The Strange Case of the Composer and His Judge by Patricia Duncker

Author:Patricia Duncker [Duncker, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Popular Novels
Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
Published: 2010-10-24T20:00:00+00:00

9

GREEN THOUGHT

They passed into the house and down a cool corridor with silent doors to the right and left. At the far end the Judge saw an oblong square of bright light. A cool rush of air, sucked out of the dark caverns in the house, swept stealthily towards this distant white space. Marie-T held out her hand, childish, confiding.

‘Mind, there are always old boots and gardening tools in the corridor. Maman’s things. I can’t bear to clear them up.’

She clasped Dominique Carpentier with a simplicity and tenderness, which startled and moved the Judge; this girl too was an Israelite in whom there was no guile, and here was her naked demand, to be recognised and loved. Together they stepped carefully towards the light. Suddenly they traversed a vast cold space. By now the Judge was used to the cavernous emptiness of the Domaine, but here she paused and looked around. The giant fireplace yawned black and void, empty of grates, logs, fire irons. The bare walls soared upwards into darkness. There were windows facing south, tightly shuttered. She felt the smooth uneven cold of the flagstones oozing through her soft leather soles. This must be the Great Hall. Her companion paused and turned; Marie-T’s face gleamed like a pale oval portrait in the gloom.

‘Yes, this is where my grandfather always held the New Year’s Ball. The orchestra sat up in that gallery at the other end. We still call it the hayloft. I think this used to be the barn when the mas consisted of nothing but farm buildings.’

They stood side by side in the hushed cold.

‘I danced here. With Myriam.’

‘Would you dance with me?’ The jealous smallness of the voice emerged not from a woman, but a child. The Judge peered up at Marie-T, startled. Then she laughed.

‘But of course.’ The Judge bowed before the pale sad face and held out her arms.

‘Can you waltz? Remember – your grandfather was a gentleman. We weren’t allowed to rock and roll. We had to dance like ladies.’

The Judge watched Marie-T smother her surprise. The girl stood ready to be placed in position, like a stiff, musical doll about to dance on top of an antique wind-up box.

‘I lead,’ commanded the Judge.

And there in the cool and massive dark of the empty hall she swept the girl off in a huge silent arc beneath the bare musicians’ gallery, past the dark stacks of chairs and the great dusty drapes which rose almost to the roof, and then fell in swathes of moth-ridden velvet to the stone floor. They crossed a solid blade of white light flung down from one unshuttered square just beneath the eaves, which sliced the flagstones like a spotlight. Dominique Carpentier suddenly identified the radiance on her partner’s face. Marie-T had seen her dance before, and had longed to be chosen.

The moment passed. They slithered to a halt, laughing, embarrassed and a little out of breath.

‘It’s much easier to keep time with the orchestra.’ The Judge smiled in the darkness.

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