Nightingale

by Juliet Waldron

  "How did Prince Vehnsky know you had been here?"

  "The Prince called me to him after your apology came, and I at once explained that I had already gone to you. He told me I had been impertinent, but he forgave me, for he is genuinely impressed by your talent, and much desires your speedy recovery. I explained that I had noted your illness at the rehearsal."

  "Was he very angry?"

  "Well, he has his tyrannical moments, certainly, like all his kind. But beneath that arrogant demeanor there beats a good heart."

  His fingers continued to send warm waves of comfort. Despite occasional bouts of coughing and sneezing, Klara felt lulled, and so very safe! Her head fell back into his hands. Whenever he increased the pressure, though, she'd wince and tighten her jaw.

  When Liese came back with a small bowl with the heated and oil-drenched pack, she found a scene which was acceptably medical. Klara's face was buried in a handkerchief and she was now alternately coughing, blowing her nose, and spitting.

  "Now, please, apply the pack to your lady's chest. Keep her warm and go on giving her the decoctions I've brought, ending with the sleeping mixture, which is the one in the cone from yesterday. Remind her not to talk. Fraulein Silber will do a lot of productive coughing. I shall return to see how she is in the morning."

  Chapter 4

  Klara began to feel better. Every day she looked forward to Herr Almassy’s arrival. Even Liese began to relax around him, especially when she could see, day by day, that her mistress was so quickly recovering.

  A gray shadow came floating down from the nearby shelf to land with an airy thump on the table. In the next moment, the cat dropped to the floor and approached. He jumped onto Klara's lap, free as a child with his mother. Then, he turned upon that privileged spot and gave Akos a challenging stare. Akos gently extended a hand. After allowing the cat time to investigate, he stroked his big head.

  Two strokes were permitted, and then, as Akos reached to scratch Satz's chin, he leapt lightly away and went to sit in a comforting yellow pool of sun upon the floor. Ignoring them both, he lifted a fluffy paw and carefully licked it, but Klara knew that if either of them so much as moved, he'd slink away behind the stove.

  "He never does that," Klara said wonderingly, watching Satz, who was now sitting with his tiger back to them.

  "Sit in the sun?"

  "No. Sit in my lap when a stranger is here, or allow anyone to touch him, certainly not someone he isn't familiar with, most especially a man."

  "Is he afraid of men?" Akos asked, studying the cat. "Cats, poor fellows, often have good reasons for it."

  "He's afraid of Count Oettingen."

  "It's a rare nobleman who likes cats," Akos said, "and cats are too discerning not to realize their danger."

  "Well, it's more than ordinary disdain. The Count insisted that a tom cat would pee in my rooms and make a stink, so one day, when I wasn't home, he came with his surgeon and castrated him."

  "An excellent reason to hold a grudge!" Akos shook his dark head in sympathy. "Did it work?"

  "Yes. He was right about that, for Satz never sprays, which is a consolation to me, but there is none for poor Satz. My man, Hermann, told me the Count himself stuffed Satz head first down a riding boot and then had his surgeon cut. The surgeon did a good job, for he recovered fairly quickly, but, my poor, poor Satz will never forget. Now, whenever the Count comes to visit, he is terrified."

  "Does Count von Oettingen visit you often?"

  "Rarely. It's part of our treaty."

  "So you have a few rules which he obeys?"

  "A very few. His wife's servants threw me out of his townhouse some years ago and I ended up here. The building belongs to my banker, an upright and honest Jew."

  "His wife dared that?"

  "Yes." The whole business was humiliating, though it is some time past. "If it weren't for wise Herr Rosenbaum, I don't know what I would have done. The Countess threatened him, too, because the Count was out of town and she thought she could get away with it. Still, Herr Rosenbaum kept her from getting at either me or my money, and he let me have this apartment. When the Count returned and the dust had settled, I told him I would prefer to stay here, to run my own household and not further offend his wife. I have modest tastes. Being raised for the first thirteen years of my life in a nunnery perhaps has something to do with it."

  "You are a paragon among prima donnas."

  "There is no reason to waste a windfall." It was odd to quote Max, but the words came anyway. He had often lectured her on the inevitable pattern of a singer's life.

  "Your lovely voice will not last forever, Vogelchen. What will happen if you have saved nothing toward that day? It's easy to get used to comfort and a wretched business to be without it in the sorry time of one’s old age."

  Aloud, Klara said, "It is a foolish singer indeed who does not put aside for the time after her voice is gone."

  "The same could be said of any performer, yet saving is uncommon among theater folk. I think that in more ways than one, you are a rare bird, Fraulein Silber."

  Klara shrugged off the compliment. Sometimes Akos made her feel shy, and though she generally disliked people who put her off balance, for some reason it didn't seem to matter so much with him. She could sense no other emotion in him beyond delight in her company. Perhaps she was wrong, but it seemed there was no desire to manipulate her, no devious web spinning.

  "My grandfather is a keeper of cats," Akos spoke into the silence. "Ever since I was small, I've always had one of my own. Actually," he said with a smile, "a better description of the situation might be that I belong to the cat."

  Klara smiled, knowing from this remark that his interest in Satz was not feigned. "And what is he like?"

  "In my case, I am owned by a queen cat, a lady of many colors. Her name is Zuzanna. She is a good mother and a fine mouser."

  "What happens to all the kittens?" Klara knew that was another thing Max hated about cats, their fertility.

  "Zuzanna is populating the Prince's palace thoroughly, but her kittens are beautiful and find homes."

  "Fortunate for them," said Klara. She knew that surplus kittens were generally given to servants to drown, but knew she'd have to be hard pressed to give such an order herself.

  "Cats are discriminating about whose life they enter. If a cat trusts you, it is a great compliment."

  "I am very fond of them in general and my Satz in particular. He was from a litter of kittens at my friend Olympia's house, um, I mean, Frau Adamberger, who used to sing here in Vienna. He was not the only one with long hair, but he had those big eyes and ears like butterfly wings. I just had to have him."

  "I have seen long-haired Persian and Turkish cats, but I have never seen one like him." From beneath the stove, they could see a pair of gleaming eyes, now studying them. "His body is square, and he's heavy, too."

  "The Mama cat was part Turkish, they think, for she was white with blue eyes and did not mind water a bit. Olympia believes that Satz's father belonged to a Norwegian count who had taken rooms in their building. Several other kittens from that litter had the same heavy coats, neck ruffs and square bodies, just like my Satz. I met the Norwegian tom once. He was a most unusual cat."

  "In what way?" Akos appeared interested in her cat story, so she continued, thinking once again that here sat a most unusual man.

  "Well, that cat was so calm his master took him everywhere, either lying him about his neck, or letting him walk beside him like a dog. He was enormous, much bigger than Satz, but with those same black and silver markings on his back and the fluffy buff belly. He was not afraid of anything, but I guess he had good reason. He must have weighed twenty-five pounds and he had huge feet with extra toes."

  "The ones with extra toes are supposed to be very wise," said Akos, "but I have never made such a fellow's acquaintance." He bent forward, for, as Klara talked, Satz could be seen inching his way out from under the stove. He was regarding Akos with wary green eyes. "His p
aws are like snow shoes."

  "Yes, that's what the Norwegian count said they were."

  "It's too bad your Satz didn’t sire any kittens," said Akos. "He's a handsome fellow."

  They fell silent. Klara raised the tea cup and took another draught of the spicy medicinal he'd prepared.

  The conversation seemed trivial, but Klara found it revealing. How many times in my life, she wondered, have I just sat with a man, not caring much how I look, not feeling that pins and needles anxiety that always came when she was with Max? They were quietly sharing an interest, an interest in those aloof and interesting felines for whom the Count had so much scorn.

  ***

  "Liese will know I'm up to no good now," Akos said. He was on his knees upon the hearth rug and leaning over her. Klara lay on the floor on her back, a pillow beneath her head, and looked up at him trustingly. Satz peered at these odd doings from beneath the sofa, his eyes a distant glitter.

  Klara looked up. Akos was behind her, his hands cradling her ruddy dark head.

  "Is this sore?" His fingers probed her neck.

  "Yes." She winced. "It's odd, the way it hurts all the way down into my chest, too, down below the breastbone on the left side.

  "Just as I thought," he said gravely. "I can help, but at first I will hurt, so you must be brave and patient."

  In the next instant, he dug his fingers into her shoulder. Klara gasped, flexed her legs, made a face, groaned. At first it was almost intolerable, but the hurt became less, the cramping loosened and a weird feeling of peace began to pour through her.

  After a time, he released his hold and allowed his fingers to slip down to her neck. Gently he rolled her head back and forth within his hands. Then, suddenly, he tugged.There was a sound like a string of small firecrackers going off, and Klara saw stars. A burning sensation raced along her spine, as if what he'd just done had somehow gone all the way to the tail bone.

  "Now the other side." Akos, imperturbable, distracted her again by rolling her head back and forth between his hands.

  "What are you doing?" Although it hadn't exactly hurt, tears rolled down her checks.

  "Hush!"

  Then, before she could tense, he'd done it again. Once more burning flooded her neck, once more his fingers found the exact center of the pain and dug in. The sensation was strange, but along with the hurt there was also a surge of emotion. Klara couldn't tell whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

  "What did you do? I feel so very odd."

  One masterful hand continued to warmly cradle the back of her neck. The other came into her field of vision, and, ever so tenderly, brushed her tears away.

  "It has to do with the humors and readjusting their flow. My grandfather believes that in many cases, it works far better than a trip to the spa. Now just allow me to hold your head for a few more minutes. I will take the ache away."

  Klara lay silent and let him rock her head back and forth. One hand slipped down the back of her morning gown and massaged the place where head and neck joined. As if his fingers could draw it out, the burning sensation in the nape subsided. Klara began to feel so relaxed that she wasn't sure whether she would ever be able to sit up again. It was beyond wonderful simply to lie there with her head cradled between his capable hands.

  "I've never heard of a treatment like this. Where did you learn it?"

  "Grandfather Almassy said he learned it when he was a young man. His teacher was a Macedonian who had been taken prisoner and brought back to Komaron during the old Turkish wars. Grandfather was so impressed with the results that he persuaded the man, Herr Dushan, to teach him how to do it. Dushan was an old man, quite frail, yet he said that his Pasha set so much store by him that he must always accompany him, even onto the battlefield, which was how he was captured. Grandpa also said that Herr Dushan was secret about the source of his knowledge, but he agreed to pass on the technique."

  "Your Grandpapa sounds like a wise man. I don't believe I've ever met a physician I would call open-minded. And they are always talking in Greek, which makes me think of street mountebanks who talk gibberish." Klara began to sit up. Almassy, an arm around her back, assisted. "There is not a physician in Vienna I trust."

  "Perhaps my Grandpa Almassy has so much good sense because he was not trained formally. He always said that a college of medicine produces dogmatism, but not too many real healers. Still, Grandpapa can certainly be stubborn himself. I confess he and I have had our quarrels."

  As he talked about his grandfather, Klara noticed how Akos' face brightened.

  "Now, Fraulein Silber, let’s get you back on the sofa, for if Liese discovers us like this, I shall never be allowed to return."

  "My neck and shoulder still ache," said Klara as he helped her up, "but they feel looser and my head feels so much clearer."

  She rubbed her neck, while Akos escorted her to the sofa. "Now," he said, after she was seated, "you must be attentive to your posture. When you feel yourself stiffening, you should slowly turn your neck and look over your shoulder as far as you can, first one side and then the other. As a singer you know you must keep your shoulders back and your head high so that your chest remains open, as I'm certain Signor Manzoli has told you. However, if I may say so, at that last rehearsal I noticed that you were stooped, as if you had spent your life at a desk. The treatment I have just given will help you to regain your proper carriage, which will in turn help you breathe properly."

  Klara nodded, embarrassed. She knew that if something upset her, her posture suffered. Every now and then Manzoli would scold her about it, too, or make her do vocal exercises while balancing a book on her head. To change the subject, she asked Almassy another question.

  "Did the Macedonian give your Grandfather any other cures?"

  "They shared other secrets, but the older man soon died. Herr Dushan missed his home, Grandfather said, and mourned for his family, all of whom had been killed in the wars. In the little time he knew him, though, Grandfather grew to respect him and he still acknowledges the man as the source of these treatments. This one he shared with me, because I am skilled with my hands. You have to be careful doing it or you can hurt a patient badly. It is, in fact, quite easy to kill someone using pressure on the neck, just as your cook kills a rabbit."

  "Goodness! It seems your wife had better watch her step."

  Akos, catching the shift in her mood, raised an eyebrow. "I have no wife, Fraulein Silber. But even if my wife were less than – ah, circumspect, I wouldn’t break her neck. As a matter of fact," and she could see by the gleam in his eyes that he had decided to tease her back, "I do not believe any wife of mine would ever be inclined to stray."

  "Oh? And why is that, sir?" For the first time in days, Klara felt like flirting. "Because of your good looks?"

  "Only partly." Almassy responded with a cheerful wink. "I have many fascinating qualities which must, alas, remain a mystery from all except my wife to be."

  "Why, you saucy fellow!" Klara laughed. "Whatever do you mean?"

  "I mean to pique your curiosity. As a Daughter of Eve, I can rely upon your having a good share."

  Oh, how dangerous his eyes were, now a leonine gold!

  Klara demurely lowered her lashes. "Am I to understand that all your science and all your music is just a fleece under which the same old wolf is hiding, Herr Almassy?"

  "Ah, this is quite wonderful, Fraulein Silber." Almassy took her hand. "A lovely invalid who trifles with her healer is certainly on the mend."

  ***

  Another week passed. Klara could hardly believe how quickly she was recovering, although she played sicker than she truly was around Liese and Messer. How else should she justify Herr Almassy’s daily visits? How else could she continue to enjoy his oh-so-charming company, the intimate touch of his hands?

  ***

  He kissed her palm, so sensuously that had this been any other man on earth Klara would have felt constrained to box his ears. She tried not to meet his eyes, but it was impossible,
for they drew her in.

  For an instant she floated, trembling in the strange intimacy that lay in the palpable touch of his gaze. At this moment, his eyes were as confident, and exactly as proprietary, as those of her absent Count. His arm slipped around her waist and he drew Klara close. Lifting one of her hands, he tenderly, worshipfully, kissed her palm.

  "Herr Almassy…." The protest was only a whisper. The warm feeling of his lips upon awakened flesh had been the closing of a connection between them. In the next moment, a kiss fell upon her neck. Klara sighed, yielded. Slowly, with careful deliberation, Akos turned her, kissed her mouth.

  What adoration was in that kiss! Klara had never felt anything like it. His long lashes lowered, but never quite closed. She knew he wanted to drink in every instant of the bliss, of the favor she granted. She knew he wanted to see the flush that flooded her fair cheeks and throat. Somehow, some way, this was like a first kiss. Her arms slipped around his slim waist and they gathered each other close.

  Swept away with the rightness they felt, they fed the fire. He took her head between his beautiful hands and kissed her cheeks, her eyes, the pounding pulse in her throat, and then, lowering his shining raven head, he kissed her young breasts, a hidden swell beneath the gown.

  "Oh! We mustn't!" Still she held him, joyously offering her lips.

  "You must know that I adore you. Your voice has haunted my dreams ever since I first heard you last winter. And now I've had the joy again, but this time I heard your suffering, my Klara, and it broke my heart." His mysterious eyes locked with hers. Here she saw no judgment, no repulsion, just an immense sympathy.

  “My beautiful Maria Klara.” His hands ran over her, as if through his own strength he could take her pain away. "I don't judge you, my angel. I know the ways of this world. The only thing that matters is that you will believe me when I say that I adore you."