Toby chattered all the way out of the auditorium, as they got swept up in a crush of people. Sarah half listened to him, and half tuned him out. She held out his coat, and looked to the side, squinting to see where –
"Where's everybody going, Sarah?"
"Well," she craned her neck to see. "I think there's a reception over there, Tobe."
Toby practically squeaked in excitement. "Can we go? Please? Please please please?"
Checking her watch, Sarah considered. Seven o'clock. Toby was hyper enough to be bouncing off the walls when he got home, so a little more time surely wouldn't hurt.
"Fine." She grinned at his jumping up and down. "One carrot for every cookie. And calm down some – I don't want you scaring all the bigwigs."
"I won't!" Toby shoved his coat into her hands and took off through the crowd. Sarah pulled out her phone, turned it on, and left a message for Karen – lest she worry.
A sudden crash caught her attention. She looked up, and laughed, despite herself, as she saw a burly caterer struggling to enter the hall, stuck in the doorway and holding two mammoth warming pans. His assistant scurried up and held the door open; the caterer wedged his way in, put the pans down, and thumped his arms against his sides. She could not hear him – she could only see his mouth move – but from his gestures and expression, she gathered that he was cursing the cold …
Sarah looked at them a moment more. She blinked. The temperature must have dropped after sunset – she could feel a draft from outside all the way across the entrance room –and a twinge of something odd in her stomach –
She shrugged – must just be hunger. Sarah held on to that thought, made her way into the reception room, and looked around for the inevitable hors d'oeuvres. She snagged some on a plate, and hooked a glass of punch with her other hand.
Memories came flooding back as she looked around. Bright chandeliers – though far fewer than the clusters in the auditorium – bright lights, and mirrors on the two longer walls of the rectangular room. The sophomore dance had taken place here, so she remembered that spot by the fireplace specifically (where she had worked up the courage to corner her crush at the time), and the pulse of the music, the flash of colorful lights in the darkness, and the occasional glimpse of the portraits on the wall (looking, in their lace and ruffles, for all the world as though the thumping techno had awakened them from naps many centuries long.)
Memories of chandeliers, mirrors, and dancing … Sarah took a decided bite of quiche, and popped in a slice of apple afterwards, bringing her mind back to the mundane. She had long since put any other such memories in their proper place. She smiled to herself, around her mouthful. No room for fantasy during exams.
The babble and press of the crowd was irritating – Sarah grimaced as someone jostled against her, and she drained her glass before it could splash on anyone. No alcohol – that's good, since I'm driving. She looked around for Toby, and walked towards where she could hear his voice, when she also heard –
Oh, no.
Oh, yes.
Sarah sighed as she saw Toby, waving at her, standing directly behind the star of the evening. She walked over to join him, trying to transfer the grease from her fingers to the underside of her plate as decorously as possible.
"C'mon, Toby – you don't want to bother him with this –"
"Bother me with what?" An accented voice boomed over the crowd. Sarah closed her eyes, then looked at Toby.
"It's all you, little brother."
Toby's smile grew wider. "Mr. Teufel?"
The figure in front of them bent over slightly – Sarah was reminded, again, of a penguin, and had to stifle a giggle. "Yes, young man?"
With a beseeching look on his face, Toby extended his crumpled program. "Can I have your autograph?"
The famous singer beamed, his jowls practically folding into his ears. "Yes, yes, of course! What a treat, to see someone so young enjoy the music!" He held out a hand – someone placed a pen into it – and he scrawled a signature onto the program. "You do enjoy the music, young man?"
Toby nodded eagerly. "Yes. I like Schubert."
Teufel blinked, and looked at Toby more closely. "You like Schubert, do you? Which other of his do you like?"
"Well …" Sarah watched proudly as her brother furrowed his brow in thought. "What you sang was sad. But it was still really good. I like the one song about the fish a lot. Dr. Marcus played that one for us in choir."
"Ah so, "The Trout"! So young, and to know "The Trout"! Very good!" Teufel smiled down at Toby. "So you like the happy song, and you like the sad songs …" He stooped as close to Toby's level as he could go, and waggled his eyebrows. "Would you like to hear another song?"
The circle of onlookers murmured in amusement – and Toby sucked in a breath. "Yes, please!"
The singer straightened up and looked archly at the crowd. "Yes, my friends gathered here – I am so sad to think that I did not give you an encore tonight. So with your permission I will sing something here for you now."
A burst of polite applause interrupted him; he raised a hand and silence fell. Drama queen, Sarah thought, irreverently.
"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I will now sing for you … Der Erlkönig."
A babble of excitement broke out. Teufel bent once more, quickly, to Toby and said in an undertone that Sarah strained to catch – "Now this one is more scary, my young friend. But it shall be all right, yes? For it is a song, nothing more."
Toby grinned. "That's cool."
Sarah shook herself, frowning, as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
A stout woman dressed in pink, standing nearby, glanced at her. "Is anything wrong?"
"No …" Sarah pulled herself together. "I just felt a chill, that's all."
The woman laughed and turned away. "Ah – someone walked over your grave."
Sarah blinked –
– and Teufel's loud voice plowed through her thoughts. "Yes – Erlkönig! Erlkönig! Such a delight to sing, and, I hope, a delight to hear." Laughing heartily, the singer clapped a gloomy-looking man on the shoulder. "My pianist, Herr Schroeder, and I – we will tell you how this song is made so beautiful."
They walked together over to a forlorn baby grand in the corner, there to provide accompaniment to various parties. The pianist rattled a scale over the keys, grimaced, and shrugged at the singer.
Teufel took a stance that straddled three floorboards at once; the crowd hushed in anticipation.
"Now," the voice rolled out richly, "Erlkönig. Erlkönig is the story of a young boy, his father, and a wicked spirit! – But this you all know, yes?"
People called out "Yes," or "No" –
- and Sarah felt goosebumps ripple down her arms and back.
She shook herself. Snap out of it.
"No?" Teufel asked, now obviously playing to the crowd. "But this is such a shame! For such a poem and piece of music it is! Herr Goethe and Herr Schubert – so very beautiful together. So –" and he beckoned to Toby, "there are four in the song. The one who tells it – narrator, yes? – the father, the child, and the spirit. The piano is the horse that runs along, yes, Herr Schroeder?" The pianist nodded glumly. Teufel laughed. "Herr Schroeder is upset because the piano part is so, so very difficult." A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd; the pianist finally smiled, and shook out his fingers. Teufel continued: "Very difficult to play. And very difficult to sing! How do you suppose that I keep the story teller separate from the father, the child, and the spirit, my young friend?"
Toby thought, wrinkling his forehead. Sarah watched.
Why did she feel cold?
She laid her plate on a nearby table and shrugged her coat on, as casually as possible. She looked up over her left shoulder, frowning. The light from a dainty sconce on the wall flickered, as though the bulb were dying. Sarah looked around again. The crowd shimmered in the light of the chandelier; sequined gowns glittered and suits shone. She shivered.
She dragged her attention back to the singer, now in the full flow of his act. Whatever Toby's answer, she had missed it.
"Yes! So the child is sung up high" – he trilled out a la la la – "the father is low" – lo lo lo, much deeper – "the narrator in between," la lo la – "and the spirit … the Erlkönig himself …" he paused for dramatic effect "r-r-r-runs up and down and in and out – all over – lo la mi ma mo la lo!"
Toby bounced on the balls of his feet, excited. Whispers and coos of amusement and approval rose up from the onlookers.
"Also, Schubert does wonderful things with the keys of the music, yes? The father is in mostly minor, the boy is in minor, the narrator is mostly minor – but Erlkönig sings of joys and delights in major, major, major!" He clapped his hands together. "But enough talk! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you – Der Erlkönig!"
People clapped, and Teufel shook out his tuxedo tails. He smiled down at Toby again, fished in a pocket, and took out a rolled-up paper. Then he paused. His brow creased – but then he beamed as he saw Sarah standing right behind Toby. "Here, young lady." The singer held out the paper towards her. "Here are the words in English, just for you."
Sarah blinked. Something about the gesture tugged at her memory – his arm outstretched, his eyebrows raised, his smile …
Don't be ridiculous. Sarah took the thin roll of paper.
Toby scurried over to Sarah. "Let me see, Sarah, let me see!"
Sarah looked down. Her head seemed heavier, somehow, on her neck. The words were clear enough –written in flowing script, forming a lovely contrast with the paper's rough surface.
She jerked her head up as the piano burst forth, in a stern and ominous rhythm. Teufel had arranged his features into a glower; he waited through an introduction, and then sang:
"Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm."
Sarah looked down at the words in English.
"Who rides so late through night and wind?
It is the father with his child.
He holds the boy safe in his arm –
He holds him safe, he keeps him warm."
She held her coat more closely to herself, heard Teufel deepen his voice as the father – and followed the English translation – "My son, why do you hide your face in fear?"
She bit her lip as Teufel infused his voice with fright for the child's reply: "Father, do you not see the Erlking? The Elven King with crown and cloak?"
The father's voice soothed: "My son, it is a wisp of fog."
But Sarah heard it only on the edge of her mind. The Elven King with crown and cloak.
Her mouth was dry. The Elven King.
And then Teufel smoothed his voice and spun forth the song of the Erlkönig – The Elven King – in warm and sweet tones, and Sarah felt her skin begin to crawl.
"Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir –"
"You lovely child, come, go with me!
Nothing but beautiful games I'll play with you –"
Sarah took a shallow breath as the voice flowed on, delicately ornamented:
"Many colorful flowers are on the shore,
My mother has many golden robes."
She zipped up her coat with trembling hands. The boy's voice was fearful, asking his father if he heard "What the Elven King quietly promises me?"
The father was reassuring: "Be calm, stay calm, my son. It is the wind rustling in the dry leaves."
And then the Erlkönig's silken theme returned, lilting with life and joy:
"Do you want to come with me, fine lad?
My daughters should already be waiting for you;
My daughters lead the nightly dance
And rock you and dance and sing."
Sarah tasted bile at the back of her throat, and swallowed hard. Don't throw up. Don't throw up. She stuffed the translation into Toby's hands, shivered at a sudden feeling of cold, ignored his questioning look, and pushed her way through the crowd, to get to the bathroom.
It took her some time to get through the press of people. Another verse passed by. Then the Erlkönig's final phrase reached out to her:
"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt."
One corner of her mind noticed how Teufel coiled up the golden strand of his voice and snapped it like a whip at the Erlkönig's – Elven King's – last word –
- but she did not have the translation at hand, and so did not consider what it meant.
And she did not hear the last verse – only the thunderous applause that marked the song's ending.
To be continued …
You read? Please review!
And here is an author's note:
I debated long with myself as to whether I should link to the translation of Schubert's most popular song (at least, in his lifetime), Der Erlkönig. The thing is … the text of the song contains a gigantic spoiler or two.
So keep that in mind if you go looking for it. If you want to hear the song only (and what a fantastic song it is …), you can google it under "Erlkönig audio." The second site that pops up is the one I've been referring to (when I'm not scoring new tracks on my CD.)
I don't know how long that site is good - but if you do go, enjoy the song while it's up. This way you can hear exactly what Herr Teufel is talking about, with the (excellently sung) changes in timbre between the various characters. And isn't that piano part awesome?
I think the artist performing at that link is Bryn Terfel. I'll check, and get back to you ...
... but (hopefully) not before the endnotes. The rest of this story flows together, or should, and I want to intrude upon it as little as possible.
Oh – and review!! Please, please please review!!
