Tallis' Third Tune

by Ellen L. Ekstrom

  “How’d the audition go?” I opened.

  “Waiting for a call back. I’m not holding out much hope, not with the program they’ve got planned for the fall. A lot of modern pieces and my strength is with the classics.”

  “It’s one orchestra. I’ve always thought of you as a concert cellist – a solo act.”

  “Those gigs are hard to come by. But thanks,” he said softly.

  Now he drank his coffee as if it were poison and lines appeared on his brow as he frowned.

  “Something the matter, Quinn?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Tell me,” I said taking his hand. “Whatever it is.”

  “I didn’t think you’d return my call,” he finally said. “I wanted to call as soon as I got home yesterday, but I thought it would make me seem too desperate. I didn’t think you would still care after all this time. It felt, right, being with you. But…”

  I forced a smile.

  “There are things you need to know and understand, and when you hear what I have to say it might change how you see me, or worse, how you feel, and if you wanted to be with me…”

  “Hey there, Alice!”

  Adam’s voice jarred me out of the safe cocoon I always felt when with Quinn. The old fear began to replace it. Quinn and I both looked up at him; he was blocking the midday sun and looking ready for a fight.

  “You were told to stay away by the police officer,” I said quietly.

  “Alice, is this the guy…?” Quinn asked, moving closer.

  “Yep. I’m the one,” Adam stated. “Or I thought I was. Funny thing about Alice; she’s into you for only as long as you keep it interesting in bed.”

  “Hey!” Quinn snapped. “There’s a lady present. Show some respect!”

  “I don’t want to get into this, Adam. Just go.”

  “Nope, I might have a cup of coffee, read the paper, maybe eavesdrop on a conversation – I’d love to hear if you’re still using the same lies that you used on me.”

  “Why don’t you go?” Quinn said, standing up.

  “It’s a free country, rich boy,” Adam sneered. “I go where I want.”

  “Leave her alone.”

  “You gonna make me?”

  “I just might, you asshole.”

  Adam threw the first punch. Despite my pleas, Quinn was equal to the challenge and attacked. They wrestled over tables and almost went through a window, but avoided the street while customers and pedestrians steered clear and I stood on the sidewalk screaming for peace. Fortunately, the shop owner and his assistant ran out of the store and broke up the fight. Fifteen minutes after it began it was over, with Adam being taken away by the police.

  “I can’t believe you would fall for a bastard like him,” Quinn growled.

  “Don’t you start!” I fired back. “You didn’t have to provoke him!”

  “Provoke him? He interrupted us and he started insulting you, Alice!”

  “He’s getting help – sometimes it’s best just to ignore Adam.”

  “Christ! Don’t tell me you still have feelings for him!”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I saw how you looked at him!”

  “How did I look at him?” I demanded, ignoring the people that were staring and whispering.

  “Isn’t that Professor Radcliffe’s son?” one woman said none-too-quietly to her friend as they stood on the sidewalk enjoying the show.

  “That’s all I need,” Quinn muttered. “Are we done here?” he demanded of the police officer writing out his report. Angrily scrawling his name on the bottom of the form, Quinn glanced at me. “Well? I’m waiting.”

  “I don’t need to justify my actions for the past two, almost three years,” I began.

  “Excuses aren’t the best defense.”

  I looked away, trying to gather my thoughts and some calm.

  “Well?”

  What I wanted to say wouldn’t leave my lips. I stood mute, frantic, searching for an explanation to my silence.

  “Silence isn’t the best defense, either, but an indication of truth.”

  “We had broken up! Okay? What was I supposed to do? Pine over you?” I defended myself, though why, I didn’t understand. “You went to England and left me here!”

  “I never stopped loving you! I was waiting!”

  “For what? Still waiting for your father’s permission?”

  “Why is this happening?” he asked, and walked away. I would have run after him, but the emergency medical technician shook his head and held me back as the swirling light of the ambulance unraveled and became a pale ribbon of light that I watched, mesmerized, until I was looking at a heart monitor in a hospital room.

  Dennis was on the bed, pierced by tubes that seemed to run to every corner of his body, his once muscular frame now skeletal. Harry was sitting in the only chair in the room and holding his hand. I was on the opposite side of the bed with Donovan beside me. We had been here for an hour, watching the monitor. A doctor and nurse stood to one side, trying to be inconspicuous.

  The blue ribbon pulsed and bobbed, pulsed and bobbed, continued for what I thought was a reassuring, long moment, and then went flat. The tone filled up the silence. No one moved, and no one looked at the others. I stared at my shoes for the longest time, hoping that if I looked up, Dennis would open his eyes and smile at me, throw a barb at me for my appearance, or criticize my choice of men with sarcasm that I would be able to meet word for word, while Harry looked on and pretended to be annoyed. When I did glance up and saw Dennis, I was amazed by how peaceful he looked, how the color had returned to his cheeks after weeks of sudden disease and pain.

  Moving away from Donovan, I leaned over the bed and kissed Dennis’ lips and brushed his hair off his brow, frightened that I could feel every bone in his skull and face.

  “Harry, are you okay?” I whispered, looking over at him.

  “Don’t worry about me, Sweetheart,” he said, though his voice cracked and he squeezed Dennis’s hand, leaned forward to kiss him.

  I motioned to Donovan, a suggestion that we leave Harry alone to say goodbye. The doctor called the time of death and it was then I knew I would need to call upon the strength and steel-edged determination that sustained me in times past to get through yet more trying times.

  Wrenching, guttural sobs came from Harry as he waved off the doctor and nurse, throwing his body over Dennis as if to protect him.

  “Shouldn’t we do something?” Donovan murmured. I was immobile, frozen with grief. I wanted to shout, to scream, to kick and thrash, but I couldn’t move.

  “Missus Trist, are you okay?” a nurse was asking, a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Missus Trist?”

  “What? I’m Alice Martin,” I said.

  “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

  I looked at her and frowned. Why did people ask if you were all right when it was obvious you weren’t and the situation was devastating?

  Donovan made me sit in one of those horrible plastic bucket chairs outside the unit while he went to find a pay phone to call our friends and his family. I sat there in silence and wondered if this ending was how it had been for my mother or my father – wherever he was or wherever he had gone – and I wondered if this was what it had been like for me.

  As we left the hospital, I glanced over at Donovan and saw that his jaw was set, his glasses sitting perfectly on the bridge of his nose, and not a hair was out of place. His dead eyes stared straight ahead while he maneuvered the spirals and corners of the multi-level garage.

  “He was just with us last year,” I murmured, staring out the window and wondering why it wasn’t raining. Didn’t it always rain when people you loved died?

  “Pardon?”

  “At our wedding. He was with us. He danced with me, and laughed, caught the bouquet…”

  We drove in silence for a time. Then, “Will you cry for me, Alice?” Donovan was asking now.

  “What?”

  I co
uldn’t believe what I’d just heard.

  “Will you cry for me? When I die?”

  “What kind of thing is that to say right now?” I gasped.

  “I don’t know, I get a feeling that all the love you’ve ever had is for people who have died or are dying, or have gone away.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just what I said.”

  I frowned and then stared at him, then at the traffic lights at Cedar and Rose. The red lights were blinking. Stop…stop…stop…

  “Of course I’ll cry!” I finally sighed. “You’re my husband.”

  “But not someone you love. If you gave me a tenth of the love you give others…”

  “What are you talking about? I married you! I left my life, my home, my friends – I would think that’s a damn good indication of love. Why are we talking about this now, anyway?”

  “This is a milestone. I just want to see where it leads, Alice.”

  “My brother is dead, my only family, and you turn it around to yourself.”

  We drove in silence for a while. I’d glance at Donovan from time to time and wasn’t surprised that the expression on his face hadn’t changed, or that he didn’t reach out to take my hand as I thought aloud.

  “I didn’t say goodbye to my brother. I should have told him I loved him yesterday. Why didn’t I?”

  “That’s not your brother anymore: it’s just a pile of atoms, molecules, tissues. Dennis is now a thought, a memory.”

  “Stop the car!” I ordered.

  “Alice, you’re grieving.”

  “STOP THE CAR!”

  He pulled over and I jumped out, running across the street and back towards the university. Donovan didn’t follow.

  I ran for what seemed forever until night turned to day and the sun rose on a winter’s morning and I was running and laughing in Quinn’s forest of a backyard, trying to get to the house before Quinn. His parents’ house was more of a museum than a dwelling, a miniature castle complete with a courtyard, a cloister and a round tower. Indeed, the house was called “The Cloisters” and sat up on an eight hundred foot bluff overlooking the city of Berkeley and San Francisco Bay.

  I wasn’t fast enough and Quinn tackled me gently, knocking me onto the lawn and held me down, both of us laughing hysterically.

  “Say it!” Quinn commanded. “Say it or I tickle you!”

  “No, not again!” I screamed with laughter.

  “Say it, c’mon!”

  His hands under my pea coat and sweater were icy as he started to tickle. As cold as it was, I loved the feel of his hands on my skin; it was exciting and I could tell he was getting excited too.

  “Okay, okay! You are supreme ruler and emperor of the twenty realms – and you win!”

  We sat up and caught our breaths. Quinn got to his feet effortlessly and then offered a hand. I lit easily into his arms and we stood under an ancient fir tree locked in an embrace.

  “I guess that’ll teach you to play Risk with me, Faery Princess!” he whispered after a passionate kiss that made us both want more. The slam of a door precluded any lovemaking. Quinn moved away, pulling his coat about him when we heard the crunch of leaves and bracken under foot, a pause, and then continue, fading, another slam of the door.

  “Rematch! I demand a rematch!” I said loudly and nodded towards the shadowy figure behind curtains on a first floor window. Quinn mouthed ‘Let's go,’ and we did.

  “Save it for tomorrow night, loser," he teased and then more gently, “Come on, I want to show you something.”

  We chased each other through the house, mindless of the medieval pillars and decoration, and scrambled upstairs to his study. I threw myself on the sofa and leaned over to switch on the television set when Quinn crooked a finger towards me from the bedroom door. I followed and he slammed the door shut. Behind the door was an electric guitar. He gestured towards it. “Fender Stratocaster – I bought it from a Cal student. What do you think? The same guitar Jimi Hendrix played!”

  “Wow!” I touched the smooth surface and ran a finger up the strings to the fret. “Play something!”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” Quinn said and plugged the guitar into an amplifier dragged out of his closet and placed next to the cello. He assumed a stance I’d seen Eric Clapton take in performances and then started playing Purple Haze, the volume up to ear-splitting.

  “Purple haze all in my brain, Lately things just don't seem the same, Actin’ funny, but I don't know why, ‘scuse me while I kiss the sky,” we bellowed at the top of our lungs and Quinn launched into a very good rendition of Hendrix’s riff. He had all the notes and the style down and I improvised a go-go dance around him.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  The bedroom door almost exploded off its hinges when Professor Radcliffe threw it open and strode across the room, unplugging the amplifier. He looked like a raging bull with his red face and breath coming in quick, angry spurts, his chest heaving. I wondered if he wasn’t going to have a heart attack. When he turned on Quinn, I saw Quinn flinch and almost drop his precious guitar.

  “What did I tell you?” the professor hissed at his son. “What…did…I…tell you?”

  Quinn just glared back. He didn’t make eye contact with me, for I was across the room, cowering on the window seat. He looked down at his father and glared.

  “You said I could do what I wanted with my Christmas money,” Quinn finally spoke up in a calm, clear voice. He was trembling, however, and put the guitar on the bed. His clenched fists were shoved into his jeans pockets.

  “I don’t want that vile noise in my house, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, but I call it music. Bach, Mozart, and Verdi aren’t the only musicians in the world,” Quinn defended himself.

  The professor turned to me and jerked his head towards the door. “Get out!”

  I glanced at Quinn, who barely nodded and I fled, not even grabbing my school bag and purse.

  Again, I ran and again the time of day changed, as did the seasons. Suddenly a year passed and it was the winter of 1972. I was on my old street in Berkeley and in front of our house. I leaned against the garage door and was grateful to hear the purring of the sewing machine, the sound of Harry in the kitchen, Dennis’ conversation with him. What I’d just experienced had been nightmares, yes, that’s what they had been: bad dreams or memories that made no sense.

  Though I knew they were neither. This was affirmed when I saw Quinn approaching from Oxford Street.

  “Hey!” he greeted after a brief kiss. “I was just coming to see you.”

  “You’re back! When did you get back?” I demanded.

  “Last week.”

  “And you didn’t…?” I sat on the porch steps, waiting, knowing what would come next.

  “We have to talk.”

  I gestured with eyes and hands. He didn’t sit beside me.

  “Look – Alice, I know we made promises, but I’ve changed, I mean, my life has changed.”

  I didn’t bother looking at him, but I knew the face was paler than usual, the eyes dark, especially when troubled, as he was now.

  “I guessed as much when you didn’t show up at the library. I guessed then you were going to break up with me, that I wouldn’t see you again.”

  “Alice! It’s not what you’re thinking. I love you!”

  “Don’t suppose you know what I’m thinking. Remember? But you do know what’s in my heart.”

  He stared at the sidewalk, unable to look me in the eyes. I was glad, for I knew his reasons – I wasn’t ready to tell him that I knew and why, or how I knew.

  “You have to understand! I was given a provisional chair with the Royal Philharmonic. The letter came the day after Christmas."

  “And that's why you didn’t show up despite the promise.”

  “I didn’t sleep that night – I knew what it meant. It’s like an internship, and there’s a lot of traveling. Alice, I’m twenty and they’ve never had a ce
llist as young as me. If I give this up…”

  “I guess we both know what this means,” I murmured and looked down at a trail of ants, finding interest in them – diligent, steadfast, determined. Nothing would stand in their way.

  “Alice? Alice, say something.”

  “When?” I asked. “When do you leave?”

  “Tonight.”

  I slumped down and stared at nothing, felt nothing, and then I felt like I was going to be sick. I saw the hem of his coat, the perfect crease in his pants, and then his perfect, long hands, musician’s hands, reaching for me.

  “Good luck, Quinn. I wish you well,” I said, keeping my voice as even as I could. I scrambled to my feet and turned to go but he pulled me back. I was close to tears, but I wouldn’t cry; I refused to show weakness. Quinn wanted to hold me despite my struggle to be free. I would wound him another way. I removed the white rose pendant from around my neck and was ready to give it to him when he shook his head and replaced it.

  “No; keep it. It was a gift and I hope you’ll look at it and think of me from time to time. You’ll always be in my thoughts," he said huskily, his voice constricted by tears and emotion. “I’ll come back for you. Kiss me goodbye?”

  I tasted his tears as our lips met and broke away first, running into the house.

  “I’ll come back for you!” he shouted as the screen door slammed behind me.

  I didn't know then how long it would be, if at all.

  Dennis barely looked up from his work as I almost knocked over the sewing machine cabinet on the way to my bedroom. He lifted the foot and studied the seams of his tie. “It’s not supposed to be this way – it doesn’t end this way.”

  "No one asked for your opinion!" I growled, and ran upstairs to the Curiosity Shop, slamming the door behind me so that a pane of glass fell out of one of the mullioned frames.

  “No indeed!” said the Proprietress as she brought me a broom and dust pan. “Temper, temper, Miss Alice.”

  The glass shards sparkled in the sunlight and were spattered by my tears that now flowed easily. Yes, I did cry, especially when my heart was broken. The drops that fell looked like silver roses that dissolved as quickly as they appeared. Once the floor was clean, I shoved myself up from my knees and accepted the new bottle of Diet Pepsi the Proprietress handed off as I walked past her to my corner and thumped it down on the table. I picked up the old bottle and was amazed after a sip that it was warm, lacking in fizz and taste.