Powers, Richard - Orfeo

Was this some performance piece? Some kind of avant-garde stunt? Getting your revenge on the thankless public by scaring them shitless?

He barked a single-syllable laugh. That would be an idea.

Then what? Have you broken any laws?

None. There aren’t many to break.

Hope flashed across Maddy’s face. Then turn yourself in.

The answer: so simple, so obvious. For a moment, he was ready. Then he remembered.

I believe I’ve burnt that bridge.

Why, Peter? I don’t understand.

She looked up across the ellipse of eateries and pointed. There, near the food court entrance, two men in uniforms, a slant rhyme for police, nosed through the unnoticing crowd. Mall security. Panic filled Els. But he needed only fifteen seconds to do what he’d come here to do. He leaned forward, but didn’t touch her.

Mad? Before I met you, I thought I was going to be a chemist. That’s what I studied in college.

I know this, Peter. I was your wife, you know.

I’m sorry. I’m rambling.

So, what are you saying? That this was all some kind of vicarious fantasy? The road not taken?

In a way. I was. . I was trying. .

Oh, shit. Her hand rose and her eyes widened. You were composing. In DNA?

It did sound ludicrous. But what was music, ever, except pure play?

She stared at him as she’d done once, the night they broke. The night she’d said, The game is over. Nobody’s listening. They’re never coming back.

What is it you want? she hissed.

Her anger surprised him. The stored years. He’d never wanted anything but to give back something as fine as he’d been given. To make something worth hearing, and to send it out into the world.

Listen , he told her . I made a mistake .

She smoothed back her thinned hair. Apparently .

No, he said. Not the genetics. I’d do that all again.

The mall security officers looped up the concourse. They stopped to flirt with the Latina fast-food counter help. In another moment, they came abreast of the seating area, scouting the crowd. Els braced and hid his face. Maddy smiled at the heavyset officer as they passed the table. The man saluted her with one finger to the brow. The two guards ambled on, toward the wizard talent show. Maddy blew out her cheeks and exhaled. She would have made the greatest accomplice that any musical terrorist could have wanted.

When he could talk again, Els said, I think I must have been mentally ill.

Maddy swung to face him, twisted her head. This is what I’m wondering .

No. Back then. I never should have left you and Sara for music. Even to change the world.

He’d said the last thing he needed to say in this life. Peace came over him, one he hadn’t felt since Fidelio died. She looked away, her gaze now as blank as the past. The middle-aged lovers at the next table — married, but so obviously not to each other — stood and walked away, giggling and licking ice cream off each other’s fingers.

We already had music, Els said. All the music anybody might want.

The high lonesome denim band went into some kind of finale. The child wizard contest was coming down to the final four. Maddy inspected the food court — the sounds they had — then turned back to the sounds he still wanted.

This cell thing. You were trying to live forever?

Could be , Els admitted.

Her chest rose and fell. That was always your problem. She looked for something in the bottom of her cup. I only ever wanted now.

They sat in the cauldron of sound and light, as they once had in Cage’s Musicircus . He held his pepperoni crust aloft. This was our first meal .

Was it? She asked.

You’d just read through my Borges songs. I’d posted an ad at the Music Building, promising pizza for an hour of woodshedding. You answered.

Did I? I was always hungry back then.

I was mad at you for not loving them at first listen.

Oh! She looked up, surprised. But I did!

He fell back, puzzled. He’d driven here to admit to this woman the central mistake of his life. But more mistakes than he could number filled the air around him. Something loosened in him, a landslide of dread. Your quilt, he said. I buried it with the dog.

She shook her head, not getting him.

I was in bad shape. I didn’t know what I was doing.

Oh, for God’s sake. She pawed the air. I’ll make you another while you’re in prison.

Really? You’re quilting again?

Retirement. Something to do.

Careful, he said. That’s how it starts.

She reached across the red plastic table and covered his fist in her palm. Her hand was cold. Her shot skin no longer held in heat. Peter. They’re going to use you. Make a lesson out of you.

He opened his hand and took her finger. His life had been full of fearless music. The trick was remembering the sound of it, now that it was no longer playing.

She squeezed his hand hard, then flicked it away. Speaking of which. Your daughter is beside herself. She’s tried every possible way of reaching you for the last three days. She told me last night she was afraid you might kill yourself .

Tell her I’m good. Tell her I’ll be all right.

You want me to lie to her ?

His eye fell on a kiosk near the center of the court. Its banner read Because there is no such thing as natural beauty. .

Tell her what I told you.

All right, she said. I can do that. But you should tell her yourself.

Maddy stood and stacked the trash, the plastic plates and disposable silverware.

It was all fear, she said. Fear got us. By the way: Who’s Kohlmann?

The name came from another planet. So did the note of jealousy. Els glanced at Maddy, but his ex-wife was taking a last, too-large mouthful of now-congealed cheese and trying to hide her pleasure.

Friend. With a phone .

She led Els to the garbage station, where they jettisoned their final meal. Then they ran the gauntlet of shops back toward the entrance, Maddy leading, Els stumbling two steps behind her, through the world’s endless profusion.

Outside, it had begun to drizzle. At the car, Maddy said, Let’s blame Richard .

Els snapped a finger. Perfect! Why didn’t I think of that?

They slipped into the Fiat as if they’d just made a pit stop and it was now back to the highway, license plate bingo, and the annual trip to Yosemite. She fiddled with his shoulder, absently, as he cranked the engine.

How does he seem to you these days?

He goosed the pedal. You hear from him?

Wait. You don’t?

He backed out of the parking slot right in front of an SUV, whose driver laid into his horn for a full ten seconds. The Fiat lurched forward. The lot was a maze of perverse and pointless turns, leading nowhere but toward more shops.

He said, I haven’t spoken to the man for seventeen years.

She took her hand back into her lap. He called me a few months back. He’s in a clinical field trial out in Phoenix. New Alzheimer’s-arresting drug.

Phoenix ? Els asked. His head was wrong. He was driving at random. Why Phoenix ?

Because that’s where the old people are.

He turned toward her, but she looked away. He looked back to the parking lot, crisscrossed with hazards.