Читать книгу Sarah Lean - 3 Book Collection - Sarah Lean, Sarah Lean - Страница 27

“WE NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR breathing,” boomed Mr Crisp, at the end of Monday’s music lesson. “Especially those of you singing in the end-of-term concert.”

He was in charge of singing, plays and concerts and, I thought, general happiness. He had misty white hair and a belly full of laughter.

“Think of it like this: we’re full of air.”

“No, we’re not, sir. We’re mostly water!”

“Daniel Bird, this isn’t a science lesson, it’s music. Different rules apply.”

“But that’s what Miss Steadman said.”

Mr Crisp could make one eyebrow go up. “If you want to be totally scientific about it, we’re mostly made of space, and a space is where the sounds need to come out. Now, everyone, open your mouth wide. You should be able to fit two fingers in the gap. That’s two fingers, Daniel Bird, not your whole hand!”

He slapped his round belly. “Good! Now put your hands either side of your belly button, fill your lungs, feel your belly expand. Daniel, you can take your fingers out now.”

I opened my mouth when we were supposed to sing. But no sounds came out. I didn’t let them.

“Hmm, better, those of you who tried,” said Mr Crisp, doing that thing with one eyebrow again. “You know, sounds end up coming out of your mouth, but they start with the air much, much further down.”

Then the bell rang and he said, “Cally Fisher, I’d like to speak to you a minute.” He sat and beckoned me over.

“I’ve noticed your name’s not down for the concert,” he said, when everyone had gone. “Conspicuous by your absence, as they say. I would’ve thought you’d like to stand up in front of everyone and sing your heart out.”

He tapped his fingers over his mouth and then along an electronic keyboard, like it was helping him think. No sound came out; it wasn’t plugged in.

“Remember when we did Charlotte’s Web in Year Four? Your performance, your magnum opus. Remember?”

Even I remembered my lines from two years ago. Charlotte the spider (that was me in a padded black costume with long legs held up on sticks) had made her egg sac, filled with 500 eggs. Harry Turner was Wilbur the pig and he had to say, “What’s a magnum opus?” and I had to say, “It means a great work; it’s the finest thing I ever did.”

“Remember?” Mr Crisp said, looking up as if he could see the past in the ceiling. “You made your mum proud that day. And I know she would have loved to have seen you in Olivia! last year.”

He stopped for a moment, so we could both think about why she hadn’t been able to be there, so the sadness didn’t have to come out. When he started talking again, his voice was rich and warm, from deep in his belly.

“You know she came in to see me a few days before the show. She didn’t tell me what it was, but she said she had a surprise planned for you, to show how much your singing meant to her.”

I never found out what it was either. But what he said made my heart feel wide. I knew he was thinking of exactly the time he saw her because it made the words full of her, breathed her alive, brought her to me, to us.

“So, Miss Fisher, it’s not too late, if you still want to sing. I’m prepared to make an exception in this case.”

He waited a minute. He ran his fingers the whole way along the keyboard and then slapped his hands in his lap.

“Off you go then, but remember, you can come back and see me any time.” He switched on the plug and started playing. His hair billowed like a thick mist.

I walked slowly to the door. I liked that he didn’t go on at me or look disappointed. I liked the music he made.

As I opened the door, he stopped playing. He held out his arms to show the drums and tambourines, the recorders and guitars, the rows of silent keyboards, and called out, “You know, unless someone uses these instruments, they’re just shapes of wood and plastic and metal. I think you can still make your mum proud.”