The Hambledown Dream

by Dean Mayes

  “I don’t want to go on without him, Lionel! He was my best friend, my - best friend. I loved him so much.”

  Ruth appeared in the doorway across the street, her own eyes swollen with grief. Evidently she had overheard the exchange from inside.

  Lionel looked over at her and nodded, mouthing, “It’s all right.”

  Ruth crossed the street, and gingerly put a hand upon Sonya’s shoulder. She dropped down onto her haunches and surrounded Sonya’s small frame with her arms and held her.

  “I’ll make up the spare bed,” Ruth said. “Sonya, you can stay with us tonight, my dear. I’ll not let you go home to that empty house like this.”

  Sonya was too numb to protest. Lionel gathered her up in his arms, carried her into the shop and through into their house, where he gently deposited her onto the sofa in the sitting room. Ruth followed, having retrieved Simon and his blanket from the practice, and switched off its lights.

  Moving a camera tripod out of the way, Ruth folded Simon’s blanket into a mat of sorts at the foot of the sofa, where the dog sat down and looked up at Sonya mournfully, whimpering softly. Ruth brought in a quilt from their room and laid it over Sonya as Lionel sat on the sofa, cradling her.

  “Here will be good enough,” he whispered to Ruth as she pulled up a chair and sat down beside her husband. She nodded. Together they remained with Sonya until she cried herself to sleep.

  ***

  By the time the international leg of his journey was underway - a full day and a half later - and the flight was far above the Pacific Ocean, Andy had settled in to the rhythm of the aircraft. Though they had been delayed for an extra hour in Los Angeles, time had passed by quickly, such was his excitement now. It was after midnight, and the passengers were beginning to settle in for the 15-hour journey to Australia. Some were watching in-flight entertainment, many were napping. Andy had taken out the literature for the festival from his shoulder bag and sat back, quietly reviewing it.

  The festival was a week-long event that was to bring the cream of international artists to Melbourne. There would be a showcase of concerts covering a multitude of musical genres - not only classical, but culturally diverse world music, blues and roots, rock, a smattering of country and jazz. Headlining the Festival were artists and composers from all around the world whom Andy had long admired and was eager to see. This was the other dimension to being here that made him feel so privileged - the opportunity to be among real artists, exceptional practitioners of the instrument.

  The program for the emerging talent concert series was laid out over the week. One hundred delegates from conservatories all across the world would compete over five days in a series of heats. Each day, two delegates would be selected from a field of twenty and they would progress to a semifinal round on the Saturday. Ten delegates would then compete for five positions in the final on Sunday. The prize was considerable: a $10,000 cheque and an invitation to record on a prestigious classical label in Australia. The resulting album would be distributed worldwide.

  Andy’s heat had been set down for the Tuesday afternoon just after lunch. It was as good a position as any, he reasoned. He wouldn’t have to wait too long to perform, and he would be relatively fresh. It would give him an opportunity to view the other contestants and get a feel for the competition.

  He had two pieces in mind for his performance: the second movement of a famed “Sonata Prima” by Fernando Sor and “The Sounds Of Rain,” the piece Andy had performed that very first time in The Pub. It was the more obscure of the two, but it was no less enchanting.

  Sor’s second movement had an orchestral flair that lent itself well to a concert performance, and it required considerable attention to technique in order for it to be carried convincingly. Of all the great guitar composers, Andy felt a particular affinity with Sor because his works suited the solo style, with which Andy felt most comfortable.

  Andy was, however, leaning towards “The Sounds Of Rain.” The William Lovelady piece wasn’t as long, but it was a complex arrangement with rich atmospherics and a unique flamenco feel. “The Sounds Of Rain” evoked vivid imagery that really did capture the rain in its form and movement. It was the first piece that he had mastered with the guitar. In fact, he wasn’t sure now if it was himself or Denny who had happened upon it; regardless, his knowledge of the piece was intimate.

  It was a risk bringing a less well-known composition with him into the competition, but he believed firmly that it would best showcase his technique. It would challenge him to find the emotional heart he had long searched for. He knew this duality was the key.

  He did not want to think too much about the final, fearing he would jinx himself. But he had a piece in mind for that, as well: a concerto that would require an orchestral accompaniment. The second movement in the famed Concierto de Aranjuez by Joaquin Rodrigo was an incredibly tender and emotive piece that had taken on a life of its own in popular culture. Though Andy was wary of just how prominent the “Adagio” was, he felt that he had what it took to make the piece his own for this particular gathering.

  He had recordings of the compositions on his cell phone and he listened to them over and over, memorizing their unique form and texture, their tones and harmonies. He practiced the fingerings, making mental notes of where he would need to apply his most intense concentration. He emptied his mind of almost everything else.

  Almost everything.

  She was never far from his thoughts. It took very little for her face to center itself in his mind’s eye. He had already considered what he was going to do once the festival was finished. He would find his way north to Hambledown. Somehow, he would explain himself and convince her of the truth of his survival beyond the cancer. He was going to have to feel his way through it. There were no rules for this. For now, though, he tried to bring his thoughts back to the concert series and the immediacy of that.

  Andy closed his eyes and drifted, letting his thoughts meander beyond the confines of the quiet cabin. He touched the presence of Denny within him and felt a sense of joy, of anticipation to be returning to the place where Denny had lived and where he had died. All the disparate memories and recollections of his life had become a coherent stream - a whole rather than many fractured parts. Andy opened, then closed his eyes. He could see her in his mind, Sonya as Denny had known her and loved her. It was powerful, this love. His longing to find her again was as equally potent.

  ***

  In the dead of night, Sonya awoke with a start. She blinked in the near-darkness, looking around her anxiously and seeing only Simon sleeping curled up at her feet on the end of the sofa. Her heart thumped and she lay back, staring up at the ceiling. The dream had left her before she’d had a chance to remember what it was, but the sensation accompanying it lingered. It was warm and comforting. It was a sense of peace.

  CHAPTER 19

  The day could not have been lovelier, nor could the venue. Melbourne’s Fitzroy Gardens, with its wide-open spaces, perfectly manicured lawns and long, meandering avenues lined with majestic English Elms, was the perfect place for the sounds of beautiful classical music.

  It was one of the city’s oldest gardens, a tranquil place, where one could be forgiven for thinking it did not belong in a metropolitan environment at all. It was serene and calm here. Its effect was magical.

  Andy felt surprisingly calm as he and the others made their way into the Gardens after the taxi dropped them off. It was a beautiful summer Tuesday, not too warm. A light breeze kept the temperature even as it wafted through the trees, rustling the leaves. Andy was glad he had dressed appropriately: a linen shirt and pants and comfortable leather shoes, which he had purchased in the city the previous day, before taking in some of the festival’s opening performances. He felt pleased with his appearance. He looked smart yet relaxed, a world away from the attire he would have once chosen to wear. As he walked across the manicured grounds, Andy felt the strange and powerful sense of déjà-vu about this place, the sense of famili
arity that had him smiling inwardly. Numerous times since they’d touched down in Melbourne, he had found himself struck by it. The city was so familiar. He knew these gardens; he remembered them. Denny and Sonya spent many lazy days here, walking and talking, holding hands, lying on the grass in each other’s arms, kissing. The Gardens had been one of their favorite places.

  The group from the Conservatory had spent the weekend acquainting themselves with their new surroundings. They had all dealt with the inevitable jet lag quite well. Their hotel was close to the Fitzroy Gardens. They had explored the city, and dined out in cosmopolitan eateries that Andy discovered he knew well. There was a cafe called Enzo’s, in Melbourne’s renowned cafe strip, Lygon Street - another favorite haunt of Denny’s. At the first opportunity, Andy sought it out and took the group there, where they all got to know one another better - something there had been barely enough time for since they’d left Chicago.

  Among them was the shy and painfully quiet Alistair Stephens, who was a couple of years younger than Andy. Andy thought Stephens was technically superior to him as a guitarist. But he had revealed during the flight that he was prone to severe stage fright in front of large audiences. As such he had fairly low expectations for this competition.

  Annaliese Ingram was a tall redhead with tight curls and an easygoing nature. Annaliese had competed internationally once before, a year ago in Tokyo, where she had come second. She had been among the top students in Andy’s class and one of the first selected for the Chicago delegation.

  Then there was Michyko. She and Andy were the two first-timers of the group. She was a really sweet girl, wide-eyed and enthusiastic. She had become a sort of team motivator for them all. Whenever one of them was feeling apprehensive or anxious about their upcoming performance, she was there offering encouragement and reassurance. Regardless of the outcome, they were here in this wonderful country, representing their school in an event that was truly prestigious. That alone was a significant achievement.

  Today, Andy alone would be performing, and they had all come to cheer him on and provide support. There was already a steady buildup of people coming into the Gardens to see the heats. Large groups of friends and families had set themselves up on the lawns, near a historic Spanish-inspired conservatory that housed spectacular floral displays. There was a festive feel to this place. People were spread out on picnic blankets, serving food from large wicker baskets filled with lunches and bottles of wine and champagne. Children ran barefoot on the grass, playing chase or cricket or throwing a ball back and forth near the natural amphitheater, where seating had been arranged for the orchestra.

  The Melbourne Symphony Orchestra had been seconded to provide the accompaniment for several of the performers throughout the week. The orchestra was regarded as one of the finest in the world, and just the thought that he might play with such an esteemed group - if he was lucky enough - made Andy feel giddy. Not even Denny had known that experience.

  In this place of beauty and serenity, so far away from everything Andy had ever known, his residual apprehension fell away. He smiled at the familiar warmth he felt being in these gardens.

  As Andy’s mind wandered among the audience, he began drifting away from the group. He started when Michyko tapped him on the arm.

  “You seem a little dazzled by all this,” Michyko observed cheerily.

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” he replied dreamily. “Have you ever been in a more beautiful place?”

  Michyko scanned around her and nodded in agreement.

  “It is very pretty here. We’re so lucky, don’t you think?”

  “Indeed,” he answered simply. “I feel very fortunate.”

  “Are you nervous?” Michyko asked gently.

  “I am. But it’s not so bad. I guess I’ve spent a lot of time preparing myself. International flights are great for that.”

  Michyko laughed. The group made its way across to the registration marquee, where the performers were required to sign in and receive their performance schedule. There was also a place there for them to leave their instruments until it was their turn to perform.

  With some hesitation, Andy handed over his prized guitar and watched as an attendant placed it on a rack at the back of the marquee, then returned with a ticket.

  “Here you are. Now all you need to do is present that when you are ready, and we’ll have your guitar waiting for you.”

  Andy nodded, then made his way over to a line of tables where the registration officers were handling the performers. He had completed his paperwork earlier. He took it from his pocket and handed it to a kindly man who checked it over, running a ballpoint pen down a list before him.

  “Andrew DeVries,” he confirmed. “Here you are. You’ll be required for the first group after the luncheon interval at one o’clock.”

  The man handed Andy a lanyard with a photo card of himself attached to it, as well as a glossy folder containing a booklet of the week’s program. Andy took a moment to check the information on his identification, and then he examined the booklet.

  His eyes went wide.

  There on the page was a paragraph telling him the concert series had been renamed as a memorial trophy - the Dennis Banister Memorial Trophy. Andy opened the program he had been given and flicked through a couple of pages until his eyes fell across a photograph of a young man.

  It was as though he were looking in a mirror.

  The description beside Denny’s photo read:

  This year’s emerging talent concert series has been named the

  Dennis Banister Memorial Trophy by Festival Director

  Jochen Zinski, in honor of virtuoso guitarist Dennis Banister,

  who lost his battle with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma in October 2008.

  Andy’s heart thudded noisily in his head and his palms became sweaty. The color drained from his face.

  The registration official looked up at Andy, concerned. “Are you alright, son? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Andy shook his head and forced a smile. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

  “N-no, everything’s fine,” he answered, tripping over his words.

  He continued to read the program as he stepped back from the registration table.

  “It is hoped the award will become a lasting tribute. The trophy will be presented this year by Dennis’ partner, Sonya Llewellyn.”

  Sonya.

  Andy’s mouth went dry. He felt as though the world was spinning.

  Sonya’s here? His mind shouted.

  He began looking around him, scanning the gardens and the crowd.

  Other contestants were waiting to complete their own registrations. The official gestured for Andy to step back. Looking behind him, Andy noted the lineup with a few of them eyeing him impatiently. He exited from the tent, clutching the program, bewildered. Michyko spied him standing alone and went over to him.

  “Andy ... are you OK?” she said, alarmed. “You look sick.”

  “I’m - I’m OK. I just thought I saw - someone I knew.”

  Could she be here? How could this be?

  Andy scanned the crowd, more discreetly this time, looking into the faces of people milling about. No one appeared familiar to him. He could not see her. How could it be possible that she would have come to this place?

  Seeing that his demeanor was beginning to spook Michyko, Andy calmed himself down, stopped his paranoid scanning and turned back towards her.

  “I am OK, honest.”

  “Your nerves haven’t suddenly gotten to you, have they?” Michyko asked as they headed across to the performers’ pavilion.

  “A little, I guess,” he answered distractedly. “I just - hope I don’t mess up my performance. My piece is a pretty obscure one.”

  Michyko laughed sweetly.

  “You love living on the edge, don’t you?” she remarked. “But I guess for someone of your talent, that’s where you flourish best, huh?”

  Andy gave her a lopsided smile, finally fee
ling himself relax once more.

  “What have you gone for?”

  Michyko gulped. “I’ve chosen Paganini’s Caprice in A Minor, the finale. It’s been my obsession for ages. I’ve been practicing it ever since I applied for the competition.”

  “That’s a beautiful piece,” Andy said, his eyes still darting imperceptibly among the faces of people they passed. “I’m sure you’ll do well. You’ll be better practiced than me.”

  “Gosh, I doubt that,” Michyko laughed as they entered the Pavilion.

  The Pavilion was situated just beyond the amphitheater, in a fenced-off area. There were tables and chairs, an open-air bar and a dining area that provided catering to the guest performers, student delegates and invited guests of the festival. Andy, Michyko and the others ordered coffee and seated themselves at a table.

  Andy kept picking up the program from the table and studying it nervously. He looked around, searching. The others seemed to take it as a sign of his nervousness about performing and didn’t question him about it.

  ***

  Not far from the Pavilion a taxi pulled up against the curb. The doors opened and Sonya stepped out, along with Denny’s sister, Joss. Sonya quickly paid the fare and the two women surveyed the Gardens and the growing crowds of people.

  Joss was a vivacious young woman, a few years younger than Sonya, and exuded confidence. She was tanned, athletic and naturally beautiful. She glanced at Sonya with a radiant smile.

  Sonya put on a large sun hat and her sunglasses as she appraised the Gardens nervously. Though Lionel and Ruth had finally convinced her to take the week off and fly down, she was already having reservations about the wisdom of her decision. She looked over at Joss, raising her eyebrow.