The Extra

Forty-Eight

BEFORE THEIR DEPARTURE, the orchestra played a farewell concert for the residents of Arnhem, with tickets for sale at a token price. As a replacement harpist had not yet been found, a frantic request was dispatched to Kyoto to find a musician who could assume the part of second harp in the work by Debussy, but since no reply had arrived, the orchestra held an urgent rehearsal of Schubert’s Ninth Symphony, the “Great,” a piece they’d played dozens of times, so if necessary they could plug the gaping hole in the program. Noga’s trip, and that of her harp, was assured, but it was not clear whether she would have the chance to perform. Will she be reduced to a mere extra in Japan too? She asks Herman to take from his drawer the score for the Sacred and Profane Dances for harp and string orchestra, hoping a way might be found to compensate her with a public performance of this work.

On the morning of the concert Noga tried to decide what to wear onstage. Should it be the black silk dress, whose hem nearly reached the floor but which left her neck, shoulders and arms bare, or should she go with a delicate black pantsuit, purchased in Israel, which she felt accentuated her slenderness and flexibility? She was tilting toward the elegant black silk, befitting the formality of a concert to which notables had been invited. But her shoulders seemed bulky to her compared with the younger women players’, so she combined the two outfits: to hide her shoulders and arms, she will wear the jacket of the pantsuit over the long silk dress.

But is the black of the two outfits the same black? She didn’t feel herself competent to judge this, so she enlisted her landlady, a great admirer of her tenant, to view the combination and render an opinion. And the landlady, whom Noga had invited to the concert, was adamant. Even if the Dutch black does not clash with the Israeli black, Noga must wear only the long dress and leave her shoulders and arms exposed. Yes, she too noticed that they had thickened a bit during her vacation in Israel, possibly the result of hearty meals and juicy fruit, yet at the same time, perhaps from the desert sun, they have a rosy golden sheen not easily acquired in the Netherlands. So why conceal an attractive body that will blend with the beauty of the harp?

It was impossible to exclude Christine from the farewell concert, despite the anger directed at her, and she too turned up that evening in a long black dress, albeit of slightly threadbare wool. The appearance of the two harpists in their long dresses encouraged interest in a complex piece of music.

During the intermission Noga asked the conductor if there had been an answer from Japan. “Not yet,” said the maestro, but with cheerful optimism promised that the entire Japanese army had been deployed to find a substitute. “We will not give up the sea after we polished every one of its waves.” Indeed, the Debussy was received with surprising warmth and enthusiasm at the farewell concert, even though it was not an audience of the usual music lovers, but of municipal workers and members of trade organizations, including transit employees and industrial workers, plus excited high school kids and German students from across the border. And since the printed program, distributed free at the door, explained why La Mer had been selected for the Japanese tour, the Dutch were flattered that such a large and strong nation as Japan, whose technology had conquered the world, was in need of inspiration from a small, modest people in a spiritual and artistic contest with a cruel sea.

Knowing that the farewell concert would be attended by the general public, some receiving free tickets, Dennis van Zwol asked the musicians to play the Haydn symphony at an especially sprightly tempo, but with the Debussy he would allow no compromises. During the many exhausting rehearsals, the orchestra had perfected various refinements, and any deviation from them would ruin the musical flow.

Having gotten past her torment over leaving the tour, Christine was newly serene. She no longer bothered to hide her pregnancy, and under the long wool dress that smelled slightly of camphor, the bulge that would force the Belgians to grant full European citizenship to her partner was clearly visible.

The dialogue between the two harps was executed flawlessly in the concert’s second half. Sometimes the first sang out and the second answered, sometimes they sang in unison, till the second subsided and the first went on to trill another phrase. The breathtaking glissandi played by the two evoked the sparkling foam of the waves, cresting and ebbing. The conductor was focused on them, and they felt his constant presence. Since the harpists sat on a riser above the other strings, the eyes of the audience were fixed on them even as they rested, waiting for the moment when the two women, with perfect timing, would tilt their gilded, regal harps toward their hearts and spread their fingers on the strings.

The cheers at the conclusion of the Debussy were loud and long. Backstage, a chattering crowd of friends and relatives said their goodbyes to the musicians. Christine was upset and parted from Noga in tears. She too had yearned to travel with the orchestra instead of returning this very night to a small apartment in Antwerp with the knowledge that perhaps until the birth of her child, and perhaps thereafter, she would have no opportunity to perform. Moreover, it was reasonable to assume that an orchestra that had been dealt so severe an inconvenience would never again invite her to play. The father-to-be showed up at the concert not in overalls but in a suit and tie, and interpreted the musical struggle between the wind and the waves in his own fashion, perhaps as a port worker.

He studied Noga with a friendly look, and at the moment of parting dared to hug her, feeling the chill of her bare shoulders. She sensed he bore her no grudge over the words they had exchanged, and thought of telling him about the dear father who feared the death of his daughter in childbirth. But was this man the right audience for such a strange confession?