A/N: Recently I saw The Marriage of Figaro, heard that wonderful duet Andy plays for the cons, and was inspired to write this. Enjoy!

Duet

Business was slow. Two old men were playing checkers in the corner, while their wives sipped cool drinks and leafed through old magazines. A tinny old radio was tuned to a Classical music station. The doors were open, and a cool breeze from off the blue Pacific Ocean diffused throughout the room.

Andy was perched behind the bar cleaning glasses when Red strolled in from the beach. He had gone to town to pick up some new reels, and placed them on the countertop as Andy grabbed him a beer from the ice box. Red grunted in thanks and tipped back his head, draining the bottle of half of its golden ale in one stretch. Andy watched him with a quizzical little smile as he picked up the reels.

"Didn't pay too much for 'em?"

"Nah," said Red, pulling out a handkerchief and mopping sweat from his brow.

Andy looked at his friend closely. Red seemed strangely subdued. He wondered if anything was wrong, but knew that Red would bring it up in his own time. All Andy had to do was wait, so he resumed cleaning glasses that were already clean.

"Andy? I been meanin' to ask you somethin', but didn't know if I should."

"Yeah? What?"

Red twiddled his thumbs for a moment before suddenly sitting forward. "Remember that song you played in Shawshank? The one with the two Italian ladies?"

Andy blinked. This was definitely not what he had been expecting. But Red was looking at him seriously, so Andy nodded. "The duet? What about it?"

"What were they really singing about?" As if embarrassed, Red hurried to explain. "I'm not sure if I really want to know, but sometimes I feel I just gotta know. So I finally decided to ask you."

Red watched expectantly as Andy pondered his answer. He remembered sitting in the theatre, his hand entwined with his wife's, listening to that duet. Sull'aria… Che soave zeffiretto. On the breeze... What a gentle little zephyr. Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro, Act 3. The Countess was dictating a letter to her maid Susanna, to deliver to the Count. The philandering Count desired Susanna, and the forsaken Countess was instructing Susanna to propose a tryst with the Count in a pine grove, with the intention of going in Susanna's place, and then they were going to...

"Well," said Andy, scratching his head. "What did you think it was about?"

"Me?" Red glanced over his shoulder at the checker-playing men and their magazine-reading wives, and lowered his voice. "Well, I – I think it's something so beautiful that it can't hardly be expressed in words."

Andy smiled. "Well Red, that's just about it. That's exactly what those two ladies were singing about."

Red smiled and drained his beer. "I gotta check the weather forecast."

Andy watched him go. Then he put down the clean glass and towel, strolled over to the radio, switched it off, and pulled a record from the shelf. He tenderly dusted off the cover and placed it on the turntable. The dulcet tones of two sopranos filled the room, rising and falling, echoing one another, soaring out through the open doors and over the Pacific Ocean. A Countess dictating a letter to her maid? Or something so beautiful it couldn't be expressed in words?

Leaning back against the bar, Andy smiled to himself. "Y'know, Red? I like your version better."