Hildegard looked shocked. Madame Kutumoff was scandalized.
“Gwendolyn!” she cried. “How could you say such a thing? Hildegard’s visions are infallible!”
In desperation, Gwendolyn looked at me.
“Does any of this make any sense, Benvenuti?”
I pondered the question, reviewing my uncles’ advice. Nothing seemed relevant to the question of the infallibility of the visions of a gigantic Abbess. So I applied common sense.
“Gwendolyn, precious few things have made sense to me since I landed in Grotum. So why should this be any different? But the solution is obvious—we wait a few days for Wolfgang to show up and clarify everything with his twin powers of madness and amnesia.” When the laughter settled down, I continued: “If he doesn’t show up, we reexamine our situation. And in the meantime—” I turned to Madame Kutumoff. “Did you say that the Big Banjo was still here?”
“Why, yes, he is.”
“I would take it as a great privilege if you would introduce me.”
“I shall be delighted, young man.”
I turned back to Gwendolyn. Suddenly, I was bathed in her smile.
“Good!” cried Hildegard. “That’s settled. And you, young lady, are going to sing. We haven’t heard your voice in ages. The Big Banjo was complaining about it, just the other day.”
Madame Kutumoff was clapping her hands. “Oh, yes! That will be such a joy.” She stuck two fingers in her mouth and emitted a piercing whistle. A moment later, a very proper looking butler appeared in the doorway. Tall, spare, polished, groomed within an inch of his life. Aplomb personified.
“Madame whistled?”
“Yes, Andrew. Gwendolyn and her friend, Benvenuti, will be staying with us. Can you see to their rooms, please?”
Gwendolyn took my hand. “We’ll just need one room.”
Madame Kutumoff eyed us thoughtfully. “Such vigorous young people. Best make it the room at the far end of the second floor, Andrew.”
“My very thought, Madame,” said the butler, nodding his head.
Madame Kutumoff smiled at us. “You’ll find the bed in that room is very comfortable. And those of us who are insomniacs will find it very comfortable, too. It doesn’t squeak.”
* * *
The next morning, following breakfast, I was introduced to the Big Banjo. It was a great moment in my life, although, truth to tell, the man didn’t pay much attention to me. He was far too busy trying to convince Gwendolyn to be the prima donna for his next opera.
No, I am not joking. It came as a surprise to me, I can assure you. I had come to adore Gwendolyn’s unique voice, but the thought had never crossed my mind that she could sing—at least, by operatic standards. Yet here was the world’s greatest opera composer—such, at least, was my opinion—intently waging a campaign to convince Gwendolyn to take the stage.
“Not a chance,” she said, over and again. But the Big Banjo was stubborn. He sat in his chair, his back ramrod straight, glaring at her down his long nose.
“But it’s such nonsense, Gwendolyn! The Rap Sheet’s a thing of the past. There’s no reason you can’t forego agitation for a few months. And the part’s perfect for you! No, not even that—the part requires you. I don’t know another singer could fill the role.”
An innocent smile came onto Gwendolyn’s face. “Oh, that can’t be true! Why, I hear these new singers for the Gesamtkunstwerkgenie put everyone else to shame.”
The Big Banjo’s eyes blazed. “That’s not singing! Bellowing, grunting—call it what you like, but don’t call it singing!”
Gwendolyn’s smile became angelic. “How you can say that? Why, the whole world’s waiting with bated breath for the grand opening of his new opera house next year. He’s a genius—no, that’s not quite right. He’s the genius of all time! Everyone says so.” Her smile now radiated holy beatitude. “They even say you’re learning a few tricks from him.”
The Big Banjo shot to his feet like a rocket. For a moment, he stood glaring down at Gwendolyn. Then, suddenly, he began to laugh.
“Yes, yes, it’s quite true. I’ve tried to keep it a secret, but it’s no use. I am a child at the feet of the master. But I fear I shall die of old age before he finishes the first act.”