When Qwilleran and Polly arrived in the lobby, they were greeted by two young members of the Theatre Club, who smiled guardedly and handed them programs. He said to Polly, "According to Junior, Euphonia planned this service down to the last detail, and I suspect the ushers were instructed to smile with sweetness and respect and not too much sadness."
After a glance at the program Polly said, "This is not memorial service! It's a concert!"
In Memoriam
EUPHONIA ROFF GAGE
Piano prelude: Six Gnossiennes -- Satie
1. Adagio-- Albinoni
2. Sonnet XXX - Shakespeare
3. Pavane pour une Infante D‚funte - Ravel
4. Renouncement - Meynell
5. En Sourdine (Verlaine) -- Faur‚
6. Pas de Deux - anonymous
7. Duet for Flutes - Telemann
8. Non sum qualis eram bonae
sub regno Cynarae - Dowson
9. Adagio from Symphonie Concertante - Spohr
10. Maestoso from Symphony No.3 -- Saint-Sa‰ns
Polly said in a voice unusually sharp, "Don't you think it's a trifle too precious? Number Five is a French art song. Number Eight... only Euphonia would use the Latin title for 'Cynara.' It's her last gasp of cultural snobbery. And what do you think of Number Three?"
"Try saying it fast three times," he said with a lack of reverence.
Polly threw him a disapproving glance. "You're being flip. I'm wondering if the reference to a dead princess means that she considered herself royalty."
Carol Lanspeak, a trustee of the theatre, hurried up to them. "I think you're in for some surprises tonight. Junior asked me to handle the staging because their baby is due momentarily. Larry's doing the readings, and we rehearsed the entire program to get the timing right. Euphonia left instructions for the stage set, lighting, programs, everything! Such a perfectionist!"
Qwilleran reached into his pocket for an envelope of snapshots. "One of her Florida neighbors sent these. You might like to see how she looked toward the end."
"Why, she looks wonderful!" Carol exclaimed after examining them. "Wouldn't you know she'd choose to go out while she was looking wonderful?"
"Do you recognize anyone else in the pictures?"
"No, I don't... Should I?"
"I thought some of them might be from Moose County. Snowbirds tend to flock together."
Carol and Polly conferred and agreed that they were all strangers. "But here comes Homer. Ask him," Carol suggested.
The aged Homer Tibbitt was entering with his brisk but awkward gait, accompanied by his attentive new wife. During his career as a teacher and principal he had shepherded several generations through the school system and claimed to know everyone in two counties.
He changed glasses to study the snapshots. "Sorry. I can't identify a soul except Euphonia."
"Let me see them," said Mrs. Tibbitt.
"You don't know anyone here," he said with impatience. "You never even met Euphonia... Rhoda's from Lockmaster," he explained to the others, as if she were from the Third World.
"Homer likes to put on his irascible-old-man act," his wife said sweetly.
"I believe it's time to go upstairs," Carol suggested. "Take the elevator, Homer."
Two matching stairways led to the auditorium entrance on the upper level, from which the amphitheatre seating sloped down to a dark stage. A pianist in the orchestra pit was playing the moody, mysterious prelude specified by the deceased.
"Who's that at the piano?" Qwilleran asked Polly.
"The new music director for the schools. I believe she taught in Lockmaster."
He admired anyone who could play the piano and found the pianist strikingly attractive. When the prelude ended, she moved to a seat in front of them, and her perfume made a strong statement. Polly wafted it away with her program.
A hush fell on the audience as the house lights slowly dimmed. There were a few dramatic seconds of total darkness before two glimmers of light appeared. One spotlighted a bouquet of purple and white flowers on a pedestal, stage right. The other, stage center, illuminated a thronelike chair on the seat of which was a wide-brimmed straw hat with a band of purple velvet. Flung across the high chairback was a filmy scarf in shades of lavender.
Qwilleran and Polly exchanged glances. He could read her mind: The pedestal! The throne! The royal purple!
The theatre had an excellent sound system, and from hidden speakers came the haunting music of Albinoni, the wistful yearning of the solo violin underscored by the heartbeat of the cello. The audience listened and stared, as if Euphonia herself might glide onto the stage. Other instruments joined in, and the volume swelled, then faded, leaving only the last searching notes of the violin.
The spotlights disappeared, and a beam of light focused on a lectern at stage left, where Larry Lanspeak stood waiting. His rich voice gripped the audience:
"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past..."
Qwilleran glanced questioningly at Polly, who was frowning as if unable to connect the woman she had known with the poem she was hearing. He wondered about it himself and listened for clues to Euphonia's past and possibly a clue to her suicide motive.
"Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe."
Again the spotlights flooded the throne and flowers as Ravel's slow dance painted its melancholy picture. Then came the poem "I must not think of thee," followed by the French song "In Secret." Qwilleran deduced that Euphonia was mourning a lost lover, and it was not Grandpa Gage. The anonymous poem confirmed his theory:
"Two white butterflies Kissing in mid-air;
Then darting apart
To flutter like lost petals, Drifting together again
For a quivering moment in the sun, Yet wandering away
In a white flurry of indecision, Meeting once more
On the upsweep of a breeze,
Dancing a delirious pas de deux Before parting forever;
One following the wind,
The other trembling with folded wings
On this cold rock."
After the "Duet for Flutes" Qwilleran's suspicions were reinforced by the poem "I have been faithful to thee, Cynara, in my fashion." He could hear sniffling in the audience, and even Polly was dabbing her eyes, a reaction that made him uncomfortable; he knew she was remembering her own past.
The program was building to its conclusion. A screen had been lowered at the rear of the stage, and when the" Adagio" for flute and harp began its flights of melody, the image of a dancer appeared, moving languidly across the screen, arching her back, fluttering her scarfs, twirling, twisting, sinking to her knees with bowed head, rising with head thrown back and arms flung wide. It was a joyous celebration. The dancer's white hair was twisted into a ballerina's top-knot and tied with purple ribbon. There had been gasps at first, but when the video ended, there was silence - and utter darkness. Then the stage burst into brilliant light as the crashing chords of the Organ Symphony stunned the audience. The majestic music rocked the auditorium in triumph - until one final prolonged chord stopped dead, leaving a desolate emptiness in the hall.
"Whew!" Qwilleran said as the house lights were turned up. Among the audience a gradual, murmur arose as groups began to wander to the exit. In the lobby friends were meeting, asking questions, fumbling for appropriate comments.
Arch Riker said, "That was quite a blast-off!"
Carol Lanspeak informed everyone that the flower arrangement - dahlias, glads, lavender asters, orchids, and bella donna lilies - had been flown in from Chicago.