Читать книгу An Ode to Life - Manja Siber - Страница 6
ОглавлениеChapter 01
“And my predecessor.” Ossip Kirsch's voice was strangely empty, eerily quiet. Garvanos had never heard him being anything gut gruff and on the verge or even outright booming. “Of course, most of you know Mr. Richard Wagner.”
This was most definitely not alright.
Mr. Wagner, thin and seemingly unassuming, looked around, a genial smile on his face.
If Garvanos had never heard anything about this man before he might have been tempted to find him nice.
As it was, after all he had heard, after everything he knew, the smile was nauseating.
Richard Wagner.
The man who had been responsible for Ivan living in secret.
The man who still haunted him.
He looked around.
Strange. Just a moment ago they all had been laughing and smiling, chatting, congratulating each other on a performance gone well.
The cheer had all but died.
Garvanos felt as if the silence would drown him; it rushed and roared deafeningly in his ears.
Their illustrious audience, Friedrich August II of Wettin, King of Saxony and his small entourage all seemed oblivious to the sudden shift in mood, still to engrossed by the performance they had enjoyed not even an hour before. Or maybe they deliberately ignored it.
They had seen them perform Rienzi, an opera by Richard Wagner.
Had they requested this opera specifically because they had already known the composer would be present?
Why had nobody told them anything?
Where was Ivan? Was he still around, hearing all this?
Richard Wagner inclined his head ever so slightly, either oblivious or deliberately ignoring the stony silence he had elicited. As with the Royal family, it was impossible to tell. “Well, I must say, Mr. Kirsch,” he said in quite a pleasant voice, sonorous, full and self-assured, “You have worked wonders on them. I cannot remember ever seeing any of them so disciplined as they are here.”
Garvanos saw Mr. Kirsch nod again. His broad shoulders were so tense, he feared they might burst. His grey hair seemed even more frizzed than usual.
“Oh, my. Miss Bergmann, I haven’t seen you tonight. Are you well?” Mr. Wagner asked, a smile crossing his face as he walked over to Marianne and took her hands.
Marianne Bergmann looked like she’d rather be elsewhere, her pale face blotched with an uncomfortable blush. It had almost the same shade as her red hair. “Well enough. Thank you.” She glanced at Deborah as if begging her for help.
“We didn’t know you were in Dresden,” Deborah Santelli finally said.
Garvanos noticed that her Italian accent was thicker than he had ever heard her. Her dark eyes flickered with something he would have almost dared to call hatred, but no, surely not. Not Debbie-
“What a pleasant surprise. How long will you be staying?” She raised a hand to her temple and brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
“Oh, my dear,” Mr. Wagner smiled, “you make it sound like I am a mere visitor.”
Garvanos ears were filling up with a rushing, ringing sound.
“I am so sorry I had to leave my post for a while, but as I see, you all were in more capable hands than I would have thought. Nonetheless, I have delightful news for you. My absence is over. Starting tomorrow, I will resume my post and my work as musical director.”
The ringing in Garvanos’ ears grew ever louder. Mr. Kirsch would lose his position? He had had plans for the whole remaining year. What would become of these? And what about him? He had just proven himself, he had just made the leap from chorus singer to soloist, he had just passed his probation, he-
Mr. Wagner would not allow a Gypsy as a lead soloist, Garvanos was sure.
“Of course, Mr. Kirsch will retain his position as director and instructor of the chorus – he has always done good work there. In my absence he even managed to discover some new talents.” Mr. Wagner’s eyes wandered over Marianne, Andreas, and Thomas, lingering on each of them. Notably, he didn't spare Garvanos a glance.
Garvanos’ stomach sank.
No. He wouldn’t suffer him in his position.
“I see, young Mr. Beljajew has positively blossomed in the last few months.”
Alexej Beljajew blossomed now as well, cheeks flushing from the praise.
“Miss Santelli, I hear you are as well as ever? What a pretty work you delivered tonight. Lovely as always.”
Deborah looked like she was biting down a scream and Garvanos could see Marianne move closer to her, reaching out. Deborah moved her hand, but she didn’t take Marianne’s’.
And now, finally, Mr. Wagner turned to him. He had pale eyes and equally pale brown hair and hard lines around his nose.
He pulled up the corners of his mouth in an of a smile. “Our Rienzi. What was your name again?”
“Scimia,” Garvanos answered, “Garvanos Scimia.” He was sure that Mr. Wagner would have known his name already. But it was probably for the best to humour him.
“Ah. Yes. An interesting choice for my lead, indeed.” He nodded, fixating Garvanos with his gaze. “We will see.”
Garvanos’ stomach dropped and then started to churn. The ringing in his ears grew almost unbearably loud.
Mr. Wagner, still smiling, bowed. “Tomorrow will be an early start and a long day for me, so with your permission I will retire now.”
“Please.” King Friedrich August smiled pleasantly and the ladies of his small entourage – his wife, queen Maria Anna, and the Lady Lola Montez nodded along with him. “My good man, have a good night's rest, who knows when you will have it again.” He waved his hand in a friendly gesture of dismissal.
Mr. Wagner smiled, bowed, and then left.
Garvanos watched him walk away as the king and his relations came closer now. He wanted to vomit. He couldn't.
The king, his brother Prince Johann of Wettin and their wives inspected him, he noticed.
Remembering his good manners, he smiled and bowed.
“Mr. Wagner is right,” Princess Amalie, sister to the queen and wife to the prince remarked. Seizing him up and down like one would with a horse on the market, she remarked, “I did not think of it during the staging, but it is an odd choice, isn’t it.”
“Interesting was the word,” Prince Johann reminded her. “An apt one, too. It is impressive how he learned the words so well.”
As if Garvanos was a circus animal to gawk at and comment on.
“It is easier to learn your lines when you understand the language,” he said before he could think.
The princesses and the prince stared at him.
Damn. He had spoken out of turn, without being addressed first.
The prince stared at him. The princess and the queen were staring at him.
Finally, Lola Montez commented from the side, “Isn’t it lovely how language can civilize and unite us?” Her voice was a rich, molasses-sweet alto and probably had received some training in her youth, but not enough to turn her into a singer of note. Mostly she had learned – whether by training or by experience – to speak exactly the way she wanted to speak, to form each and every word very carefully, putting just enough inflection on it to suggest the hint of an idea.
Her dark grey eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“Thank you, madame,” Garvanos said, bowing his head.
The Montez, apparently satisfied already, nodded, and turned then her attention to both Deborah and Marianne.
The queen and the princess still occupied him with their curious looks and occasionally questions about how different life here, always in one place must be from roaming the world? Garvanos could only shrug for an answer. How would he know? He had grown up in Milan. He had been educated and trained at the Scala.
But wasn’t he a Gypsy, the princess asked, her voice distant to his ear.
He barely even noticed.
Yes, he answered, but he had been raised in Italy, by an Italian.
He barely even noticed.
But didn’t he feel the urge to wander and roam, that was inherent to the Gypsies, the queen asked.
He barely even noticed.
The prince and the king engaged into some talk with Johannes Erhard, nodding and smiling eagerly and again looking to Garvanos when Johannes Erhard pointed to him with a big smile on his face.
He barely even noticed.
Ludwig of Wittelsbach and Lola Montez talked to Deborah and Marianne for a while before they turned and left.
He barely even noticed.
Shortly after the king, the prince and their wives bade them a good night as well and finally they were alone.
He barely even noticed.
He barely even noticed how Alexej Beljajew kept chatting on in excitement, his bright green eyes sparkling.
Garvanos could only half-heartedly listen to him.
How much earlier had Ivan realized who was there with the king, waiting to be introduced? How was he doing right now?
Alexej finally sighed, his fair, pretty face drawn into a frown. “You know, you can tell me to shut up and let you leave, it's alright.”
Garvanos blinked.
“And people always complain I am rude.” Again, he shook his head, his bright, blonde hair fluttering around him.
He sighed. “Sorry. I think I-” Words. How did words work again? “I suppose, I’ll just go and find Ivan now.”
Alexej nodded. “You do that.” He was still grinning. “Have a nice night.”
Ah. Yes.
A nice night was what had been his intention, but probably not anymore. His own stomach curdled and churned, and he still wanted to vomit. Who knew how Ivan was doing?
When he returned to his dressing room, Garvanos saw for himself.
Ivan had retreated there at some point during the meeting. Now he was sitting in Garvanos’ chair, Garvanos’ jacket in hands. At some point he must have grabbed it so tight that now there were small wrinkles in the fabric of the sleeves. He was pale, staring ahead without giving the impression of seeing anything, his grey hair falling over his shoulders in long, tousled strands.
Garvanos softly closed the door.
His lover did not look up. Coming closer, Garvanos could see that he was shivering, shaking in slight, fine tremors.
Not good.
Garvanos knelt down at his right side, resisting the urge to immediately reach out to him. “Ivan?” he asked softly, his voice a breath.
Ivan’s one eye slowly blinked, then he looked up, his pale, hazel gaze fixing on Garvanos. The shakes increased, as did his rapid blinking. His breathing shallowed and several times he swallowed, as if choking on something.
“Ivan, I’m taking your hand now, alright?”
Ivan gave no indication that he had heard him. Maybe he hadn’t. Or he had but couldn’t work his way through the words.
Garvanos carefully placed his fingers over Ivan's hand and felt them taken in a surprisingly strong grip.
Garvanos suppressed a yelp and instead reached out with his other hand, placing it on Ivan’s arm.
Ivan’s breathing hitched and became even more shallow.
Garvanos’ head was spinning. What had Mauro done with him when he had had one of these episodes? He had somehow gotten him through it, but how?
What had been the progression for him? How had he felt?
“Ivan, listen to my voice, yes?”
He let his hand wander up on Ivan’s arm.
Ivan’s breath came out in short, flat gusts.
His hand wandered back down and then closed it around Ivan’s hand, pressing it. “Alright. Alright. Ivan, breathe, yes? Breathe in, love.”
Ivan was still shivering, but he was also breathing in for as long as Garvanos said so.
“And out, yes?”
And Ivan breathed out, slowly, slowly, in a shivering, hitching stream.
He was still shivering, more violently now, teeth chattering.
Garvanos moved his fingers over the back of Ivan’s hand. “Focus on breathing, yes? In – out – in – out- yes, like that. That's good – in – out – in – out-”
Finally, finally, the shivering subsided and at last, at long last, Ivan drew one final, ragged breath. “Thank you-” His voice came out raw and hoarse as if after a long, heavy cry. “I- I- thank you.”
Garvanos gave his hand a gentle squeeze and managed a soft smile. “Welcome to my life.”
Ivan breathed out. And in. And out. Garvanos gently moved his fingers over Ivan’s wrist. How strange. He was used to be the one in need of this. Usually, he was the one breaking down. So often he had been the one breaking down and in need of comfort.
Not now. Now he was the one giving comfort. And while he did not wish for Ivan to experience something like this again, it was nice to be able to support for a change.
“Is always bad like this?”
“Sometimes worse,” Garvanos sighed.
Ivan sighed and paused, looking for words. “You- how often you go through this?”
“Don’t know. Often. Sometimes there’s a lot of time between these moments. It’s been a while since my last fit.” Garvanos dared to scoot closer, and Ivan didn’t oppose the contact.
In fact, he leaned into it and carefully Garvanos lifted their joined hands and pried his out to place them on Ivan's shoulders. “It's been a good long while. You are good for me, I think. I am getting more resilient. Stronger.”
“If you have so often and- and not crazy-” A short hiccup, “And you get out of it again and then go on.” He took a deep breath. Another hiccup. Another breath. “You did not get stronger. You were.” He chose his words carefully now. Still, his accent was more pronounced than usual. “More than me. I am not sure I could deal with it.”
“You did just now.”
“Because of you.”
“I don’t think anyone should be expected to go through this alone. I didn’t. If I can prevent it, you won’t either.” Garvanos kissed his forehead. “Do you think you can walk?”
Ivan leaned into him. “I hope so.” He got up, tried to stand and then his knees buckled, and he stumbled.
Garvanos caught him and leaned him onto him. “Let’s go down.”
Ivan clung to him on their way down, his fingers curling into the fabric of his clothes. His breathing had found an even, calm rhythm when they arrived in the darkness of the corridor that led down to his cave. Garvanos made a mental note of this. Ivan had lived a good part of his life in darkness and semi-darkness so far. Maybe darkness helped him to calm down.
He carefully counted his steps through the cave, turned them at precise angles and only briefly brushed against a chest as he navigated them to the bed. There he let go, placing Ivan on the mattress.
Then he fumbled with the matches until he managed to strike one against the side of the bedpost.
With a hiss the small, dark-golden flame sprung into existence and Garvanos lifted the glass balloon of the oil lamp, lit it, and marvelled for a moment how the cut and polished glass multiplied the single flame before he turned back around.
Ivan’s arms wrapped themselves around his waist, pulling him back closer to himself.
Garvanos ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his left temple and with a deep sigh Ivan leaned into the touch and against Garvanos’ stomach, sending a warm gust of air over his skin, followed by a shiver.
“Ne idi,” he mumbled, raw exhaustion framing his voice.
Garvanos placed his hands on both sides of Ivan’s face and lifted it to look at him. “I won’t,” he whispered. “I’ll stay right here.”
Ivan’s one seeing eye shimmered, but it seemed unfocused, unclear, distant.
“I’m right here,” Garvanos continued. “I’m not going anywhere. Alright?” He bent down to press a kiss on Ivan’s brow and to his immense relief and delight, Ivan then turned up his face nuzzling and meeting Garvanos’ lips with his own.
Leaning back, he pulled Garvanos on the bed with him, sliding a hand underneath his shirt.
Garvanos felt his fingers spreading and his palm flattening against his back.
Removing himself from the kiss, Ivan nuzzled Garvanos’ neck, the tickle of breath occasionally joined by the press of lips and the soft flick of a tongue.
The touches, the warmth, the feeling of Ivan half under him started to pool and collect in the pit of Garvanos’ stomach. He ran a hand through his hair in long, languid, gentle strokes and Ivan took deep, intense breaths with each stroke. “Is this alright for you?”
Ivan lifted his head, looking up to him. “Is it for you?” he asked back, voice still raw and thick. His hands moved over Garvanos’ lower back, flat and firm, intent on feeling as much of him as possible. They came to rest at the waistline of his trousers. “I want to feel you. If it is alright.”
Garvanos kissed him, moving a little so Ivan's hands slipped a little further on his back. “Anything for you, love.”
“If not, do not-” Ivan tried to say, but he faltered and sighed.
Garvanos let his hand run down his side. “No need to worry.”
Undressing was a quick affair; then for a long time they simply laid there, bodies entwined.
Garvanos could feel Ivan’s heartbeat against his bare chest, strong and steady and calm; Ivan’s hands tracing paths over his skin; Ivan’s muscles twitching under Garvanos’s fingertips.
Garvanos was almost sure that that was it. Ivan was relaxed in his arms, breathing calm and steady. Maybe he was more exhausted than they both had anticipated.
His half-erect penis still prompted Garvanos to whisper, “What do you want?”
Ivan didn’t answer immediately, drawing Garvanos even closer to him and into an almost desperate kiss.
His penis twitched against Garvanos’s leg and Garvanos delighted in it. He pulled Ivan on top of himself.
Breaking the kiss Ivan moved to Garvanos’s temple. His breath tickled over the shell of Garvanos’s ear, and the sensation trickled down his spine and into the pool of desire that was building up.
“You,” Ivan whispered, “you inside me.”
The words were enough to make Garvanos hard. At the same time, it was not quite shock, but the feeling definitely went beyond surprise.
Slowly he pushed himself up on his elbows until he was sitting up, Ivan straddling him.
It was closer to the lamp, allowing him to examine Ivan’s face. He was so tense.
“Sure?” he whispered.
“I want to feel you. As much as possible.”
Garvanos bit on his lips. This was not exactly what he had expected. He had always thought their roles reversed whenever he had thought about that form of sex. The way Ivan had sometimes teasingly entered him with a finger and the ideas he occasionally whispered into Garvanos’s ear had always suggested he saw it the same way.
He nodded and then leaned his brow against Ivan’s. “Tell me if something is good or not, yes? Please?”
Ivan nodded, breathing against his lips before kissing him, sweetly and almost innocent. “I would suggest the use of the oil.”
Evidently, he was feeling better. Good. That was very good.
He kissed him again, leaning into it and over until Ivan had to fall back on the mattress, still holding Garvanos tightly in his arms.
Garvanos took his wrists, lifted them above his head, mainly to gain more freedom of movement. Ivan writhed under his grip in a way that suggested that he was struggling against the loose grip, but more for the struggle itself rather than to break free.
He liked being held down. Garvanos made a note to himself.
Softly he kissed down his way Ivan's temple, then whispered sweet nothings over the shell of Ivan’s ear.
He would need the oil soon. Garvanos did not plan on teasing him too much tonight, focusing more on holding him, tightly, firmly, gently, reassuring him and himself that he was still there.
No teasing, just long, drawn-out, hopefully enjoyable lovemaking.
With a – for now – last kiss he parted from Ivan, kneeling between his legs, bending over, and twisting to reach to the nightstand, to pull open the upper drawer and get the little flask of oil they usually kept constantly refilled with diligence.
Garvanos pried off the stopper and for a moment enjoyed the scent of lavender and mint rising into his nostrils. The scent was a precursor of pleasure to him, coined as such by the many times Ivan had applied the oil to his cock to heighten the sensation of each touch.
He spread the oil on his fingers and then returned his attention to whom and where it actually belonged.
Ivan made use of his hands being suddenly free again and reached out, wrapping his arms around Garvanos’ shoulders.
Garvanos let him, let him draw him closer, let him kiss him, let his hands wander over his shoulders, his back, and only when he started to touch and play with his buttocks, Garvanos gently pushed him back into the mattress. Ivan’s hands fell off his back.
“Another time,” he said. “Yes?”
“Yes.” Ivan smiled and then leaned back again.
He didn't turn around and when Garvanos shot him a questioning look, his smile turned a little sheepish. “I like seeing your face.”
All of a sudden Garvanos’ hands were trembling as he moved them over Ivan's body, sliding downwards and one around his waist.
How had it felt for him?
Ivan had never entered him right away and so Garvanos did neither. Instead, he spread the oil on the anus, massaging him there until he felt him relax a bit.
His free hand, slick with oil as well, had started playing with one nipple. Ivan liked that and it had its intended effect of relaxing him further, leaning against Garvanos# hands.
When he pressed into him there was still some slight resistance and Ivan's face tensed up a little.
Garvanos bent down to kiss his neck upwards to his lips. “Are you alright?”
“Not used to it anymore,” Ivan answered with a small, husky laugh. He ran a finger over Garvanos’ cheek.
Garvanos moved into him for a bit, watching Ivan's face tense, relax, fall slack for just a moment before he collected to himself.
“Good?”
“Very good. I think you can go on.”
Garvanos did.
Adding a second finger proved more of a challenge, though.
Ivan tensed up and hissed under his breath and Garvanos paused in his efforts.
Last time he had been in that position and had felt discomfort, Ivan had done his best to distract him and had done so a little too well for them to do proceed any further.
He gently pressed a few kisses on Ivan’s neck, putting a hint of teeth behind it that had Ivan whimper softly. Good. Garvanos knew he was sensitive at the neck and the throat, more than probably other people and he kissed him there before sucking down on the skin.
In the meantime, he dipped his fingers in the oil again, spread it over his palm and savoured the tingle and the bite that came from the pepper and the mint, the latter contrasting and complementing in scent with the lavender.
Even just wrapping his fingers around Ivan’s cock had him jolt slightly and Garvanos felt him relax around his fingers.
He took his time spreading Ivan, listening to whispered or sometimes just moaned encouragements, but he was straightforward about it. Right now, Ivan needed him, rather than any teasing.
His own erection was throbbing painfully between his legs and against Ivan’s skin and any noise Ivan made just aroused him even more.
“Is it alright?”
Ivan looked up at him and then, slowly, nodded.
There was a bit of a fumble, Ivan lifting his hips, Garvanos pulling his knees over his shoulders and trying to angle himself. They lost their balance a bit and Garvanos fell a bit on him. They laughed, breathing against each other’s lips. Inarguably Ivan’s laugh was the best sound Garvanos had heard tonight.
It might have been easier if they would take a different position, but Ivan held him too tightly to move away and Garvanos was already pressing against him and into him.
Ivan arched up to him – and then stopped, exhaling sharply.
Garvanos paused. “What’s wrong?”
“Too fast,” Ivan mumbled, face tense. “Slower.”
Garvanos ran a finger over his cheek. “We can stop. If it’s too much we stop.”
But Ivan shook his head, clinging to Garvanos’ shoulders. “Please. Not. I am alright. I am.”
“Please, I don’t want to hurt you-”
“You are not.” Ivan jerked up against him. “Please.”
Who was he to deny him?
Garvanos moved again, slower this time, more deliberate, with more restraint, slowly gliding in and out again, in again and a bit deeper. With each move Ivan shuddered, tensing, and relaxing again, exhaling his breath in soft moans and whimpers.
And then a final thrust and he was in entirely, entirely encased in dizzying, tight heat.
They paused for a long while.
Ivan breathed out, long and soft and with a laugh. He reached out to touch Garvanos’ cheek.
“Love you,” he whispered and pulled him down to himself, “love you, my d-ah!”
Garvanos thrust into him, cutting him short.
They were slow, slow all the way through, pressure building up between them bit by bit, without any rush and Ivan’s soft moans dripped from his lips in long, languid breaths in between the kisses Garvanos pressed on his lips.
Slow were the strokes Garvanos lavished on Ivan’s erection trapped between them and even when they came – Ivan first, Garvanos a little later, savouring the heat and tightness closing in around him – they did it slowly, bit by bit.
It was blinding nonetheless, sending shivers through him and he sank down on Ivan, gliding out.
Under him Ivan was still shaking as he raised a hand and ran it through Garvanos’ hair.
“How-” Garvanos’ voice was hoarse and raw, and he cleared his throat a bit, rolling off of Ivan in the process. “How do you feel?”
Ivan breathed in. And out. In. And out.
And finally said, “Wonderful. So much.” He ran a finger over Garvanos' cheek. “Thank you. Thank you. So much.”
Garvanos leaned in and kissed him on the lips and Ivan responded lazily.
“Are you alright?”
“I think. Can you fetch me the wet cloth, though?”
Garvanos turned and twisted a little without getting out of Ivan’s arms. He bent over and his hand found the bowl of water underneath the bed and the cloth in it.
He wrung out the excess water before handing it over to Ivan, who then carefully and with gentle, caressing strokes wiped him down before cleaning up himself and then carefully throwing it back away under the bed.
After having done that to his satisfaction, he snuggled back in closer to Garvanos, running a finger over his back.
Garvanos chuckled and then scuttled closer. “How are you? Really?”
“A little sore,” Ivan admitted. “Filled. Calmer.”
“Good.” Garvanos smiled. “I’m glad.”
Ivan pulled him closer to himself, breathing into his hair. How lovely. How warm. How Good. Garvanos curled up a little around him and leaned his face in the crook of Ivan’s neck.
“What do you think of him?” Ivan asked after a while.
“Mr. Wagner?”
Ivan nodded against him.
Garvanos thought about it for a little and then sighed deeply. “I haven’t seen much of him yet and I already have some notions and ideas about him, of course. Maybe he turns out to be alright. And maybe I am too moody about this, but-” He shrugged and rubbed his temple a little. “I mean, he obviously can’t stand Deborah. You should have seen his face when he had to talk to her.”
“No, he does not like her,” Ivan agreed. “He never did.”
“The feeling seems mutual, too” Garvanos added after a moment. “She seemed like she was willing him to drop dead.”
“I know. She does,” Ivan said. “Wish for his death, that is.”
“Her career hasn’t suffered from it as far as I can tell, though,” Garvanos mumbled as he ran a hand through Ivan's hair. “How bad can it be?”
Ivan smiled. “I do admire your optimism. And for what it is worth – if it is too much, I am here.” There was a palpable bitterness in his voice. “Which is unlikely to change anytime soon.”
Garvanos lifted his head. “What do you mean?”
“That man knows pretty much everyone who has anything to do with music and anyone who fancies themselves to. He would-” He swallowed. “He would learn of me. And then-”
Mr. Wagner appeared to be well-connected, true. He probably knew most of Dresden’s nobles and wealthy bourgeoisie. If Ivan were to take up any teaching work Mr. Wagner at some point would hear of him, but if he went by a different name, how would he ever draw the connection?
Ivan’s face hinted that he might not be too receptive of this suggestion, so Garvanos bit it back. Maybe he would come to this conclusion himself in time.
“Might as well,” Ivan sighed. “It is not like I can leave Alyosha alone now.”
“He seems to quite like Mr. Wagner,” Garvanos pointed out.
Ivan bit his lip. “Which is exactly why I refuse to leave him all alone,” he replied. “Or would you like him to fall back under his thrall like before?”
“I can’t tell. I haven't witnessed that before,” Garvanos admitted. “But maybe it will be different this time around.”
“What would make you think that?” Ivan asked.
Garvanos chuckled. “I doubt that last time he had a handsome stagehand looking out for him.”
Ivan paused and then nodded. “Yes. Right.” And finally, finally he smiled. “Yes. Maybe it will be alright. At least in that regard.”
“At least in that regard,” Garvanos repeated. “And with everything else – we shall see.”
Two weeks passed and brought the upheaval with them, Mr. Wagner had announced on that Sunday evening after the private performance of Rienzi Garvanos had hinged his hopes on.
Several of their female singers quit on short notice, citing worry how the changed work environment might have a negative effect on both their virtue and their inner lives.
“Figures,” Deborah commented wryly, “if there is one thing Mr. Wagner likes, then it is a woman dependent on him.”
“Would that be why he doesn’t like you?” Garvanos.
“Part of it,” Deborah replied without ever elaborating on it.
The emptied ranks quickly filled up again. Dresden had a lot of women with reasonable skill and decent ambition.
Mr. Kirsch was removed from his position of head musical director, which, as Mr. Wagner declared, he had only held for interim anyways. His absence had never been permanent, albeit it had taken him a little longer to return than he had planned. Or so he said.
Garvanos, wondering what that might mean, asked Johannes about it, who was cross about the development for his own reasons.
“It sucks,” he sighed over their usual dinner of potato dishes and awful beer. “With Mr. Kirsch it would be alright. I could leave for a while and come back to pick up my position where I left, no issue.”
“You still haven't told us why you're leaving,” Andreas pointed out.
“Personal matters,” Johannes replied after a sip of his beer.
“Girl troubles?” Thomas asked.
Garvanos almost choked on his beer and for once it wasn’t due to the beer itself.
Fact was that Johannes was leaving Dresden with his sister for his patrons’ country estate.
The girl had gotten pregnant and needed a place and some time in peace and Johannes didn’t want to leave her alone in this. Garvanos had learned of it by chance and had sworn silence.
“Anyway, with Wagner back I might as well stay away from Dresden for good,” Johannes continued after a bite from his potato casserole. “Kirsch would have given me my position back and then maybe a chance to prove myself as a soloist.”
They all hummed and nodded in agreement.
Ossip Kirsch was a strict man, harsh even and demanding. But he also liked to see them progress and step up to their potential. Garvanos had gotten his lead solo for exactly this reason. Mostly.
“You think Wagner won’t?” Alexander asked.
“Doubtful,” Johannes said. “He has people he wants to push forward. I never was one of these people and will never be. I’m not impressionable enough.”
That was probably it.
The issue of Mr. Wagner's political alignments stuck with them as well.
“He was in favour with the king before March,” Johannes, a few days later, explained over a by-the-riverside lunch, consisting of some shared fruit tarts.
It was a cloudy, oppressive day, promising a rainstorm later. A rainstorm would make for interesting background noise for Garvanos’ singing lessons with Ivan later that day. He was looking forward to it actually. It was an exciting prospect, secret singing lessons with his secret lover up in the attic of the theatre, set to lightning and thunder.
“With Wagner it was always a matter who was in the room and whom he was talking to. He can talk about revolution and abolishing the monarchy in the morning and then go and have lunch with the king an hour later. Pocket his payments by the king and then go right back to demand the monarchy to be abolished. After March, he fell out of favour more or less. Was a bit too vocal about the events in Berlin when the revolution picked up there. But apparently that's over now? I think he was in Vienna recently?” He shrugged. “Maybe he could talk his way back in the kings’ good graces. You know, when Mr. Kirsch took on the position of musical director, nobody thought it would be only for a time. We all took it to be permanent. Mr. Kirsch took it to be permanent. The plan was that he would stick to a majority of the schedule Wagner had given for the running season but replace a few operas in the second half. Marschner’s’ Vampyr and Hoffmann’s’ Undine were some of these replacements. Mr. Wagner is fonder of staging Lortzing operas. Or some Beethoven.”
“I certainly don’t complain about Undine,” Garvanos sighed.
With Mr. Kirsch now being only responsible for the chorus and Mr. Wagner keen on being in charge and control, soon further changes came.
It started, innocently enough, with a note hung up on the announcement board, where notes were fond of being hung up.
Garvanos blinked up at the new daily rehearsal schedule, then exchanged a look with Andreas.
Finally, he locked eyes with August Stadler. The other man had never liked Garvanos, often enough he was actively hostile to him. But now, oddly enough, his face mirrored Garvanos’ own worry.
His pale eyes were narrow.
Chorus rehearsal had been pushed back about two hours. It meant they wouldn’t have to show up until nine, which was nice. Less nice was that it now was to be held at the same time as the soloist’s rehearsal.
“Well-” he finally said, “We seem to have something of a problem here.”
“Hard to believe I’m agreeing with you,” Garvanos sighed with another look to the board.
“Well.” Andreas cleared his throat. “Chorus rehearsal will start in a moment. We can ask what this is about later.”
They went through the rehearsal, most of them focused, some of them absent-minded enough to be bellowed at by Mr. Kirsch. Mostly, the bellowing helped. Some cases were incurable, at least for today.
Rehearsal came to an end.
“So, who’s gonna ask him?” Alexander whispered.
“Not me,” Garvanos declared at once, “forget it.”
“Why not? He likes you, he won’t rip your head off,” Johannes hissed.
“Rehearsal over!” Mr. Kirsch called.
They already could see Deborah, Marianne and Beljajew. Soon Anna Herzog would follow and then bass singer Johannes Erhard.
And then, just behind them, Mr. Wagner came strolling in.
Mr. Kirsch noticed him and with a last, sharp wave, he turned away from them and stalked over to Mr. Wagner. Being a lot smaller and broader in the shoulders he looked a lot like an angry, grizzled old bulldog trying to go up against a Greyhound.
“Mr. Wagner,” he said.
“Good morning, Mr. Kirsch,” Mr. Wagner greeted him, smiling genially. “What can I do for you?”
“New schedule,” Mr Kirsch said, visibly boiling. “Why not was discussed with me?”
Mr. Wagner’s smile widened. “Mr. Kirsch. I do think you still know your way to my office? It has been so long since you stomped in last time.”
Mr. Kirsch breathed in as if to scream. Then, instead of screaming, he breathed out again. “Will discuss here and will discuss now,” he then said. “New schedule concern singers. Singers shall hear.”
Mr. Wagner didn’t stop smiling, although now it seemed a little frozen over. “Of course. Thank you for reminding me. How thoughtless I can be, it is just terrible.”
Mr. Kirsch seemed to try very hard to not answer to that. He was more or less successful. “Indeed. Why are rehearsal for chorus and soloists at same time?”
Said soloists came closer now. Marianne Bergmann and Deborah Santelli listened to the exchange with rapt attention.
“I figured it would be the best. I was of the opinion that you would be of a likewise mind. Of course, I now see that I was wrong.” He folded his long, thin hands behind his back.
“Would be good idea how?” Mr. Kirsch asked.
“Both the ballet corps and the department for dramatic acting have spoken to me. Both would be most grateful for an additional time slot for them. Of course, everyone agrees that the opera is the main draw of this house and the favoured subject of the king and thus deserving of all the attention lavished upon us. Nobody argues that.” He walked up and down in front of them, waving his finger. He looked a very, very annoying schoolteacher. “However, I do think we should show our respect to them, too. And how better to do so than by giving them an additional time slot out of our own? Don’t you all think so as well?”
“Good gesture,” Mr. Kirsch said, “Not good plan, still.”
Mr. Wagner's smile turned into something like a grimace. “How come? It works out perfectly well. After all, since I can turn my full attention to our soloists, you are free to form the chorus into a solid, reliable unit.”
Mr. Kirsch crossed his arms. “No need. Already are. Some good enough for first solo. Need be in both rehearsals then. Cannot be in two at same time.”
Mr. Wagner’s eyes widened in something that was probably supposed to be surprise. “Oh yes, I forgot! I hear the new soloists are all of high quality, I did not think they would still partake in the chorus rehearsals.” He tapped his chin with his finger, nodding to himself. “Well, that is unfortunate. Of course, we cannot possibly demand of any of you to attend to both rehearsals at the same time. Mr. Kirsch is absolutely right.” Another nod. Then he said, “I suppose it would be best to promote Mr. Stadler to one of the lead soloists. I know, it is not common practise to rush things like that, but we have always been a little unconventional, haven’t we. Now, if we do the same with Mr. Kästner-”
Andreas yelped a little. “What, why?”
“I have heard you during the rehearsals.” Mr. Wagner's smile almost seemed genuine again. “I do think you would make a rather good Heilmann and who knows what else.”
“What?!” That had escaped Garvanos before he could help himself.
“Not happening,” Mr. Kirsch declared the same moment and both Johannes and Andreas called, “That role’s already taken!”
Marianne, Deborah, and Johannes Erhard made similar noises of disagreement.
Alexej stared at Mr. Wagner as if he were doubting his mental facilities.
Mr. Wagner looked around. “Mr. Kästner has a solid voice, a nice gravitas as well. Mr. Scimia should decide whether he wants to be a tenor or a baritone before he can aspire to have a solo in any capacity and then work hard to earn it,” he said and turned to Andreas. “I consider you a good fit for the role.”
Andreas did not answer immediately. Garvanos’ stomach sank. If Andreas took Mr. Wagner up on that offer, Garvanos could not even begrudge him, not entirely. It would be a massive step up. And it still. And still. And still, he would be so, so mad.
“Garvanos worked like a horse to get the part,” Andreas said at last. “I’ll do the same and maybe it pays off.”
Mr. Wagner looked at him and then nodded slowly. “I see.” He turned around.
Mr. Kirsch clapped in his hands. “Done here today. Until tonight!”
Most of the chorus singers bustled off the stage now, with only Garvanos, Andreas and August remaining.
Andreas turned to Garvanos. “I know you don’t really want to, but get a damn solo role in the Faust, you hear me?! At least take part in the try-out. You have to. And then you partake in any try-out we have. Don’t let up even once.” He clasped Garvanos at the shoulder. “You got that?!”
“Yes.” He nodded, despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Yes, I got it.”
And here he had thought his life couldn't get any messier.
