“You are helwa awi,” said Miss Brett.
Lucy twinkled, extended her pinkies, and sipped, rather noisily for a princess.
One of the brothers tapped Dr. Banneker on the shoulder. Dr. Banneker promply informed Dr. Clarence Canto-Sagas that the carriages were ready for them. With a nod, Dr. Canto-Sagas lifted his teacup and tapped his spoon against it, clinking for attention. He dropped the spoon and then bonked heads with Noah as they both bent down to fetch it. Faye rolled her eyes, smiling, and Jasper smiled back at her.
Recovering, Dr. Canto-Sagas cleared his throat. “Dear friends, let us all raise a glass of tea and toast my beautiful wife.” He grinned. “We are all in for an adventure tonight, and one I promise we’ll never forget!”
“And where is my glass?” came a voice from the hallway. It was a very dapper Nikola Tesla.
“Mr. Tesla!” cried Noah. “You’re here.”
“Of course, I am here,” Tesla said, using his kerchief to wipe his glass before picking it off the tray. “I am here to see Ariana…and to work on my turbine.”
“We are glad you’re here, Niki,” said Dr. Banneker, patting Tesla on the back so hard that the skinny scientist almost spilled his drink.
“Very good, Benjamin,” said Tesla, adjusting himself and raising his glass.
Everyone in the room raised a glass, including the brothers in black, at the insistence of Lucy, who exchanged her empty cup for another extra sweet tea. Looking awkward, the brothers stood there holding cups of tea in the air.
“Lucy, from all that tea, you won’t be able to sleep tonight.” Jasper tried to take the tea from her gloved hands.
“Who will want to sleep tonight?” Lucy said, pulling away from him and sipping from her glass.
Jasper had to agree. She was right.
They all looked like royalty as they descended the carriages in front of the Khedival Opera House. Each and every one of them—parents and children and Miss Brett alike—were as beautiful and glamorous as any of the royalty in attendance that evening. Men in elegant galabayas (long traditional robes of the Arabian lands) and turbans laced with gold thread, greeted arrivals.
Two large men stood on either side of each of the six columns gracing the entrance to the Opera House. They were dressed like Mamlukes, with massive moustaches, red fez hats, and sabers tucked into their waste sashes. Others guarded the long, red-carpeted entry in two flanks, lining either side of the carpet, looking like characters from The Arabian Nights. Among them were wary brothers in black dressed in various costumes, from a gallant captain’s ruffled blouse and jacket to a black fez cap and long robes of the land. The children knew that the brothers were the real guards. The others were more for show. Faye had to admit she felt safer knowing that the brothers in black were there.
The Modest family, the Vigyanvetas, the Bannekers, Nikola Tesla, Miss Brett, and the two Canto-Sagas gentlemen walked up to the Royal Opera House and the people parted for them. They were led up the grand stairs to a special, curtained first tier box near the stage. They were the guests of honor.
The seats in the box were lavishly decorated with gold filigree and beautiful carvings. On the ornately carved table next to the far wall, there were silver trays of fresh figs, honeyed baklawa, small cakes, and sliced mango. For the parents, there were crystal glasses filled with champagne. For the children, glasses were filled with sweet coconut milk, mango juice, and deep red karkadai, a sweet hibiscus drink.
Trays of sweet tea were carried by waiting brothers in black, all similarly dressed in waistcoats and trousers, though some had tall hats or turbans. Jasper noticed immediately that these brothers were younger, with barely enough hair on their chins to be considered beards. Jasper knew that these were acolytes, who had not yet chosen their hats.
“I’m so excited and I don’t even know the whole story,” said Lucy. “Just the bits I listened to Noah tell us. That it’s about a lovely princess and a Pharaoh and a soldier and things go very wrong and sad.”
Noah leaned over so Wallace and Lucy could hear his whisper, though his whisper was loud enough for Jasper and Faye to hear, too. Miss Brett leaned over, too, though she had read about Aida and even heard a recording on the Victrola of a piece from the opera sung by the great tenor, Enrico Caruso.
“The story is a bit too romantic for my taste,” Noah said, though no one believed him. “But Lucy has the basics. Aida is an Ethiopian princess who has been taken as a slave. Pharaoh’s military commander, Radames, loves her instead of loving the Pharoah’s daughter, who is in love with him. It gets rather complicated with love and war and loyalty. Aida loves the man who overthrew her country. Radames loves the woman who is the enemy of his king. Betrayal of love. Dangerous.”
“And your mother is the beautiful princess Aida, isn’t she?” asked Lucy, her eyes aflutter. This had been the only part she had really listened to Noah tell. Once she heard of princesses, she was off imagining princessish things.
“Yes, of course she is.”
“What a ridiculous thing to even ask,” said Tesla, rolling his eyes. “She is symmetry and perfection, our Ariana. She is a princess. Nay, a queen.”
“How wonderful,” Lucy squealed, “but sad when love makes wars, and when sad things come from things that should not be awful at all.”
“That is certainly right, sweet angel,” said Miss Brett.
Lucy made a sad face. “You can look at the thing and, on one side, it’s war, and on the other side, it’s love, but they’re both really always there and it’s very hard, indeed.”
“That’s all too right, Lucy,” said Jasper. “Sometimes people are put through the most horrible tests of loyalty and love.”
“And quite remarkable that it’s an Egyptian story and we’re in Egypt,” Faye noted.
“Not a coincidence,” said Noah. “You know, Aida was written by Guiseppe Verdi, the great Italian—”
“We’ve heard this,” Faye cut in before Noah again told them the story of how the opera came to be commissioned.
“I know,” said Noah, “but it was supposed to be performed at the opening of the new Cairo opera house, but Verdi didn’t finish it in time, probably because of the war in Europe.”
“War again.” Lucy flopped into a chair. “Simply awful.”
“Auguste Mariette, the famous Egyptologist, was enlisted to help make everything accurate, including the scenery and costumes,” explained Noah. “Verdi was inspired by Mariette. It was truly an international effort, and here we are, in Cairo, Mariette’s beloved adopted home, Verdi’s beloved inspiration—”
“And your beloved mother,” added Wallace. He smiled at Noah, who broadly returned the smile. “Mariette was also the founder of the Buloq Museum of Egyptian Antiquities.”
Miss Brett nodded vigorously, “Yes, I read about that. We must go to the Egyptian Museum…I mean…that is …”
But Dr. Banneker smiled at her. “Of course, it is a fascinating collection. I’d be honored to escort you—”
“And me, too.” Lucy had somehow slipped between the two adults and was holding one of each of their hands.
Miss Brett and Dr. Banneker smiled at one another, then both laughed.
“Of course, Miss Modest, I would be honored to escort you, too.” Dr. Banneker picked up Lucy as if she was as light as a flower. He raised her up with one hand and planted her on his right shoulder. “This is how folks around here carry their children, straddling one shoulder. I don’t see how it’s either safer or easier than on one’s back or around both shoulders, but when in Rome …” He walked over to the table and picked up a glass of tea. Lucy was giggling and clapping, challenging Dr. Banneker to sip his tea.
Miss Brett reached up. “May I take that off your shoulder, Dr. Banneker? Perhaps it might protect that lovely waistcoat if you could sip your tea without a wiggling girl shaking your arm.”
Dr. Banneker leaned slightly so Lucy could easily slide into Miss Brett’s outstretched arms. After she put Lucy down, the
little girl reached for a tea of her own and sat down on a pillow to drink it. Dr. Banneker touched Miss Brett’s hand. “Benjamin, Miss Brett. Please call me Benjamin.”
Faye thought Dr. Banneker and Miss Brett were looking at one another much too long. Yuck, she thought. But Wallace did not know what to make of it. He knew it felt good to see them together, two people he loved, but he did not know what to make of their long gazes. Miss Brett put her hand on Dr. Banneker’s.
“Well, Benjamin, please call me Astraea.” Miss Brett smiled.
“Astraea.” He let the name roll off his tongue. “A beautiful name for—”
“It is a lovely name, Miss Brett,” said Lucy, once again between them. “When did you decide to use it?”
“Rayissa,” a young brother in black offered a tray of cakes to Faye, who was soaking in the beautiful surroundings. She was flooded with memories of a life filled with elegance back in India. She inclined her head slightly and turned toward Jasper.
Faye was so beautiful, thought Jasper. Her hair was pulled back and flowing down her back in ringlets. Her dress, of peacock blue silk, had a delicate gold trim around her shoulders and low on her neck, and her green eyes sparkled in the flickering light of the opera house. Jasper realized that Faye had inclined her head towards the seat next to hers. He awkwardly fell into it.
“Are you alright, Jasper?” asked Faye.
“Yes, I…you…I…yes, of course,” he answered, leaning onto the armrest that was not there before catching himself from an embarrassing fall. Suddenly, his ruffled neck-piece itched and his face felt hot. His stomach felt like it was made of stone, then lava. Faye reached out and held his hand.
“This is so beautiful,” said Faye, her eyes almost glowing in the candlelight. Then she looked down at her hand and began to withdraw it.
Jasper held onto her hand. “It is beautiful,” he managed.
Faye stopped trying to remove her hand. Now she looked at him, as if she was mustering up strength. Bravely, she said, “Jasper, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I am such a dreaded horror. I’m sorry I am selfish and bossy and rude and—”
Jasper squeezed her hand. He wanted to tell her that she was none of those things, but he couldn’t, mostly, because they were true. Jasper could not get words to leave his mouth. Instead, he smiled.
“Thank you,” she said softly. She pulled his hand to her cheek and squeezed back.
It took three swallows for Jasper to get his voice back.
“I…you…I …” was all he could say. Regaining his voice did not, apparently, mean he could remember how to use it.
“You just wait, you two,” said Noah, patting them each on the shoulder. Jasper was glad Faye had his hand because, once again, he almost fell off the dainty chair. “You are in for something incredible. Ariana on stage will be something beyond words. This night you will never forget.”
And Noah was right.
As the lights dimmed, Lucy slipped her hand into Jasper’s other hand, his first hand still holding onto Faye. Noah sat next to Lucy. Wallace sat next to him. Miss Brett sat on the far end. They all held hands. Miss Brett cast a glance at Noah, who to her seemed like a child waiting for a magician to produce a rabbit. Noah was sitting on the edge of his seat, his eyes wide, his grin wider.
The orchestra’s tuning stopped and the room became silent. The music began moments before the curtain went up. Lucy made a tiny squeal and Jasper gently pulled her bracelet from her mouth. Noah’s mouth hung open. He practically floated along with the beautiful string prelude. Miss Brett noticed Noah’s finger moving along Lucy’s wrist as if he, too, were playing the violin. She was sure he knew the violin part, note for note.
The prelude concluded. The curtain rose. Everyone in the entire audience seemed to gasp.
“What is it?” asked Lucy, trying to see something worth gasping about.
“It…it’s him,” stuttered Noah. “It’s Enrico Caruso, the greatest tenor in the world. Mother must have convinced him to come. They are very good friends. He once brought me chocolate covered in gold leaf.”
The audience awaited the sound of the first movement in which the high priest, Ramfis, and the soldier, Radamès, discuss war. Radamès, played by the great opera star, Enrico Caruso, fell into his dreamy song of Aida. The costumes were breathtaking. The scenery included huge statues that looked like real Egyptian treasures. The characters were wearing costumes that seemed to have come right out of ancient times, resplendent with gold and brightly colored fabric. Amneris, the king’s daughter, entered and sang her mezzo-soprano confrontation with the besotted Radamès.
And then, Noah, inches from falling off his seat, leaned ever closer as they sang “Vieni o diletta appressati,” which includes Aida’s entrance. Lucy tried to guess which of the attendants might be Aida, but decided none of them was beautiful enough to be Ariana. Amneris seemed to be looking around, too. Others onstage, too, began searching the stage.
“What’s happening now?” whispered Lucy.
Noah did not answer. He knew this opera. The lines that were to be sung by the soprano, by Aida, were simply played by the orchestra. Noah stood up. He noticed before anyone else in the audience. Was the orchestra playing a new arrangement? This wasn’t how the opera was supposed to go. Was his mother late? Could she have fallen ill? Was her carriage detained? She was never late for a performance. Never. Noah turned to his father, who looked equally confused. Noah sat back down hoping there had been a simple mistake.
Suddenly, the rear of the stage opened up to reveal the great throne of the Pharoah. His piece had begun and there had been no Aida. Members of the audience who knew the opera had begun to whisper to one another. Suddenly, a stagehand came running onto the stage and whispered something to Enrico Caruso. The stagehand ran up the stairs to the Pharoah’s throne and spoke to him. He stopped singing immediately.
On the edge of their seats, the audience watched as another stage assistant ran onto the stage and Radamès/Caruso put his hands to his heart and dashed off the stage behind the assistant. The stagehand, standing by the Pharoah who was now slumped on his throne, seemed to turn in slow motion. Seemingly caught off-guard by the roomful of patrons, he let out a squeak and keeled over in a faint, rolling down the steps and landing at the bottom. At this point, the orchestra stopped playing and frantic shouts and yells could be heard offstage.
Members of the cast moved in to attend the fallen stagehand as others ran about onstage. Nikola Tesla leaned over to say something to a brother in attendance.
“Is this the opera?” asked Lucy, tugging on Noah’s sleeve.
“No,” said Noah, in a whisper. “Absolutely not.” He, like everyone else, sat and watched the strange drama play out on stage.
“You’re squeezing my hand, Noah,” said Lucy, gently, as she observed the worry across Noah’s face.
Noah looked down and realized he had been clinging to her hand. “Sorry, Lucy.” He let go, but Lucy put her hand on top of Noah’s.
As the murmurs throughout the opera house grew, a very distraught conductor addressed the audience.
“Mesdames et messieurs,” he croaked, “Fi mushkela…il y a un problème…we are experiencing a problem. We are very sorry to announce that there will be a delay…of the performance this evening.” He winced at the rise of complaining groans and grumbles in the audience. “There will be refreshments in the foyer and, hopefully, we will be able to proceed…um, shortly.”
A delay, thought Noah. Okay, surely there’s some technical difficulty. He looked over at his father, but his father was not there. The children were suddenly alone with Miss Brett and the acolytes.
“Where is my father?” he asked. “Where are the other parents? Where is Mr. Tesla?” But the novice brothers simply poured cups of tea and offered them honeyed baklawa and oranges. Noah was about to snap at the young brother and push the tray away when he saw the look of fear in the young man’s eyes. The young man’s hand was shaking. Something was very wrong.
; Noah ran out into the hall, where throngs of people were heading into the foyer. Cutting through the crowds, Noah pushed his way towards the stage.
Faye reached for Noah, calling his name, but Noah could hear nothing over the ringing in his ears. Nothing but the nauseating ringing in his burning, burning ears, the warning signal of dreaded things just ahead.
Jasper kept pace with Faye as Miss Brett waved them ahead, holding Lucy and Wallace near. The two smaller children could not keep running. Noah had melted into the crowd, but they guessed where he was headed. Jasper and Faye tried to ignore what they were hearing among the opera’s audience. People were talking.
“Could it really have been Ariana Canto-Sagas?” said one rotund woman, still using her opera glasses to peer around the room. “I’d never heard of her missing a performance.”
“I thought someone said she had fainted before the curtain rose,” said her thin, croaked-back escort. “Or perhaps that was Enrico.”
“Preposterous,” said an elegant woman in a thick Egyptian accent. “But, indeed, where is the leading lady? Where is the angelic Ariana?”
Where was Ariana? thought Jasper. When they arrived at the backstage curtain along the side of the stage, a crowd prevented them from getting any closer. Faye and Jasper were scanning the people for Noah or their parents.
“Mother,” called Faye. “Over here!”
Dr. Gwendolyn Vigyanveta turned towards Faye. Jasper’s heart seemed to stop beating. Faye gasped. Faye’s mother’s face was red from crying. It didn’t matter why. Whatever had happened was bad.
Fueled by terror, Faye and Jasper pushed through the throng until they were standing with the Modests, the Vigyanvetas, and the Bannekers. Noah was not there. Neither was his father. Speckling the crowd with black were the brothers. Murmurs made a hum.
“Where is Noah?” whispered Faye, her face a map of worry.
Her mother just shook her head, a handkerchief to her lips. The face of Faye’s father was a blank mask. They couldn’t know. They’re just worried. The answer must be that Noah is with his father. Whatever happened has something to do with Noah’s mother. But Faye didn’t want to imagine what it was.
The Strange Round Bird: Or the Poet, the King, and the Mysterious Men in Black Page 5
