AN: typos fixed in Chapter fifteen (Wehmut)!

Largo al Factotum, mentioned herein, is better known as the "Figaro Figaro Figaro (repeat ad nauseum)" song.

NEUNZEHN

Der Faktotum

"Vitani, we know you're hiding in there…just come out and let Hermann look at it! It's his job; he's not going to do anything wrong."

"There's nothing wrong with it…I'm fine!"

"What do you want me to look at?" Hermann asked Nala.

"Oh, she stepped on a thorn or something, and she won't let any of us look at her paw. She's practically walking like you."

"I've got an idea," Hermann said with a wry grin. He cleared his throat audibly and spoke in a heightened voice: "Kopa, would you mind telling us what you learned about bacterial infections the other day?"

"Oh, those are bad," Kopa replied in the same loud tone, "you said something about how they can cause all sorts of problems if you don't treat them."

"And what kind of problems do they cause?"

"Well, if the bacteria things get into your body through a cut…the part of you where the cut is rots and falls off."

That's not quite how it works, Hermann thought, briefly envisioning a new book, Physician's Desk Reference, as Told by Kopa. Despite the glaring inaccuracies, however, it was more than enough to convince Vitani to stop the filibuster. "OK, OK!" she shouted, "he can come in and look at it, but nothing else!"

Hermann walked in and pulled some strange-looking items out of his back pocket. "What the heck is that?" Vitani asked, hoping that whatever was in Hermann's hand wasn't what he had needed to use with Kopa.

"A penlight, and a magnifying glass," Hermann said. "The first one shines a light so I can see, the second one makes what I'm looking at seem bigger. Here, have a look at this rock."

Vitani peered through the magnifier as Hermann shone the light on a small stone. "So does this thing hurt?" she asked.

"It's just light, no different from what the sun makes," Hermann replied, making the small beam dance across the back of his hand. "Just hold still for ten seconds and I'll prove it to you." Reluctantly, Vitani put her paw back in Hermann's outstretched hand, revealing a barbed thorn stuck in one of the pads.

"I've found the problem, and...wow, what's that over there?"

No sooner than Vitani had turned her head in the direction of Hermann's pointing, he had grabbed a hidden pair of tweezers and pulled the thorn out with a swift tug. "Ow!" the cub yelped, more surprised and indignant than hurt.

"Oh, sorry, is this yours?" Hermann asked, holding the thorn up between his thumb and forefinger. "I think that ought to fix things; try standing normally."

Vitani put her paw down and immediately scampered off towards the others. "Come on, Kopa, let's go!" she said, only to be stopped in her tracks by Nala.

"Vitani, I think you have something to say to Hermann…"

"All right, all right…thanks, Hermann."

"No problem. I was wondering, can Kopa stay here for a just few minutes? Ever since Simba asked me to perform for you guys, I've had the worst time figuring out what to choose; maybe the maestro-in-training here can give me a hand." He shot a quick glance at Kopa, who was grinning having heard the Italian honorific in reference to himself.

"Sure, of course he can stay and help you," Nala said, prompting a frustrated groan from Vitani.

"We won't be ten minutes," Hermann reassured her. "After that, you two can go do whatever you had planned, within reason, of course. Just because your friend's up and walking again doesn't mean you go have a full-contact mud wrestling match on day one…right, Kopa?" Hermann looked to his right where Kopa had been standing only moments ago, only to see that he had already gone inside. "Like I said, ten minutes, nothing more."

"Do you really think he's going to be ten minutes?" Vitani asked Nala after Hermann had joined Kopa and was safely out of earshot. "Something tells me they're going to be in there for hours."

"I don't know," Nala said with a smile, "sometimes, I don't know whether Hermann thinks he's a doctor, or the teacher at a one-student music school." Actually, she thought, luckily for Kopa, he's rather impressive as both. "I'll make sure they don't take too much time if you can be patient for a just bit…deal?"

"Ok, mo—sorry…Nala."

"No, what were you going to say?"

"Nothing, I almost called you 'mom'," Vitani replied, quite embarrassed and wishing she had kept her mouth shut all along. "Never mind…forget I ever said anything. Can you let me know when they're finished?"

"Yes, I'll be sure to," Nala said, content (much to Vitani's relief) to let the subject drop even though she knew that this conversation was far from being over.

A few minutes later

Hermann looked over his book of songs, trying to decide which pieces he might be able to throw together into something semi-presentable. Even though nobody in his audience would be able to recognize a mistake unless it was of rather immense magnitude, he would know immediately regardless of how noticeable the mistake might be, and that was more than enough motivation to get everything right the first time through. Unfortunately, the material he had brought along did not lend itself to easy acquisition; even Kopa, unaccustomed to written music as he was, could tell that whatever was in Hermann's book was technical to say the very least. Just trying to get a sense of the symbols on the page made his head hurt, although he did surmise correctly that whatever it all meant, it wasn't the same kind of soft, slow music he had grown accustomed to.

"So what's the hardest piece you've ever done?" Kopa asked as Hermann furiously turned pages, looking for something that didn't look like calculus equations instead of sheet music. "Wow…that one looks really hard."

"No kidding, you're looking at the most difficult piece in the book…maybe even the hardest song, period. My theory is, Schubert was at the bar and got punched by a drunken baritone, so he wrote this piece to get everlasting revenge on whoever might fancy himself a half-decent singer. It's almost impossible to get everything right; even the greats can't always pull it off. As far as the hardest one I've ever done, that title goes to 'Largo al Factotum'. I learned it once for an audition with an amateur opera company at home; six pages of torture courtesy of Gioacchino Rossini, that one was."

"Largo al Factotum? What does that mean? Those don't sound like German words."

"They don't, because they aren't. That's Italian, the language they speak in Italy. It means 'Make way for the factotum'."

"What's a factotum?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Hold on…Markos, what are you doing with my stuff?"

"I'm looking for something for my hands; look at them, they're rubbed raw," Markos replied as he rummaged through Hermann's things.

"Well that's no surprise," Hermann said, "it's either hot and dry or cold and dry here. You don't need a medical degree to figure that out. Check my dobkit; there should be a bottle of hand moisturizer in there somewhere."

"This is it?" Markos said unimpressed, holding up a generic-brand airline sized bottle. "You didn't think to get the medicated kind? No Vitamin E, no aloe…nothing?"

"It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again."

"Never mind, sorry I asked. And by the way, a factotum is a person who does a whole bunch of things, from the Latin words 'facere' and 'totum'. You're welcome."

"Well, there you have it," Hermann said to Kopa. "Someone who does a bit of everything…that's a factotum."

"Like you!"

"Well…I guess, I never thought about it that way before!"

"So if that song's really, really hard, does that mean you didn't sing it well? I bet you'd do fine singing it for us."

"No, I sang it fine, but someone else got the part. I have to think the cane had a lot to do with it; Figaro's supposed to look young and energetic, not crippled for life and about to lose balance and crash into the lead soprano."

"OK, you don't have to do that one…what if we did that German song you taught me? And didn't you say there are eight more songs that go with it?"

"The Heine Liederkreis? Yes, there are eight other songs…and I've even got the music here with me; I completely forgot that I had it! Tell you what," Hermann said slowly as he thought everything over, "if it's OK with your father, I'll do that piece for you all on one condition: you do song eight, and I do the rest."

"Are you sure? In front of everyone? I'm not good like you are…"

"No, no, it'll be fine! Don't be so hard on yourself; you already know how to sing the song anyway, and between now and then, I can help you make it even better. Even Markos can sing that song…speaking of which, what's he up to this time? Markos, was ist denn jetzt?"

"You and Kopa hold the music lesson and come with me."

"Why are you holding your rifle?"

"You'll see soon enough, and you'd be wise to bring yours along as well. And this time…load it!" Markos ran out the door and out of sight.

"He said he—

"He wants us to come with him," Kopa said before Hermann could finish translating. "I understood what he said…sort of."

"You haven't picked up any bad words listening to us speak, have you?" Hermann asked with uneasy anticipation.

"Well, there's one word I heard you say after you tripped over a root, but I don't know if it's bad or not. You said, 'Schei—

"OK, never repeat that one! Let's go see what Markos found; this other stuff can wait." Mental note, Hermann said to himself as he grabbed his cane and walked outside, no more swearing around the kid.