Read Online Shadow Show: All-New Stories in Celebration of Ray Bradbury by Sam Weller, Mort Castle (Ed) - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sam Weller, Mort Castle (Ed)
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Brother Richard proceeded into the gloom, while Frank and Debby went to restrooms near the tent.
Minutes later, after a chilly walk, Frank and Debby entered the opera house, made their way through the crowd, found the row they were in, and stopped in surprise.
Alexander and Brother Richard were in the same row, five seats from Frank and Debby.
Smiling, the two men looked up from their programs.
“Small world,” Debby said, smiling in return.
“Isn’t it,” Alexander agreed. Frail, he shivered as the wind increased outside, gusting through the open spaces on each side of the opera house.
“Could be a better night,” Brother Richard said. “Let’s hope the opera’s worth it.”
Frank and Debby took their seats. A row ahead, a well-coiffed woman in a flimsy evening gown hugged herself, typical of many in the audience, presumably visitors who hadn’t been warned about Santa Fe’s sudden temperature drops.
As the wind keened, Debby looked over at Alexander, noticing that he shivered more violently.
“I’ll lend him our blanket,” she told Frank.
“Good idea.”
The five intervening seats remained empty. Debby went over, offered the blanket, which Alexander gladly took, and held out the thermos of hot chocolate, which he also took.
“Bless you, how thoughtful.”
“My good deed for the day,” Debby said when she came back.
T en minutes into the opera, Frank wished that he’d stayed with his friends in Los Angeles. Dialogues of the Carmelites turned out to be aptly named, for the cast droned its musical lines in a dreary operatic approximation of dialogue. Although the female singers needed to lower their pitch to accommodate the atonal effects, they nonetheless gave the effect of screeching.
Worse was the libretto, which had been translated into En-glish and took one of the most un spiritual approaches to religion that Frank had encountered, claiming that the Carmelite nuns were emotional invalids dominated by a masochistic abbess who convinced her charges to linger and wait to be executed so that she could prove how powerfully she controlled them.
Halfway through the first act, lightning flashed. The storm clouds unloaded, sending a torrent past the open sides of the opera house, causing the audience in those sections to retreat up the aisles.
Nature as critic, Frank thought.
H e had a headache by the time the seemingly interminable first act ended. Ushers hurried to the wet seats near the open sides, toweling them. As Frank and Debby stood, they found Alexander and Brother Richard coming over.
“I don’t know how I’d have gotten through that act without your charity,” the elderly man said, looking even colder.
“A terrible opera,” Brother Richard added. “You should have stayed in Los Angeles.”
“Don’t I wish.”
“Thanks for the blanket and the thermos.” Alexander returned them. “We’re going home.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
“Well, we enjoyed meeting you.”
“Same here,” Brother Richard said. “God bless.”
They disappeared among the crowd.
“Well, if I’m going to be able to sit through the second act, I’d better stretch my legs,” Frank said.
“You’re determined to stay?” Debby asked.
“After all the trouble I went through to get here? This damned opera isn’t going to beat me.”
T hey followed the crowd to an outside balcony. The rain had again stopped. There were puddles in the courtyard below them, where well-dressed men and women drank cocktails, coffee, or hot chocolate. In the distance, lightning lit the mountains. Everybody oohed and aahed.
Frank shivered, then pointed at something in the courtyard. “Look.”
About a third of the audience was leaving through the front gate. But coming from the opposite direction, from the parking lot, Alexander and Brother Richard emerged from the darkness, making their way through the courtyard. What puzzled Frank wasn’t that they had left and were coming back. Rather it
Minutes later, after a chilly walk, Frank and Debby entered the opera house, made their way through the crowd, found the row they were in, and stopped in surprise.
Alexander and Brother Richard were in the same row, five seats from Frank and Debby.
Smiling, the two men looked up from their programs.
“Small world,” Debby said, smiling in return.
“Isn’t it,” Alexander agreed. Frail, he shivered as the wind increased outside, gusting through the open spaces on each side of the opera house.
“Could be a better night,” Brother Richard said. “Let’s hope the opera’s worth it.”
Frank and Debby took their seats. A row ahead, a well-coiffed woman in a flimsy evening gown hugged herself, typical of many in the audience, presumably visitors who hadn’t been warned about Santa Fe’s sudden temperature drops.
As the wind keened, Debby looked over at Alexander, noticing that he shivered more violently.
“I’ll lend him our blanket,” she told Frank.
“Good idea.”
The five intervening seats remained empty. Debby went over, offered the blanket, which Alexander gladly took, and held out the thermos of hot chocolate, which he also took.
“Bless you, how thoughtful.”
“My good deed for the day,” Debby said when she came back.
T en minutes into the opera, Frank wished that he’d stayed with his friends in Los Angeles. Dialogues of the Carmelites turned out to be aptly named, for the cast droned its musical lines in a dreary operatic approximation of dialogue. Although the female singers needed to lower their pitch to accommodate the atonal effects, they nonetheless gave the effect of screeching.
Worse was the libretto, which had been translated into En-glish and took one of the most un spiritual approaches to religion that Frank had encountered, claiming that the Carmelite nuns were emotional invalids dominated by a masochistic abbess who convinced her charges to linger and wait to be executed so that she could prove how powerfully she controlled them.
Halfway through the first act, lightning flashed. The storm clouds unloaded, sending a torrent past the open sides of the opera house, causing the audience in those sections to retreat up the aisles.
Nature as critic, Frank thought.
H e had a headache by the time the seemingly interminable first act ended. Ushers hurried to the wet seats near the open sides, toweling them. As Frank and Debby stood, they found Alexander and Brother Richard coming over.
“I don’t know how I’d have gotten through that act without your charity,” the elderly man said, looking even colder.
“A terrible opera,” Brother Richard added. “You should have stayed in Los Angeles.”
“Don’t I wish.”
“Thanks for the blanket and the thermos.” Alexander returned them. “We’re going home.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
“Well, we enjoyed meeting you.”
“Same here,” Brother Richard said. “God bless.”
They disappeared among the crowd.
“Well, if I’m going to be able to sit through the second act, I’d better stretch my legs,” Frank said.
“You’re determined to stay?” Debby asked.
“After all the trouble I went through to get here? This damned opera isn’t going to beat me.”
T hey followed the crowd to an outside balcony. The rain had again stopped. There were puddles in the courtyard below them, where well-dressed men and women drank cocktails, coffee, or hot chocolate. In the distance, lightning lit the mountains. Everybody oohed and aahed.
Frank shivered, then pointed at something in the courtyard. “Look.”
About a third of the audience was leaving through the front gate. But coming from the opposite direction, from the parking lot, Alexander and Brother Richard emerged from the darkness, making their way through the courtyard. What puzzled Frank wasn’t that they had left and were coming back. Rather it
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