Читать книгу An Ode to Life - Manja Siber - Страница 7

Chapter 02

The surprises didn’t let up just because one day had passed.

No, instead the next morning offered them another surprise.

At least it was a pleasant one this time.

It was just about seven, a few of them were still bleary-eyed and shambling, still recovering from either a long evening on stage or an even longer evening in a pub, traipsing, and grasping through the lingering fog of too little sleep and maybe a beer or two too many.

And suddenly Marianne came waltzing in “Morning!” her voice rang through the corridor.

Andreas, bleary eyed and yawning, perked up immediately, as he saw one of the two women he worshipped so much. “Good Morning! Are you coming to listen to us?” he asked, very awake at once.

Marianne laughed. “Far from it, I'm here to sing.” She ran a hand over her smooth, fiery hair that was combed, parted, and curled as exquisitely as if she was planning to go to a ball afterwards. In contrast, her dark grey gown seemed almost drab. “I hope I am not imposing or anything?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Andreas replied quickly. “That is- well, I can’t decide, obviously-”

Mr. Kirsch came, saw her, and nodded. “You have music?”

She smiled at him. “Did I ever not?”

Mr. Kirsch didn't even deign that with a response, which was in itself response enough. He just sighed and waved for her to pick a place for her to sing.

She did, taking a spot among the few sopranos they currently had. “this feels quite nostalgic,” she remarked to a strawberry blonde girl next to her. “I hope, I am not rusty.”

The girl – Wilhelmina Mix, Garvanos recalled – blushed. “I’m sure you’re not!”

“Thank you, that is very sweet of you.” Marianne smiled. “Shall we sing?” she now asked Mr. Kirsch, bright as the sun.

Mr. Kirsch waved with his hand.

They sang.

And for now, that was it. And it as fine. Garvanos just wondered what would come next.

He found out, yet again, the next morning.

Again, Marianne showed up for the chorus rehearsal, impeccably made up and bright eyed.

Just like yesterday she was right on time.

Unlike yesterday, she had brought company.

Deborah Santelli, looking just as well-turned out as Marianne, with her hair braided and wrapped around her brow like a dark coronet, smiled at them.

Johannes Erhard and the theatre’s principal alto, Anna Herzog followed.

Each of them took places among the chorus without comment.

Alexej Beljajew’s presence was a little more surprising.

“Funny seeing you here,” Garvanos said. “I would have thought Mr. Wagner's suggestion would be alright with you.”

Alexej shrugged, stifling a yawn. “It is. In principle, I mean, we have two people responsible now, why not split the workload and save some time along the way?”

“So why are you here then?”

“It's not well-executed, that’s why.” Despite his yawning, he seemed to be in remarkably good mood. “You, Kästner and Stadler are still part of the chorus first and foremost. None of you have so many obligations as soloists, yet. All three of you should be soloists full-time soon enough, but until then you are chorus singers who also work on solo roles. That should be kept in mind when working out new schedules. And that didn’t happen and that’s stupid.” Alexej crossed his arms against his chest. “And first and foremost, I am a singer and loyal to other singers.”

Garvanos nodded. “I see. Thank you.”

“Alexej! Scimia!” Mr. Kirsch yelled, “Less chatter. More singing!”

They sang. Deborah had taken her plane at Marianne’s side, chatting amiably with the chorus girls around her, when they were not singing. Alexej glared around, as if daring those around him to try and chat him up.

Mr. Kirsch yelled, corrected them and was his usual self, not eve sparing a glance to Mr. Wagner, as he came in near the end of chorus rehearsal. Instead, he turned to Deborah.

“Lots enthusiasm,” he said, “appreciate. But are solo singers, you.” He let his gaze wander around.

Deborah lifted her chin. “Most of us started as chorus singers here and some of us officially still are part of the chorus,” she said. Then she broke into a smile. “And we all could use some polish from time to time.”

Mr. Wagner shot her a dark look, but he didn’t say more than, “You got quite enough polishing, my dear. Now!” He clapped his hands. “Let’s get to the actual work!”

Garvanos managed a polite smile and a nod. Best to commit to work for as long as he was allowed.

The issue of the changed schedule was dropped silently, but that didn’t mean much. Nor did it change anything. Mr. Wagner was still the instructor and director for the soloists and systematically he went through everything they knew and re-taught it, since obviously they had been doing it all wrong the whole time.

Rehearsing their running performance of E.T.A. Hoffmann’s Undine thus quickly grew to be a very, very exhausting exercise in patience in the face of constant, insistent annoyance for the next weeks.

“Miss Bergmann, you have such a pretty head voice. Sing with it,” he declared as they went through the duet she sang with Deborah.

“I know, but when I sing from my stomach, I have more volume and body,” Marianne tried to argue, “And as a human woman I would need to sound grounded and real in contrast to a wispy, waifish water spirit.”

Mr. Wagner shrugged. “A sound argument, but it won’t help your development to pigeon-hole yourself on one way of singing. Now, my dear, do as I told.” He waved. “The scene from the top again!”

The music set in again and Marianne, after breathing a heavy and deeply annoyed sigh, sang again, describing the beautiful summers day, her character Berthalda enjoyed with her new friend Undine. She sounded thinner than before. Why would Mr. Wagner want her to sound like this?

Deborah, by contrast, sang as high and clear and transparent as ever as she joined her in the duet, adoring, the wonderful day, and the close friendship between the two women. She and Marianne had always sounded quite similar, but right now they were almost impossible to tell apart, especially since Marianne’s voice was significantly thinner now, Deborah drowned her out.

Mr. Wagner sighed. “My dear girls, how many more times? Please! Walk a bit more apart, the audience should see both of you! Not to mention that Undine and Berthalda are not friends. We have discussed that already.”

They had, quite a bit even in the last few weeks and so far, Deborah and Marianne were of a different mind about this, adamantly refusing to change said mind. By now, the discussion had become a staple of their daily rehearsal routine.

“They are friends at this point,” Marianne said, “unless faithful sisterhood means secretly-not-so-secretly hating each other nowadays. In which case I propose a new word for friendships between women.”

Just a few days ago, a similar discussion had upset both lead sopranos so much that they had left rehearsal in a furious huff.

Still, Mr. Wagner had to say something about it. “They both fight for the same man. Undine obviously wishes to befriend Berthalda, yes,” he raised a finger, wagging it in front of them.

He looked, Garvanos found, a lot like a schoolteacher in front of very stubborn children.

“She does so in order to please Huldbrandt and to fit in better with humans. Berthalda on the other hand is merely polite to her, but coolly so. I don’t see a lot of friendship there. Please keep that in mind when you sing now again.”

Deborah and Marianne sighed heavily and then sang again.

Garvanos felt Johannes Erhard step next to him. “For someone professing how much he admires Mr. Kirsch and the way he taught us, he does try very hard to undo everything, doesn’t he?”

Garvanos nodded. “It is evident how much he respects our previous work.”

“You are good, though?” Johannes Erhard asked.

Garvanos answered with a terse nod. “I am alright. Got to be, right?”

“Good to hear that.” Johannes Erhard smiled and then was called to play his role.

Garvanos let out a silent breath as soon as Johannes Erhard had turned. He was alright, yes, but if he was completely honest with himself, he wasn’t as alright as he would have liked. But that was nobody's business but his own.

And it wasn’t like he had no reason to worry. Oh no, he had more than enough of those.

First was the fact that Mr. Wagner tried to work with Garvanos as little as humanly possible, citing that he was fine. No need for him to overexert himself, he had said. However, whenever he did decide that Garvanos required to be worked with, things looked very different very quickly. Mr. Wagner did the same with him as he did with all of them. Everything Garvanos had taken on under Mr. Kirsch, the way he interpreted his lines, how he acted and reacted to the other people on stage and their character interpretation, was to be respected, of course, Mr. Kirsch had done incredible work, of course, but surely Mr. Scimia could see why Mr. Wagner would like him to change this line, stiffen his posture, be more imposing, befitting his role of a priest?

Garvanos had laughed at this at first. He was not imposing. It was quite impossible for him to be imposing. “Oh, but you are,” Mr. Wagner had insisted, smiling a slick smile, just shy of being unpleasant, “I have seen you act out my Rienzi. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in this role. And then my even bigger surprise when you when you then were acting out the rile just as I would have wanted.”

That had stung. Rienzi was a delusional despot. Charismatic and convincing, but terrifying. He had played the role as such and he had made sure that his character’s awfulness. And apparently, he still had come across as the tragic hero Mr. Wagner had intended to be.

Damn it.

“You can be very imposing, trust me.”

Mr Wagner had continued smiling in that fashion that could appear kindly and encouraging, but that Garvanos had quickly come to consider condescending at best and utterly dismissive at any other time.

So Garvanos had done his best to be more imposing, as much as the role of a fatherly, kind, gentle priest allowed him to.

Then of course, there had come a slew of directions. “Sing this more from the stomach.”

Garvanos had sung from the stomach.

“Sing higher. Low notes don’t suit you.”

Garvanos had sung higher, despite the fact that he had just settled into his voice.

“Don’t be so stiff. Your character is a kindly man. His authority is not wielded like a hammer.” – “Be more authoritative.” – “Don’t act like you need to scare Kühleborn away.”

By now Garvanos was very, very glad whenever a day passed without Mr. Wagner working on him.

“That is what he wants,” Ivan said after Garvanos finally mumbled something along these lines to him during one of their lessons, a few weeks after the schedule incident, “You are supposed to not want to work with him anymore. You are supposed to be glad when he is not paying attention to you. You are supposed to not wish to work. You are supposed to give up.”

“I want to work, though,” Garvanos sighed. “Just- just not with him. You understand?”

“I do, love,” Ivan sighed, “Trust me, I do. He does not want you to be here. He does not want you to have solo roles. He does not want you to exist, maybe.”

“Not just maybe, I bet,” Garvanos sighed. “I mean, he wouldn’t be alone.”

Ivan sighed and ran a hand through Garvanos' thick, dark hair. “You know, I could drop a chandelier on him,” he suggested, “It would solve a lot of problems.”

“Do you know what one of the chandeliers here would cost?” Garvanos mumbled in protest.

“I do. It would be worth it.”

He sighed. Ivan usually could calm him down, had done so for the past few weeks, but the situation was eating on him as well. “No murder until he actively does something that would warrant it,” he said, leaning his brow in his hands.

“I think his current actions already do warrant it,” Ivan insisted, his brow furrowed. “But you are right.” his brow furrowed even deeper. “I am quite fond of the chandeliers the theatre has. He would not be deserving of the honour of being smashed by one of them.”

He was trying to make Garvanos laugh and Garvanos did him the favour and laughed, despite not feeling like it.

At some point it actually began to work.

In the meantime, they tried to go about their days, as if nothing had changed as least as much as possible.

Rehearsals were a chore to get through.

Garvanos’ nerves, never the most resilient against high pressure, had him live through these days in something of a dazed haze.

That was a first. Usually, his response was breaking down and blanking out.

Then again, he had been under pressure and exhausted for weeks on end in preparation of the damned staging of Rienzi.

Parallel to that, the everyday business had commenced. The rehearsal for Undine. Then performing an opera for a full audience in the evening.

Lessons with Ivan. Maybe some social engagement. And then the next day the same thing all over again.

By the time they had made it to the performance of Undine, Garvanos had been too tired to even feel tired anymore.

And now it went on. No break. No rest. No respite.

Work.

Prepare.

Practise.

Try not to break down.

By now Garvanos could hardly even remember how it felt to not be exhausted to the bone, too tired even to break down.

He could only hope it would pass at some point. Preferably before he passed.

Until then, all he could do was to go on and not break down.

And pray that at some point he would be able to think it was worth it.

Johannes aside, Garvanos’ entire friend group from the chorus had prepared for the try-outs for Louis Spohr’s Faust, which promised to make things interesting.

Johannes only kept out of this because he would leave soon anyways. They had discussed this in advance over a few potato dishes and far too many beers for Garvanos’ liking, but that was Germany. One had to live with that and pray the aftertaste would not be too bad the next morning.

They all would try out for certain parts, but only Garvanos and Alexander would sing for the role of count Hugo, the betrothed of one of the many women Faust was madly in love with. Between them, they all had agreed that Garvanos would be a better fit for the role of the young, earnest and kind Hugo, who loved his fiancée dearly and was deeply hurt by her falling under the thrall of another man.

Rationally he had no reason to be as nervous as he was. He had prepared himself thoroughly. Alexander, too, and they also had sung through the Hugo parts together often enough for him to hear them in his dreams. They both knew very well that Garvanos was better suited for the role and Alexander had laughed and sighed. “If he doesn’t pick you, then at least we really can blame it on your nose, you know. That’s something.”

Yes. That was something.

His friends didn’t know better. They didn’t understand that every time they commented on anyone – be it Alexej as a Russian, Mr. Kirsch as a Jewish Russian or Deborah as an Italian – being fundamentally different from them, that this extended to Garvanos as well. Garvanos himself sometimes had trouble understanding it, nor had he ever had found the words to express it, not even with Mauro who had always listened, always found the meaning in the jumble and mumble Garvanos would occasionally throw on him.

Mauro had understood a lot.

He had understood that Garvanos had longed to feel like he belonged in Milan.

He had understood that Garvanos couldn’t feel like that when every single person they met took a look at his face and his dark skin, heard his name and decided that a Gypsy was not worth looking at or talking to.

Mauro had understood this.

His friends, for all their effort, didn’t. They didn’t mean harm. They didn’t mean to hurt. They didn’t know any better. And they didn’t understand that some of their words cut him as deep as any knife.

Mr. Wagner was worse, though. He did nothing without purpose, starting with the contrary instructions, continuing with the veiled insults. He knew what he was doing and Garvanos suspected that he relished in it.

Try-out day came and found Garvanos in the same, fuzzy daze that had held him for a while now, soft enough that he knew what was happening around him, strong enough to numb the bone-deep desire to be anywhere else but here, in this place or in his skin.

He waited through the rehearsal hours and felt his stomach flutter hard enough to make him nauseous, as he sat at the sidelines, watching, and listening, as Thomas went on stage and sang his part.

He managed to keep his stomach under control enough to not throw up.

Andreas was up. Then, after him, Alexander was called on. He gave Garvanos a quick grin.

Garvanos managed to smile back. Then he leaned back to listen to Alexander announcing his bid for the role of Hugo.

Mr. Wagner nodded and waved for him to start.

Alexander began to sing the solo of a hero on a mission to save his lady love.

He was solid, good even, but Alexander, didn’t like playing too bashful, hot-headed hero. Gentle, kind roles were more to his taste, but he went through the whole recitative and the following aria that the knight Hugo in part would share with the chorus.

Mr. Wagner listened with polite boredom and as Alexander finished with a triumphant declaration of his intent to succeed in his rescue mission. He looked up.

Alexander flinched at the gesture.

“That was nice,” Mr. Wagner said. “You worked well on this part. What can you tell me about Hugo?”

Alexander swallowed. “He’s- he’s a jilted lover, but he is willing to forgive his betrothed because he understands the circumstances. I suppose.”

Mr. Wagner nodded to that, slowly. “Alright.” He waved. “Next.”

Garvanos walked up.

Alexander smiled – a little distraught and very, very exhausted – and held up his left palm.

In passing Garvanos raised his right and they briefly slapped their hands together.

Then he was on stage.

Everything was so far away.

He folded his hands briefly behind his back to pinch himself in the palm.

The world slipped back into stark, sharp, biting profile.

He was aware how the stage placed him up and above everything and everyone, in plain view of whoever wanted to watch him and-

He forced himself to breathe in and then out.

Then he forced himself to perform a perfect, courtly bow. “I’m trying out for Hugo as well.”

Mr. Wagner raised an eyebrow. “You are sure about this, boy?”

Boy

Garvanos had not been called that for years, almost as long as he had disliked being called boy.

Mr. Wagner calling him boy positively made his skin crawl.

“Yes.” He nodded curtly and then, with a breath continued, “I don’t recall you asking this question to anyone else who has tried out today.”

“I didn't?” Mr. Wagner smiled. “Oh well. Then please. What are you singing for us?”

The hint of confidence flickered and then died. It took Garvanos a moment to find his words. “Same as before,” he said.

“Very original,” Mr. Wager said. “I know you are friends with almost everyone, Mr. Scimia, so I am very surprised you didn’t coordinate your choice of song better.”

“It was deliberate,” Garvanos said and wonder of wonders, his voice wasn’t shaking. “Mr. Lohre and I thought both you would appreciate the easy comparison and assessment of our skills.”

Mr. Wagner’s face remained impassive.

If he didn’t start singing now, he would lose even the last bit of composure, Garvanos breathed out. “If I may.”

Mr. Wagner sighed and then waved.

On Garvanos’ nod the piano started to play an introduction.

On his cue he began the introduction speech, establishing the scene and situation, Hugo and his group was in, just about to enter the castle and save his beloved.

After that, he could start singing. His voice was stable. Good, the nerves were not affecting his singing too much yet.

Time to act the knight part. After a sung-out order to rest his expression grew more frantic, a mixture of begging and demanding for the day to make room for nightfall soon, so that he may be able to attack the keep where his fiancée was kept from him.

Yes, he could do this. He sang through the part and then through the aria that Hugo performed alongside the chorus of his knights and courtiers, reassuring his distant love of her impending rescue. Yearning. The man was longing to hold his beloved in his arms again and without the chance to make it happen his desire might have very easily driven him mad. He raised his hand as he proclaimed his resolve – and then slowly, deliberately performed an impeccable bow. One complaint Mauro would never hear about him was, that he displayed a lack of manner.

It was over. It was done.

Garvanos breathed out in relief. That had gone better than he would have thought. No blanking out, no nerves, just focus. And to his own ears he had sounded decent.

Later Ivan would go through it with him, analysing every moment and every note in detail.

He would declare that Garvanos had been good and once he had established that, Ivan would lunge and pick apart whatever he had deemed in need of improvement. He could be worse than Mr. Kirsch and Garvanos loved him all the more for it.

Mr. Wagner tapped a finger against his chin, as he looked up to Garvanos.

He didn’t seem happy, not that Garvanos would have expected him to be.

The tapping paused for a moment and then resumed.

And then, finally Mr. Wagner said, “You lack, it seems to me, the force befitting a knight.”

What?

Garvanos blinked down to the man. Had he even been listening just now?!

Mr. Wagner raised an eyebrow. “Or are you of a different mind?”

Shit. Garvanos’ flare of anger died as quickly as it had kindled.

“I-” He swallowed. His throat was tightening, threatening to choke him. He forced himself to breathe. “Hugo is more desperate than forceful for most of this scene, being driven by his desire for Kunigunde.”

Mr. Wagner nodded without a hint of agreement.

Garvanos’ stomach sunk even further.

“It does not do for a heroic knight to be consumed by his desire for a woman – no matter how pure and noble – to the degree that it impedes his strength.”

“That wasn’t my intent,” Garvanos said, “I was hoping to convey how he draws strength and resolve from his desire to regain his betrothed.”

The next words tasted so, so incredibly bitter on his tongue. “I am sorry I could not do justice to neither the music nor my intentions.” He needed something to wash out his mouth. Preferably something alcoholic. Strong, too.

“He is supposed to be enraged,” Mr. Wagner said. “Someone stole his woman from him. Weeping and wailing is not the way of a proper knight.”

Garvanos stood there, silenced by the bitterness in his mouth.

“Nothing to say to that?” Mr. Wagner asked.

The bitterness grew almost unbearable. Garvanos wanted to vomit. Instead, he swallowed. “I am sorry. Of course, you have more experience on these matters than me. I bow to your judgement.”

Mr. Wagner still looked unsatisfied, but he nodded slightly and waved. “Next.”

Garvanos left the stage and only when he was in the wing, he noticed that he was shaking.

Andreas, Alexander, and Thomas stood there, waiting for him, each raising an eyebrow.

Garvanos made a face. “Don’t ask. If I say any more, I might puke.”

“Thought so.” Andreas gently clapped his shoulder. “Next time warn us beforehand. I almost wanted to drag you to a doctor.”

“Will do so.” Garvanos shook his head. “And to think that I still won’t get the role for my troubles.”

“Sure, about that?” Thomas asked. “Your Hugo was decent. I liked him.”

“I was the only one Wagner needled like that, in case you didn't notice,” Garvanos said. “I’m a Gypsy. He doesn’t like that. And he doesn’t like that I look Gypsy. But since I am not entirely devoid of manners, he cannot simply fire me for bad behaviour. Neither can he fire me for being incompetent at singing. And he hates me even more for that.” His hands were shaking, and he curled them into fists.

“Idiot,” Thomas sighed. “In any case we will hear about it tomorrow.”

“We're done for today,” Alexander sighed. “Drinks?”

“Would love to, but I’ve got a thing to do,” Garvanos sighed. “See you tomorrow.”

“Your girl?”

Close enough. Garvanos nodded.

“Good for you, let her cheer you up,” Andreas grinned as they waved their good-byes.

Hopefully, he was right. Garvanos surely could do with some cheering up today.

Ivan entered the basement from the side, having spent the last few hours upstairs, listening to the try-outs.

He looked at Garvanos and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Garvanos’ stomach sank a little. Ivan was obviously disappointed.

He sighed and got up. “Hello. Sorry.”

Ivan kissed him on the cheek. “It is not your fault that – he – is a terrible person, dear. Do not fret too much.” He took Garvanos’ hand and led him downstairs to his cave.

Garvanos’ singing lesson started and went on without anything out of the norm; Garvanos sang, Ivan made corrections, they discussed the part he had just sung and then he sang some more.

He was still frowning. Probably still upset about the try-out, Garvanos assumed, although he wondered why. Garvanos had sung well and as Ivan himself had admitted – it was not his fault that Mr. Wagner was an idiot. Not to mention that Garvanos had never promised to get a part. All he had promised was to try.

It went by and Garvanos finished with knight Hugo’s aria, ending on a triumphant note.

The last sounds of the violin hung between them a good long moment after Ivan had put the instrument away. “How do you see Hugo?” he then asked.

“In general, or in this scene?”

“Both.”

Good question. Thankfully one Garvanos had spent a not insignificant amount of time and energy thinking about. “He’s your typical heroic lead. Valiant, strong, committed to the woman he loves.”

Ivan chuckled at this. “That is not hard.”

“A bit of a hothead, too, not that I can blame him,” Garvanos continued, glad to see Ivan smile. “I’d be angry too in his stead.”

“Me too,” Ivan sighed. “As likeable as I find Mr. Petchara-” Garvanos noticed how Ivan’s’ face twitched as he mentioned Ajahn, “if you suddenly were to leave me for him – at our wedding day, nonetheless – I would duel him to the death as well.”

“If he ever slips me a potion to that effect feel very free to do so,” Garvanos chuckled. “In the scene I was singing, he is desperate and wishes to be reunited with his betrothed. That’s what’s driving his resolve.”

“Not his wounded pride because his woman got stolen from him?” Ivan asked.

Garvanos shrugged. “No, I don’t think so. As I said, he’s a typical hero figure, if a bit smarter than that.”

Ivan nodded. “Your Hugo does sound a lot more interesting than some brute with possession issues.”

“Thank you, I know.”

“It would have been good if Mr. Wagner had heard the same, instead of you nodding along with his ideas.”

Ah. There it was.

Garvanos sighed. The bitter taste on his tongue had faded a little, but now it was back, filling his mouth and he had to swallow back the urge to vomit.

“It is your call to make and your decision what to say,” Ivan said, “but I do not have to like it. And my dislike does not have to affect you.” He sighed. “With that said, I do not like how you allow him treat you this morning. I do not like it at all.”

“Me neither,” Garvanos admitted.

“Why did you let him, then?”

Urgh. Garvanos felt his stomach churn as he remembered. “I-” Urgh. His throat was so tight.

Ivan took his hands and pressed them gently. “Breathe, dear.”

Garvanos breathed. And then sighed. “It’s hard enough as it is. He’s constantly looking for ways to get to me. And-” He let out another breath. “It’s starting to work.”

“It is only words.” Ivan lifted a hand to his face. “You know that, right? He has only words. He cannot do anything.”

“Could tell me not even the chorus requires me,” Garvanos mumbled.

“That is stupid, and you know that.”

“I know. I do know, but still-” Behind his eyes Garvanos could feel his head throb. Damn the lack of sleep and rest during the last two weeks or so – or longer even.

Ivan’s hand rested in his hair.

“But- I just- he already finds so much fault with me. I don’t want to give him any more reason to attack.”

Ivan’s hand curled into his hair far tighter than need be.

“Ow!”

At once the hand loosened.

“Sorry,” Ivan said and then went on, “You should not.”

“What would you suggest I do, then?” The throbbing behind Garvanos’ eyes grew worse by the second. He resisted the urge to pinch his nose. “I already can guess that I won’t get a lead role anytime soon again, I’ll be lucky if I get any solo at all here, I don’t-”

Ivan's fingers ran through his hair again. “Breathe. In. Breathe in.”

Garvanos did.

“Out.”

Again, Garvanos did so, and it came out a little easier now. “I- I just want to get through this, I want to come out of it at some point, you know and in one piece too-”

“So, no more ammunition for him,” Ivan concluded.

Garvanos nodded.

“So instead,” Ivan continued, his voice terribly even, “instead you offer him your back for him to brush his heels clean on?”

The heat and heaviness of exhaustion, of stress and worry and terror rose to Garvanos’ head, concentrating behind his eyes, blinding his sight, and then welling up and flowing over his face, without him wanting to.

“Oh dear!”

Garvanos felt Ivan’s’ hands falling off of him. Then, blotted and blurred he noticed a movement as if he was raising an arm again and then the hand was back on Garvanos’ arm.

“Oh no, I did not mean to-”

He had to breathe. He had to breathe, and he couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t cry, he- Garvanos choked – another wave of tears welled up and he violently rubbed his sleeve over his face. Damn it, damn it, damn him, damn him, damn it all, damn him, damn! Damn him!

“Garvanos, darling, please- I did not-”

Somewhere, somehow Garvanos found his voice again. “I know!” It wasn’t even just Ivan. Ivan alone most definitely wasn’t it, could never be. It was the sum of it all, everything, the last few weeks, the exhaustion, the worry, the eternal question; how would his life here continue?

And now the idea that he was too weak to not let someone walk over him, Ivan’s obvious displeasure of that fact and-

Garvanos couldn’t anymore, he couldn’t smile and nod through it anymore, he couldn’t hold it in anymore and also, he couldn’t quite feel his legs anymore.

Ivan caught him. “Dear, please- please I am sorry- I know you do not want this, I know it is hard, I should not have said that I am sorry-”

Oh no. Garvanos had shouldered it and had taken it and had prayed that Ivan would not worry for him. Richard Wagner already was a presence in his life, at the theatre that disturbed him, there was no need for him to worry about Garvanos’ well-being on top of that, no. Ivan had enough on his mind.

“Don’t be,” he mumbled. “Please, don’t, you’re not responsible, really.”

Ivan’s arms closed around him and he was pulled closer, closer. His hand rand gently, deftly through Garvanos' hair. “Tell me, please. Tell me if there is anything I can do.”

Nothing. Ivan could do nothing, which was just the more reason to keep this mess as far away from him as possible and damn Garvanos for not being able to do so.

Ivan could do nothing.

“Be here,” Garvanos mumbled, his voice so raw that it hurt in his ears, “be here and if you can, don’t-” Don’t make it worse, he wanted to say, but that was too much to say and too much to ask.

Ivan nonetheless drew him closer, kissed the top of his head and held him when his legs slipped away under him.

Ivan caught him and the tears came out and flowed on even long after the worst, wrecking sobs had subsided.

Ivan held him. Ivan was with him when the exhaustion was starting to come down on him.

Ivan was with him.

Ivan held him.

And softly, softly, so soft that Garvanos only heard it when he was already about to slip away, he heard him sing.

When he woke up, he found himself in bed, only in his long-johns and under shirt. Also, he was alone.

The sleeping area was dark but through the birch-framed screen Garvanos could see the light of candles and oil lamps.

His head hurt. Too much crying, he decided and promised to himself to not let himself go like that again.

He rose, carefully, slowly, and his head hurt from it, nonetheless.

The fabric of the sheets rustled that it bit in his ears.

When he dressed – his shirt, trousers and waistcoat being laid out carefully as if by a man servant – he heard voices, softly talking in the velvety, purring language that Garvanos understood to be Russian.

When he came around the screen, around the barrier, out of the darkness, Alexej turned around towards him.

“Ah! There you are!” he called out.

Garvanos blinked and then took off his glasses to rub his eyes. His face still felt awfully tear-crusted, dry, and swollen and raw.

Alexej came up to him. “Oi, what’s with the long face there? One could think you’d been given the boot or something!”

“Or something,” Garvanos repeated with a yawn. “You’re awfully happy.”

“I am and you should be too,” Alexej said, “or is getting a solo a reason to be grumpy all of a sudden?”

Garvanos raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Yes. Mr. Wagner wants to announce his casting tomorrow, but I know already that I got a good part and I also know who else got a role!” He grinned, toothily and bright and genuine.

Garvanos felt himself blink as he put the words and their meaning together. “He gave me a solo.”

Alexej’s’ grin faltered. “You don’t believe me.”

“That is great news,” Ivan said softly from the side, but he didn’t sound too happy either.

Garvanos rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, it- it's still so early.”

Alexej raised an eyebrow.

“And he didn’t seem too thrilled with my performance yesterday.”

“He is strict, yes,” Alexej sighed. “Very demanding. And he does see that you are good, he is just worried about your- pressure issues.”

That was one way to put it, but if Mr. Wagner was so worried about Garvanos not being able to withstand the pressure that came with stage work, he had strange way of showing it. Garvanos he was wise enough not to comment on it.

“He picked someone else for Hugo, though,” Alexej said, blissfully unaware “I got the Franz. The other guy Faust took the girl from.”

Garvanos nodded. “Alright.”

“For you Mr. Wagner found the role of Faust’s’ friend and companion fitting.”

“The Wagner role?” God, that would be confusing.

“The same.” Alexej grinned again.

All things considered it wasn’t bad. Not really good either, though. Wagner was a close friend to the title character and had a few memorable lines, but no solo scenes and no big aria. The story could survive without his presence in it.

Maybe Alexej had seen the look on Garvanos' face. His grin softened into a smile. “He’s different than Ossip, I know. I need to get used to it again too. He talked to me and a few other soloists about the casting. He said that you do have potential, but your stage fright is a problem, that’s why he didn’t want to give you a part at first. Marianne and Johannes Erhard argued heavily in your favour and Deborah was throwing something of a fit, I swear, the only thing that keeps her from being a full-blown diva is the fact that she knows that most people who don’t know her, consider her a saint and she works hard to maintain that image.” He paused to take a breath.

“Are you suggesting that Debbie is not the sweet, innocent young maiden we all took her for?” Ivan asked mildly.

“Eh.” Alexej shrugged. “She’s pretty bitchy these days. Bitchy by her own standards, mind you.”

Ivan chuckled.

“Any way, he listened to us and agreed that you should get a chance to further work on your stage fright by just confronting it – I mean, you can deal with it pretty well by now, he’s overly careful, that’s all.” He babbled on a bit, enough for Garvanos to get an idea of how ardently certain people must have spoken in his favour.

He most definitely owed another bottle of champagne to Marianne and Deborah. Preferably before Marianne would mostly-jokingly mention it. And something nice for Mr. Erhard.

“You put in a word for me as well, then?” he finally asked.

Alexej nodded. “Of course. Would have been unfair otherwise. I mean, you are good, and he knows that, he heard you in Rienzi, he has to know that. And in case he has forgotten he should be reminded of it.”

“Thank you.”

“No need.”

“Yes, there is, so- thank you.”

Now Alexej’s ears turned red. “It’s nothing. I happen to like singing with people who know their stuff, you know.” He shot a pointed look in Ivan’s direction.

Ivan turned around and went to his desk. “That reminds me, I have something for you.” He rummaged through some papers and handed one to Alexej. “Do you think you can work with that?”

Alexej took a glance and then folded it to tuck it into his pocket. “I’ll look at it in the afternoon, yes?”

“Take your time. It is only a first draft, but I would like to have your opinion.”

Alexej turned his attention back to Garvanos. “And besides, we’re in this together, right? We’re on the stage together, we should stick together otherwise as well. Makes life easier for us all.”

Ivan, again, chuckled. “I usually hear this talk only among the stagehands.”

Again, Alexej flushed an interesting shade of deep red and he looked at his hands. Thus, he missed the triumphant grin on Ivan’s lips. “Any way. You got the role. Work it. When Mr. Wagner sees that his trust in you was justified he will give you bigger parts again as well and-” He trailed off and then cleared his throat. “Eat and- your rehearsals start in a bit, so-” He waved. “I’m up. Bye.”

“I like this Otto Becker more and more without ever having met him,” Ivan commented once Alexej’s steps had disappeared in the distance. “Have you?”

“Not really. I’ve seen him, but never talked with him,” Garvanos confessed. “He seems alright. Quiet. Makes the picture of Alexej with him actually pretty funny.”

“That too. And it is good. People are susceptible to be influenced by people they fancy. It is good that Alyosha seems to fancy someone decent. Otherwise, I might need to consider dropping a chandelier on his head, as well.”

Garvanos chuckled. “No, you won’t, if only because I ask you not to.”

Ivan sighed as if in regret. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

“Thanks.” Garvanos sighed. “It would be too much to hope for things to get easier now, huh, now that I got so many mighty and powerful people having my back?”

Ivan laughed without much amusement in his voice. “He will make your life hell.”

“I’ve grown up in Milan,” Garvanos reminded him. “To be honest, not that I missed all that scheming and backstabbing, but I think I might feel at home at last once it’s actually back in my life again.”

Ivan shot him a bemused glance. “I would not have taken you for the kind who is good at manoeuvring intrigues.”

Garvanos chuckled dryly. “That’s because I am not.”

“To keep the backstabbing to a minimum then, may I drop a chandelier on his head?”

Garvanos sighed. “Only if I explicitly ask you to, alright?” He promised to himself to most definitely not ask Ivan, not even as a joke.

“Alright,” Ivan agreed.

“Maybe it will be? Alright, I mean.”

Ivan's eyebrow quirked upwards. “Sure, about that?”

No, Garvanos was not. He still nodded.