Cat Who Went Up the Creek

At a table in the lobby, orders were being taken for pirate socks, knee-high and tri-colored, with proceeds to underwrite the choral club expenses. The socks, it was predicted, would become the tourist fad of the year.

He also indulged in his favorite vice, eavesdropping:

“I always love the pirates! They’re so friendly!”

“I love the policemen. They’re so good-hearted and a little timid.”

“There’s Elizabeth Hart. Where’s Derek Cuttlebrink? They’re always together.”

“There’s Dr. Prelligate with that interior designer.”

“Don’t look now, but the man with a moustache is Mr. Q.”

As he walked down the aisle to the fifth row, he wished Polly were there; she knew the opera by heart. He wondered who would be sitting next to him—that is, if Cathy had been able to give his ticket away. To his surprise it was Cathy herself.

“I’ve never seen an opera, and I decided it would be part of my education.”

“This isn’t Pagliacci or Tosca, you know. It’s a musical farce. Do you appreciate farce?”

“I don’t know. What is it exactly?”

She was frank and eager to learn, and he admired her for that. “It’s a comedy in which ridiculous elements are treated seriously. Prepare to suspend your disbelief, your common sense, and even your sanity.”

“It sounds like fun,” she said soberly. “What’s it about?”

“Do you know Penzance?”

“I don’t think so.”

He had to talk fast. The orchestra members were looking expectant. Latecomers were rushing to their seats. “It’s a town on the coast of England, once a hangout for pirates. A youth named Frederick, who was supposed to be apprenticed to a pilot, was mistakenly apprenticed to pirates, because his baby-sitter was hearing-impaired. Now, at the age of twenty-one, he is being released from his contract. His baby-sitter, who had been so embarrassed that she went into piratical service with him, also quits and tags along after her young master. Her role is sung by Hannah Hawley, who is living in one of the Nutcracker cabins.”

“Mrs. Hawley was written up in your column this week!” Cathy exclaimed. “I’d love to see her doll house things.”

Uncle Louie, as the conductor was affectionately known, came to the podium as the lights dimmed and bowed to the audience with a mischievous smile. Then he turned, rapped twice with his baton, raised both arms, and plunged the orchestra into the overture. The frenzied opening bars had the audience smiling as they settled in for three hours of bouncy music, a few romantic melodies, witty lyrics, and a madcap plot . . . all except Cathy. She was not sure what to expect or how to react.

The curtain rose on a rollicking band of pirates on the beach at Penzance, celebrating Frederick’s release. All wore red bandannas on their heads—and striped knee socks hand-knitted for the occasion. Ruth-poor-Ruth, their maid-of-all-work, was padded and costumed to look dumpy and dowdy.

“Is that Mrs. Hawley?” Cathy whispered.

Her solo explaining her mistake was delivered with full-throated verve and conviction, and applause brought down the house—not only because the house was filled with Hawleys and Scottens.

Another favorite was the stuffy major general with his over-trimmed uniform and wooden-soldier gait. His patter song, delivered with the speed of an automatic weapon, also delighted the audience. His beautiful daughters (twelve members of the women’s chorus) fluttered about the beach in long dresses, hats and gloves. One of them, a lyric soprano, fell in love with the ex-pirate, a romantic tenor. So far, so good. Qwilleran glanced at Cathy; she was sitting there solemnly, being educated.

Then the problems arose. The other pirates (twelve members of the men’s chorus) wanted to marry the major general’s daughters. At the same time, an error in reading the fine print of Frederick’s contract had released him too soon. And the major general told a heinous lie as the curtain fell on Act One.

These were all twists of plot that sent a happy audience to the lobby for a glass of punch during intermission.

Qwilleran said, “I’m going to the lobby. Would you like to stretch?” He avoided asking her what she thought of the opera, so far. Instead, he said, “Roger MacGillivray tells me you’re going to be a dance hall girl in the reenactment. How did you get involved?”

“My boyfriend is playing one of the river-drivers. They came down from French Canada to ride the logs downstream in spring. He teaches romance languages at the high school, so he’ll speak French. They wear red sashes and red knitted caps.”

“What do the dance hall girls do?”

“Hang around the saloon, and the customers say ‘chip, chip’ to us. That’s the 1860 equivalent of the wolf whistle.”

Before he could comment, the Abernethys appeared, and he introduced her as “Cathy of the Nutcracker staff,” adding, “Sorry, Cathy, I don’t know your last name.”

“Hooper, of the Trawnto Beach Hoopers.”

Brightly Nell said, “My name was Cooper, from the Purple Point Coopers. My cousin married a Hooper.”