Читать книгу Searching For Sophia - Andrew Saw - Страница 15

10

I was astonished. Until this point, Joe’s imaginary love affair with Sophia had followed a familiar course: instant devotion followed by non-invasive obsession. The Scheherazade concert could not have been more perfectly designed to cater for his character. Even his reluctance to ask Sophia out was a part of his modus operandi. In his mind, love would find its own path if sufficiently nurtured by faith. Backward steps were not part of the process. Yet here he was threatening to do a runner.

“Say that again?” I asked waiting for the punch line.

“I can’t do this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t go backstage. I’d feel like an idiot.”

“Why?”

“You were there, you saw what happened. I spend my life digging around alimentary canals, and Sophia is channelling the universe. How the hell can I compete with a performance like that?”

I stared at Jarrah with a plea for a sensible intervention, but she merely returned a dangerous half-smile. No help there.

“Joe, you’re not supposed to compete, you know that,” I said.

“No, but I have to match it.”

“Jarrah, will you talk to your idiot brother.”

“Why? If he wants to go home, let him.”

“Christ, you’re as crazy as he is.”

“I’m not crazy,” said Joe quietly, “I just can’t meet her. Not tonight.”

“Well I’m going to,” said Jarrah, with her deadly half-smile.

Joe stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to say hello, buy her a drink, and ask her to dinner.”

The import of what she was saying hit hard.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

“Why not? She’s gorgeous, and it’s such a beautiful night.”

“You’re just messing with me.”

“If I mess with anyone tonight, Joe Frankenstein, it’s not going to be you.”

Five minutes of small talk later, we were following Joe back to our seats for the second half of the concert. On the way I leaned over Jarrah’s shoulder. “Were you serious?”

“Sure,” she said out of the side of her mouth. “Wouldn’t you be?”

I don’t remember every work in the second half, but I do know it ended with typical good luck for Joe. The final piece was George Enescu’s Romanian Rhapsody No 2, the same rhapsody Sophia and Joe had rhapsodised over in my surgery. It swells with romance, massed violins flow like airborne honey, and I don’t think I’m overdoing it when I say that Joe was empowered by its energy. It was like a spiritual affirmation.

At one point he turned to me with a nervous smile, his eyes alight with excitement, or perhaps trepidation. The stardust was pumping and I knew he would charm Sophia. If he didn’t, there was a chance that he would lose out to his beguiling twin sister.

His nerves must have been screaming when we met Jarrah’s friends backstage, but there was no evident sign. Out came the veterinary charm, and only his sister and I had an inkling of his anxiety. Happily for him, the Opera House green room provides plenty of space in which to disguise fright. It’s like a small airport terminal, with a long bar running down one wall, and nests of armchairs and sofas facing tall windows looking out onto the harbour. Members of the orchestra were chattering in small groups, some with drinks in their hands, others with legs dangling over armrests, lost in contemplation.

I was the first to see Sophia. She was standing in silhouette, with her back to the crowd looking out into the lights of Kirribilli. Joe’s firefly ferries were scudding through black water laced with moonlight. On cue, a cruise ship blazing with light drifted through frame. It was enchanting.

I turned to Joe to point her out, but I was too late. He was on his way.

What happened next took place between two silhouettes in a shadow play. He walked up and stood at a short distance for several seconds before turning and saying something with what must have been feigned surprise. She glanced at him and stepped slightly away, obviously taken aback; some words were exchanged, and then she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

Well look at that, I said to myself, the stardust tango is underway. I turned to Jarrah to see her watching like a cat contemplating its prey. Her eyes were glittering; but with envy or pleasure, I couldn’t say.

“It looks like it’s working,” I said as a quiet aside.

“All I had to do was get him here.”

“So you weren’t serious about asking her out.”

“We’ll see.”

After a few moments Sophia and Joe joined us at the bar. She nodded with a collegial smile to the two women from the orchestra and glanced warmly at me, but her focus was on Jarrah in her spectacular red dress.

“Sophia Luca, this is my twin sister Jarrah.”

Jarrah tilted her head in a slight nod, and held out her hand. “Hello, Sophia.”

“You are very beautiful,” Sophia said, matter-of-factly.

“Thank you, and you play a mean violin.”

Sophia looked perplexed. “Mean?”

“She means accomplished,” Joe said quickly.

“But mean is cruel, yes?”

“I should have said alluring, or skilful.”

“Thank you, but it’s not me, it’s Rimsky-Korsakov and the whole orchestra. A short solo is nothing, I think.”

“But the effect was amazing,” said Joe. “You must all be flying. It’s been years since I’ve heard music take off like that.”

Sophia smiled. “Maybe this Rimsky-Korsakov gave us Russian wings.”

“No no, I’m serious, I was in a rock’n’roll band in high school and …”

“You left out very loud,” said Jarrah.

“Yes we were in this very loud rock and roll band, and most of the time we played just fine. We were usually in tune and most of it sounded right, but once or twice something amazing happened. The band took off into a whole new dimension. It was like we were high on some sort of supernatural energy. It was incredible, and I can still feel that sensation today. It was like a spectacular drug. I’ve never really felt pleasure like it since, at least not until tonight.”

While he talked, Sophia was watching him closely with a tender glow in her sea-green eyes. “There’s no need to say this,” she said, smiling. “But it’s true. What you say happens every night in a great orchestra, and this many people do not understand. In some moments it is ecstasy. You are the first person I have met who is not a musician who feels it too.”

Well, that’s it, I thought, Scheherazade has worked her magic once more. We all stood staring foolishly at each other while Joe preened.

“Alrighty then,” he said finally, “what’s for dinner?”