.
Suddenly the bell chimed to indicate the imminent end of the break. Rafael abruptly excused himself and turned away toward the door. The man gazed angrily after him and walked to his seat. Daniel glanced over his shoulder and saw his mother standing by the entrance to their row, watching, fascinated.
R afael was about to leave his dressing room for the night when Jeremy Browne knocked on the partially open door.
“Hello there, what a magnificent concert. May I steal a moment?”
Rafael managed a tired smile. “Of course, what is it, my friend?”
He gestured toward a chair and the Englishman sat down.
“I won’t keep you long. There’s a meeting scheduled Monday and I wanted to give you a heads-up. Give you time to think about it. What do you know about Egypt?”
“They have a lot of camels? And sand, I believe. I did see The English Patient .”
Browne smiled. “About the Opera House in Cairo.”
“Ah . . . I believe it is quite a modern building, very good acoustics, and a first-class orchestra. I’ve often thought it would be great fun to do Aida there. Why?”
Browne pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and dropped it on the coffee table between them.
“Because this is a very interesting letter, from their GM. In three years they hold a six-month global expo in Cairo, and all sorts of cultural and sporting activities are planned. There’s to be a massive football tournament for one. And an opera extravaganza. For eight whole months. They’re issuing invitations to several companies and we’re one of them.”
Rafael sat forward and focused his attention on the letter.
“And?” he asked softly.
“I’ve done some investigating and, although nothing’s confirmed yet, I’ve managed to find out some of the intendeds. Teatro alla Scala will open the festival with Aida . The Met wants to do something relatively new and lavish, maybe even Tan Dun’s First Emperor . Covent Garden has gone for popular and suggested Bohème, Carmen, or Traviata, and the Australian Opera is considering its options. I’m thinking it’ll be something a bit more adventurous, maybe a Britten or a Donizetti. Vienna will go with their stunning Otello, Berlin, possibly that updated Rigoletto. And the really interesting one is the New Israeli Opera doing Nabucco .”
Rafael didn’t bother to hide his surprise.
“Oh my
Abruptly he opened his eyes and stared at the stage. Tatiana was smiling shyly, with a look of relief on her face, holding the violin and bow in one hand. Everyone around him was standing and applauding enthusiastically, including his parents. Daniel rose to his feet and clapped as hard as he could. He felt a sensation he didn’t really understand, like a sudden sense of panic; he had to tell Maestro Gomez how amazing that violin was, about the extraordinary sound, as if he was the only one who really knew.
Three acts later there was a twenty-minute intermission. His parents headed to the aisle and up toward the Grand Foyer. Daniel dawdled behind them. Instead of turning left, he turned right and wandered down toward the stage. He could see the maestro over in the far corner, talking to an African American woman who held a clipboard. She was nodding her understanding. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and she walked away.
Daniel stood by the aisle, waiting for his mentor to see him. But before he did a very tall, thin man rushed up to Rafael. He seemed agitated, or very angry, about something and began talking fast and gesturing with his hands, pointing to the stage, his movements jerky and dramatic. Daniel could see by the body language that Maestro Gomez was placating him, one hand on his arm, and speaking strong, convincing words, but the man would not be pacified. Everyone in the vicinity had moved away, unwilling to be drawn into the heated conversation.
Suddenly the bell chimed to indicate the imminent end of the break. Rafael abruptly excused himself and turned away toward the door. The man gazed angrily after him and walked to his seat. Daniel glanced over his shoulder and saw his mother standing by the entrance to their row, watching, fascinated.
R afael was about to leave his dressing room for the night when Jeremy Browne knocked on the partially open door.
“Hello there, what a magnificent concert. May I steal a moment?”
Rafael managed a tired smile. “Of course, what is it, my friend?”
He gestured toward a chair and the Englishman sat down.
“I won’t keep you long. There’s a meeting scheduled Monday and I wanted to give you a heads-up. Give you time to think about it. What do you know about Egypt?”
“They have a lot of camels? And sand, I believe. I did see The English Patient .”
Browne smiled. “About the Opera House in Cairo.”
“Ah . . . I believe it is quite a modern building, very good acoustics, and a first-class orchestra. I’ve often thought it would be great fun to do Aida there. Why?”
Browne pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and dropped it on the coffee table between them.
“Because this is a very interesting letter, from their GM. In three years they hold a six-month global expo in Cairo, and all sorts of cultural and sporting activities are planned. There’s to be a massive football tournament for one. And an opera extravaganza. For eight whole months. They’re issuing invitations to several companies and we’re one of them.”
Rafael sat forward and focused his attention on the letter.
“And?” he asked softly.
“I’ve done some investigating and, although nothing’s confirmed yet, I’ve managed to find out some of the intendeds. Teatro alla Scala will open the festival with Aida . The Met wants to do something relatively new and lavish, maybe even Tan Dun’s First Emperor . Covent Garden has gone for popular and suggested Bohème, Carmen, or Traviata, and the Australian Opera is considering its options. I’m thinking it’ll be something a bit more adventurous, maybe a Britten or a Donizetti. Vienna will go with their stunning Otello, Berlin, possibly that updated Rigoletto. And the really interesting one is the New Israeli Opera doing Nabucco .”
Rafael didn’t bother to hide his surprise.
“Oh my
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