Late Spring 1960

Dear Johannes,
I first want to thank you for your hospitality and friendship during my all too brief sojourn at Meade College. Your kind attentions to my body and mind really brought me back to life after a pretty exhausting stretch of the tour. And doing the wash with you was great fun.
Second I must apologize for the morning of the concert. For all I know you did everything you could to wake me up. I should have recommended my wife’s technique: a cold washrag on the face, a coathanger applied smartly to the soles of the feet. I feel worst about Eddie Jones, whom I had promised to coach on his solo. It’s my fault he lost his nerve, and all that followed. Tell him I owe him free voice lessons for the rest of his life. Or he can come here and shoot me in the head.
And finally I must tell you how I enjoyed being at such a wonderful college in such a lovely town. Us big-city slickers sneer at "the provinces," but we secretly long for your peace and quiet and just plain humaneness of life. If I could trade in the snobbishness and mere virtuosity of the "professional" community here for the real music made by and for the real people there with you, I’d do it in a minute.
When the tour came up I grabbed it, thinking I was finally on the road to stardom. But that’s not the way it’s working out, and it was a hardship on Natalie and the kids anyway. By myself I might be able to live like that, but my family’s got to eat, so maybe I’ll send music to the showers and get a real job. I won’t be the first to say, "It was a good fight, Ma, but I lost."
I would love to come and visit you sometime. I don’t see how it will be possible under present circumstances, but who knows? Maybe I’ll hit the numbers.
Sincerely,

Ned Baer

Dear Ned,
Thank you for your thoughtful letter. I enjoyed very much to hear from you, although some things you say have given me much distress. You must not give up music, for music loves you very much, it is easy to tell from your singing. The lover will always test the beloved, and I believe that you will survive this testing, but only if you do not despair. Music will leave you, and then such grief you will have that it cannot be borne.
There is much in life that seems so important when we are in the middle of it, but when we are passed through it and look back we cannot believe we were so upset. We then have an amusing story to tell to our children and friends, though sometimes it is sad. You and I told many such stories in our long night of doing the washing. I too had fun, but now that you are gone I have forgot how to cause the apparat to work.
As for me I am tired and wish I was not so old. Teaching is very hard, the students become more foolish and misbehaving every year. Perhaps they are not so well prepared as we believe we were, perhaps they are just a frivolous generation as it seems to me. Perhaps I am no longer any fun and should be kept away from them. It is true I have lost my patience since I think a long time ago now.
I will keep you and your family in my prayers, and hope that someday I could do something to help you. I will try.
Yours truly,
Johannes Hartwiger

I will try. Now what the hell did that mean?

"Who’s it from?" Natalie was giving Brendan a bath.

"Johannes Hartwiger."

"Who?"

Ned leaned against the door jamb, reading the letter over. Brendan was starting to fuss. Carolynda sauntered in between Ned’s legs and calmly started pulling towels off the rack onto the floor.

"Carolynda! Ned, stop her, will you? I’ve got my hands full." Brendan arched back and squirted out of Natalie’s grasp. His head clonked against the back of the tub and he went under. "Brendan!" she yelled, grabbing at him. He came up eyes blazing, mouth round and red as a plumber’s helper. Natalie sat him down hard and pounded his back. He sputtered and hacked, and then the wailing began, rising and falling like a siren.

Natalie wheeled furiously on Ned. "He almost drowned, and you just stood there!" Tears were in her eyes, whether from relief or rage was hard to tell.

Carolynda stood between them in the tiny bathroom, still pulling towels, oblivious. Natalie smacked the back of her head, which sent her diving into the rack, from whence she too began to wail. Natalie jumped to her feet and charged at Ned, both arms stiff in front of her, driving him out of the doorway. She kept going right past him into their bedroom and slammed the door. He glanced at the kids, then went over to the bedroom door and knocked.

"Natalie, I have to get ready."

"Fuck you."

"What do you mean, 'fuck you,’ it’s Thursday night, I have to go to choir practice."

"Put the kids to bed and I’ll think about it."

"Put the — there’s no time! Carolynda hasn’t even had her bath yet. I have to leave in ten minutes!"

"You should have thought of that before I got home."

"They were sleeping."

The door was wrenched open. "They were what?"

"They were — "

"You gave them both a nap?! They’ll be up all night!"

"No, they won’t, just give ’em a bath and — "

"What were you doing?"

"When?"

"When you gave them a nap."

"I didn’t give them a nap, they took it."

"And what were you doing? Jerking off?"

"Oh for Christ’s sake, I’ll do it." He stomped into the bathroom, scooped up Carolynda.

"Mommy hit me!" She grabbed Ned around the neck, buried her face in his throat.

"I know she did," Ned cooed. "Mommy was mad at you for pulling down the towels."

"But she hit me!" Carolynda sobbed. "I didn’t hit her."

Ned looked over his glasses at Natalie, who was still standing in the bedroom doorway.

Carolynda’s crying was sounding a little fake. "She made me bump my head." She sat back in his arms a little, fingering the faint welt forming on her brow. "See?"

Ned kissed it. "Brendan bumped his head too. Let’s see if we can fix it." Brendan was still going at it like a fire engine, but his eyes were dry. Ned stood Carolynda on the floor beside the tub. She reached and patted Brendan’s head tentatively, looked up at Ned, who nodded. She then grabbed Brendan’s face with both hands and planted a hard kiss on his forehead. Brendan stopped crying as if he’d been shot. Then he started up louder than before.

"I know what," Ned said, undoing the buttons on the back of Carolynda’s dress. "Let’s put you in the tub with him and you can help him wash his hair. That’ll take his mind off it."

"OK." She stood still while he took her clothes off, then raised her arms for him to lift her in. "Don’t chry, Bennan, I’m gonna wass you hair. Thatta take you mine off it. See? I got la right kind won’t sting you eyes." She babbled on and on, and Brendan became as docile as a doll, while Ned soaped them both up. She only interrupted her soothing monologue to give Ned directions — "Don’t forget his crack, Daddy."

Natalie had crept up to the bathroom door. When Ned turned to her she looked away, then squatted down and started picking up towels.

"Leave ’em," he said. "I’ll get ’em."

But she kept folding and hanging the towels neatly on the rack. When she was finished she stood and brushed hair out of her eyes with the back of a hand. "You’d better go."

"No no, you were right, I shouldn’t have given them a nap, I should’ve done this before you got home. It’s the least I can do — "

"Ned." She stood directly behind him, pressed her knees against his back. He straightened up, and she took his head and held it against her breast. She murmured something, but her hands were over his ears. He raised his dripping hands and took hers away, tipping his head back to look up at her.

"You trying to make me late?" His voice was thick.

She bent forward and put her arms around his neck and squeezed. He gagged and she laughed, but only loosened her hold a little. She put her face next to his and whispered, "Don’t do this again, OK?"

"OK." The blood pounded in his forehead and his groin. He turned his face and they kissed awkwardly. Then they inched around each other to trade places.

"What time will you be back?" she said, kneeling at the edge of the tub.

"Usual time. Ten or so."

"Don’t hurry. We’ll all be dead." She plunged her hands into the water. "OK, pookies, who wants to go first?"

He knew she was kidding. She had to be kidding.

"Bennan has a bump, Mommy. Feel?" Four female hands explored Brendan’s soapy scalp. "I have a bump too." Carolynda rubbed her forehead.

"No you don’t."

"Yes I do. Feel right — " her fingers searched, " — here." She took Natalie’s hands, placed her fingertips on the spot.

"Not a very big one. But I better kiss it anyway, just in case. Ooh. Yuck. Tastes like soap."

Carolynda giggled at the face Natalie made. "Kiss Bennan too, Mommy."

"You’re trying to poison me, is that it?"

"Kiss Bennan too, Mommy!"

Natalie planted a big smacker on Brendan’s pate, made a horrible face at Carolynda. Carolynda shrieked, and they both said, "Ooh, yuck!"

"Vuck!" Brendan shouted, and they all laughed.

Natalie turned to Ned, her mouth rimmed with suds. "You’d better go. You don’t want to see this."

Ned tried to smile, but couldn’t get it on straight. Natalie turned back to the kids.

"Kiss Bennan again, Mommy!"

Ned put a hand in his pocket. "Try to stay alive till I get back. I’ve got something to show you." He made a fist, pushing out the front of his pants.

Natalie looked at him, one eyebrow arched. "Is it worth waiting for?"

He shrugged, looked down at his fly. She followed his eyes, raised the other eyebrow. "Well now. It’s something to think about. Maybe just the pookies have to go, right, Pookies?"

"Where we going, Mommy?" asked Carolynda.

"Vuck!" said Brendan, smacking both hands down, splashing them all.

"Vuck yourself," Natalie said, splashing him back. Immediately they were all splashing and yelling.

Ned pushed off the doorframe, turned around. On the floor was Johannes’ letter, stomped on, its ink running.

Dear Dr. Baer,
You may not remember me from the Carmina Burana you sang for us this past spring, but I played the piano in the orchestra, and very much enjoyed your performance, not to mention the musicianship you displayed while helping us prepare the piece for the concert.
I regret that I must write to tell you that Johannes Hartwiger died rather suddenly earlier this month, not long after he received a diagnosis of cancer, which was already much advanced and inoperable.
I found your address in Dr. Hartwiger’s correspondence, which I am handling until an executor takes over such matters. Apparently he meant to answer your letter of last month, since I found drafts of his response attached to it. I don’t know whether he was able to realize this intention in the short time that was left to him, but if he did, you will not need to be told of the high regard in which Johannes held you, and how much he cherished the brief but warm friendship that sprang up so quickly between you. He spoke of you often.
In keeping with what I have no doubt were the wishes of my colleague (and my friend as well), I urge you to apply for the position his untimely death has suddenly created. You may send your letter and credentials to me, and I will make sure that they are submitted to the search committee as soon as it is formed.
With best wishes,
Robert Lynn Francis, D.Mus.
Asst. Prof. Music, Meade College

"Who the hell is that?"

"You remember. I just got a letter from Johannes a little bit ago. Jesus."

Ned turned the page over, then held it out to Natalie, who looked at it with a frown, reading it slowly. Then she said, "Where is this place?"

"Sayersville. Little college town. Beautiful. Great people."

"Just how far in-country is this little academic Shangri-la?"

"We’ll need a car."

"It’s in the middle of fucking nowhere, isn’t it?"

"Well... I wouldn’t call it nowhere, exactly. And it’s got plenty of culture."

"Culture?! Didn’t you come from a little town like that? Don’t you remember what it was like?"

"Yeah, but —"

"You’d die there, Ned. We’d die there."

"As opposed to what we’re doing here."

Natalie sat back. "You’re serious about this, aren’t you?"

"I’m serious about taking a real job in a real place with real people, doing something real: supporting my family."

"It is in the middle of fucking nowhere, isn’t it?"

Ned sighed, bit back the angry words that were just about to spill out of his mouth. What the hell did she want? They were in hock to their earlobes, they couldn’t pay their bills — let alone buy food and clothes and stuff the kids needed — she’d long ago stopped giving piano lessons so she could work in a real estate office, which paid shit, and the solo gigs just weren’t there for him anymore.

"You’re giving up, aren’t you?" she said.

"What? What’re you talking about?"

"'It was a good fight, Ma, but I lost’ — isn’t that what you’re saying?"

"What? What!? I’m saying — what I’m saying is —"

"You blew the hillbillies away a couple months back, and now you want to be one of them?"

"You’ve lost your mind —"

"What’s gonna happen to me?"

"Ah," Ned said. "That’s what this is about. Not about getting out of the soul-sucking mess we’ve been in for years, not about making a decent home for our children, but about what you’re gonna do out in the middle of fucking nowhere."

"Get down off your high horse. This is a defeat. This is surrender."

"So what if it is? What am I surrendering? The chance to fight to the death over some solo in the Christmas Pageant of the Outer Limits Choral Society? — with the ten thousand other baritones who are just as desperate as me, but who’ll probably get the part because they’re younger, and prettier, and willing to take it in whatever orifice the hired hack conductor is rumored to have a jones for?"

"Jeez, Ned, you shoulda been a poet." She got up and headed for the kitchen.

"Spare me. You’re the one who gave up, years ago."

Natalie stopped dead, didn’t turn.

Ned said, "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that."

She still didn’t move.

Ned stood up, moved towards her. "Natalie? Really, I’m sorry. That was an awful thing to say."

"To say," Natalie murmured, to the floor.

Ned reached towards her, but she turned, ducking his outstretched hand. "To say, but not to mean." She looked him in the eye. "You did mean it."

"I... I didn’t... —"

"Don’t lie to me."

Ned drew his lips together, sucked them between his teeth. Then he blew out air. "Yes. I did mean it. But I never should have said it. I’m sorry."

Natalie stepped close to him, put her hands on his shoulders, looked up searchingly into his eyes. Ned found it nearly impossible not to try to wriggle away. After a long moment, she smiled sadly and said, "You really don’t get it, do you?"

"What is there to get?" he said, irritated at the patent mind game she was starting on him, but equally mad at himself for slipping like that and giving her the opening.

Her smile broadened a little. "OK," she said, clearly amused, "I’ll explain, but you have to listen carefully. And don’t interrupt, or I’ll take the kids in the middle of the night and you’ll never see any of us again."

She pushed Ned none too gently back into his chair, but stayed on her feet. "You’re right, my darling," she began, leaning over him and kissing him lightly on the forehead, "I did give up."

She backed away a little, began to sway, shifting her weight slowly from foot to foot. "I had my reasons: I was pregnant, I was in love, my playing wasn’t very good at that point, or so it seemed when I heard you sing for the first time. You really had it then — your instrument, your technique —"

Ned started to speak, but she raised her hand as if to smack him, and he clammed up.

"— you were a star, and I was just a pianist, merely talented like all but the crème de la crème, preparing for an ordinary career as a decent accompanist, maybe even an excellent teacher, but nothing like what you were destined for.

"I know you’ve heard this all before." she went on, "I know you think it’s bullshit — and maybe you’re right. Fact is, I gave up my career so you could have yours, and —"

Ned squirmed violently, but Natalie’s eyes went hard, and he stopped. "— and now you want to give up yours, to — what? Support your family? Very noble, I’m sure you think, but I’m here to tell you that if you compromise that voice of yours before it runs out on you, I’ll never forgive you. Never."

Ned sat still, staring at her.

"Got that?"

Ned nodded.

"Good. Anything to say?"

Ned nodded again, raised his eyebrows.

"You have the floor."

Ned stood up, loomed over her. "Now who’s trying to be noble?" he said, moving closer, backing her into her chair, forcing her to sit. "When was the last time you heard me sing?"

Natalie blinked, glanced away.

"I thought so. You make some pact with yourself because you’re in a slump, give up your career so I can have mine or whatever, but nobody asked you to do that. I didn’t ask you to do that — I wasn’t even consulted, it was a done deal before I even got you into bed. So don’t try bullying me."

There were tears in her eyes, but they were shining.

"You don’t tell me the real reason you’re giving me all this shit," Ned said, leaning even closer, "and I’ll walk out of here this minute, and you’ll never see me again." He was breathing hard.

She put her hands tentatively on his forearms, her upturned face looking really scared. Then she deftly hooked her leg behind his knees and twisted hard, throwing him to the floor on his back. She then straddled his hips and pinned his elbows to the floor.

"I love it when you get strict with me," she whispered fiercely, then fell full-weight upon his chest, driving the wind out of him, and crushed her mouth against his.