A Song for Summer

to be in order, but Marek could not shake off the feeling of unease that had been with him since the beginning of the journey.

They had reached the river. Nothing now except to wait for the cry of an owl repeated three times. The rain was relentless: the ground, the sky, the river merged in a sheet of greyness.

Then it came ... once ... twice ... and they saw Franz's shadowy figure on the far bank.

But the third cry did not come. What came instead was the sound of a shot--and they saw Franz throw up his arms and fall.

"Go back, Isaac," hissed Marek. "Quickly. Run."

"I won't go without you."

"You'll do as I say. Try to get back to Steiner and warn him. I'll follow but I've got to see if there's anything I can do for Franz. He may not be dead."

He disappeared in the direction of the river bank.

The sound of a second shot came minutes later.

Leon had made good his boast to direct a film and give Sophie a leading part. The leading part turned out to be the only part, because even his devoted parents had balked at sending a new cine camera and the one they had found was turning out to be more complicated to handle than he had expected. There was moreover no sound equipment, so the role he had created for Sophie--that of Terrified Girl reacting to a Nameless Thing-- was silent.

Sophie had written to both her parents begging them to come and see Abattoir. Even without her tambourine she felt that her role as a Salvation Army girl, largely hidden by a poke bonnet and surrounded by twelve others, would make it possible for her not to disgrace herself--and if they both came then perhaps--just perhaps--they would find that they still cared for each other and buy a house which would always be there and they would move into it, all together like a proper family.

For once the answers to her letters had come quite quickly; her mother was certain she couldn't come because she was still filming in Ireland, and the next day

Czernowitz had written to say that her father was extremely sorry but he was delaying his return from America.

Her disappointment had brought the usual stricken look to her eyes. What if no one came ever again, what if the school emptied and she was forgotten? But Ellen had not been interested in this train of thought. "If the school empties and you're forgotten I'll take you to Gowan Terrace and we'll go to the zoo and see lots of Charlie Chaplin films and make fudge."

"I don't know why you want them to come," said Leon. "It's an awful play."

But he too had responded to Sophie's distress, extending the role he had written for her so that in addition to being terrified in her hovel she was allowed to walk slowly into the lake, like Ludwig of Bavaria, and drown.

He was setting up this tricky shot during a gap in Abattoir rehearsals when Sophie, wading through the bulrushes, stopped suddenly and said: "Goodness! Here comes Cleopatra in her barge!"

The children who had been resting in the grass sat up. The boat making its way in a stately manner towards them did indeed have something regal about it, though it was only a motor boat hired from the village. The woman who lay back against the cushions was amply built, dressed in a flowing, flowery garment with matching turban, and held a fringed parasol in a gloved hand. Behind her, wearing black, sat some kind of lesser person, probably a maid, hanging on to the collar of a small and excited dog.

"She doesn't look like a parent," said Flix--and this was true.

Parents coming to see how their children were faring at the school seldom approached with that air of grandeur and self-assurance. They were usually thin people in corduroy or ethnic skirts and looked apprehensive.

As they drew close to the castle, Brigitta's hopes rose. Too vain to wear the spectacles she needed, she could make out only the beauty of the pink building and a number of children moving about in the grounds. Altenburg's devotion to children, his conviction that they could be taught to sing or play from infancy, had irritated her in Vienna, but made it more than likely that he should be lying low in a place like this. She had left Staub and Benny in the villa that Stallenbach had procured for them, wanting to be alone when she ran her old lover to ground. Now, as the boat slowed down by the landing stage, she promised herself that she would utter no word of reproach when she came face to face with Marcus. She would beg his help in the matter of the gala and he would not deny her, she was sure.

Then when he was in Vienna and Rosenkavalier was safely over she would show him Staub's libretto and their true collaboration would begin. Cosima von B@ulow and Wagner ... Alma Schindler and Gustav Mahler ... George Sand and Chopin ... there was nothing absurd in the comparison. Cosima had cut off her long, long hair and thrown it into Wagner's grave, thought Brigitta, fingering her short permed hair under the turban. If Marcus came back, if he set Staub's opera, she might even be prepared to huddle.