Roman Song

by Brian Kennedy

  Brendan punched him in the face. ‘Don’t you ever speak about Amelia that way again!’ he shouted.

  Alfredo slumped on the toilet seat, clutching his eye, half hysterical. ‘I didn’t mean it - I’m sorry - Jesus, you didn’t have to attack me!’ He pushed Brendan out of the way with a sudden burst of strength and fled to his room, locking the door.

  Brendan chased after him and pounded on the door. ‘Alfredo, let me in! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you so hard. Please, let me in!’ ‘Leave me alone!’Alfredo shouted. ‘Just get out and leave me alone!’ Brendan sat on the floor outside Alfredo’s room, not knowing what to do next. The gondolier, who he had completely forgotten, shouted up the stairs, ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Brendan called. ‘Ill only be another minute.’

  He got up off the floor and tried one more time, speaking quietly through the crack where the door met the frame. ‘Alfredo, will you please let me in? I’m sorry I lost my temper. I haven’t hit anyone since I was in school, but you were so rude about Amelia... Alfredo, Jesus, I had no idea you were so unhappy about...about all of that. I’m sorry. Look, I know everything has changed, but you said it yourself: it’s not like anyone planned any of this.’

  All Alfredo would say in response was, ‘Go away, you bastard. Leave me alone.’

  ‘Ah, Alfredo, don’t be like that. How many times can I apologise? We’re going to have to talk sooner or later. I’m so sorry that I hit you, okay? Believe me, I’m sorry.’

  Alfredo wouldn’t reply. After a long time, he heard the front door shut. He put his head in his hands. He didn’t know what time it was when he finally fell asleep.

  When Alfredo woke the next morning, in his own room, he almost managed to convince himself that the whole episode with Brendan had been a bad dream - until he found the soiled sheets in the bathroom and almost vomited again. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He would have to face Brendan sometime; there was a show that night. Their awful exchange replayed itself over and over in Alfredo’s head. He couldn’t believe he’d let those words leave his mouth. He was normally so careful, even when drunk. His face still hurt, his throat was raw and he saw that the skin under his left eye had begun to bruise badly.

  He forced himself under a cold shower as a kind of punishment for his stupid behaviour, especially for what he’d said about Amelia. After the cold water had shocked his skin as much as he could bear, his head gradually began to clear, although the dread was still firmly parked in the pit of his stomach.

  As he started down the stairs, he could hear Marla humming away to herself. He took a deep breath and found her on the porch at a table that was laid with enough food for half the cast.

  She looked up from her newspaper and then threw it down dramatically. ‘Oh my God, Alfredo, what happened to your eye? You look terrible.’

  He had momentarily forgotten about his black eye, but he managed an instant lie. ‘I was so drunk after that party that I tripped on the steps. I hit my face on the door handle.’

  Marla gave him a suspicious look. ‘Well, it’s a miracle you didn’t lose an eye. Let me get you some of my special ointment.’ Before he could argue, she had gathered herself up and was gone. Alfredo poured himself some strong coffee and flinched as the hot liquid travelled down his raw throat. He tried singing a single long, deep note. Although it had a rough edge, he knew it would be in better shape in time for that evening’s performance.

  Marla returned with her ointment and got him to lean his head back while she applied the thick cream to the area below his eye. ‘Here,’ she said, placing the tube in his palm. ‘Put it on every hour or so. And don’t worry about the performance. I’ll get my makeup artist to work her magic on you.’

  They sat in silence for a while. ‘Why is there so much food, Marla?’ Alfredo asked finally. ‘We’re the only ones who’ll be here for lunch, aren’t we?’

  ‘Brendan phoned earlier. He and Amelia are due to arrive here - any minute, actually - for a special lunch of some kind. He says he has something he wants to ask us. Obviously it can’t wait until tonight. Do you have any idea what it might be?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘I mean, what else could they possibly spring on us?’

  The blurred scene in the bathroom replayed itself in Alfredo’s mind like a bad film on fast-forward, and he remembered that Brendan had said something about a best man. He broke into a cold sweat. ‘I have no idea what Brendan is up to,’ he said as calmly as he could. ‘If only I’d known earlier, I would have stayed for lunch, but I already have plans. I’m meeting someone in town, and I have no way of contacting them to cancel.’

  Marla eyed him again. ‘My goodness, Alfredo, what a lot of intrigue there is in the air today.’

  He stretched his sore back as he stood up. ‘Oh Marla, it’s really nothing to worry about. I’ll see you all tonight. Have a pleasant lunch, won’t you? Apologise for me, if you would be so kind.’

  She knew from his determined, polite tone not to press him. She watched him drain the coffee cup too quickly before practically running out the door. He took an elaborate route to the city centre, avoiding the main street, where Brendan and Amelia nervously travelled towards the house.

  Brendan hadn’t intended to lie to Amelia, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her what had happened. He simply said that someone had poached his taxi while he was getting his clothes from the house and that it had taken him a while to find another. He convinced himself that everything would be better in the light of day.

  When they arrived at the house and Marla offered the excuse that Alfredo had given her, Brendan knew the real reason for Alfredo’s absence, but he put it out of his mind. He would have to deal with it later. ‘Well, Marla, my dear, I wanted to ask you both together, but our friend seems otherwise occupied. So, Amelia and I have something to ask you.’

  ‘Marla,’ Amelia said tentatively, ‘I know we’ve just met, really, and I know you’re busy with the opera, but...’ She glanced at Brendan for an extra bit of courage. ‘Well, I - I mean, we - would be thrilled if you would consider being my maid of honour. You see, I don’t have any family. You don’t have to answer now, and of course we’ll understand if you feel you can’t...’

  Marla hadn’t seen that one coming, and she suddenly envied and understood Alfredo’s distance. He must have known, she thought. She felt as if someone else was controlling her brain as she heard herself say, ‘I’d be delighted.’

  ‘Can I ask you one more favour?’ Brendan said. ‘I promise it’ll be the last thing I ask. Please?’

  Marla tried to smile. ‘Of course.’

  ‘We were wondering if you might consider wearing your final Tosca outfit at the service.’

  Marla did a double take and half-snorted a laugh. ‘What? Are you serious?’

  ‘I know it sounds a bit odd, but it symbolises so strongly how Amelia and I met. Will you think about it?’

  ‘Well, it’ll have to be cleared by the wardrobe department, and you know what they’re like.’

  Brendan grabbed her and swung her around, laughing. ‘It’s all coming together - it’s all coming together, Marla!’ He put her back down on her feet. She was dizzy and furious with herself for agreeing to further humiliation.

  When Brendan left Amelia and Marla in the garden and climbed the stairs, he discovered that his room had been cleaned to perfection, leaving no trace of the ugliness of the night before. He only wished the situation with Alfredo could have been fixed as easily.

  Alfredo had found himself outside a church at the edge of the oldest part of Venice. He had walked aimlessly for what seemed like hours and his head still throbbed. He entered the church and sat in the damp silence at the back of the tiny congregation. He pictured himself going back to the house, packing his things and then leaving the city without a word of goodbye to anyone. Then he wanted to kick himself for being so dramatic. He knew perfectly well that he couldn’t be so unprofessional. He wondered how he
was ever going to look Brendan in the face again.

  Slowly but surely, the panic and the hangover began to leave him as a small choir started to sing from the altar and a tiny priest hurled clouds of incense in his direction. The old man kept his eyes shut, praying over and over for the long list of the dead. When Alfredo looked at his watch, he was surprised to see that it was nearly time to face the music. He had sat at the back of the church, in a kind of trance, for nearly two hours.

  As he walked back towards the house, he felt a sudden calm take him over. He would stay for the end of the run, only two days away, then leave Venice as quickly as he could.

  Marla was waiting in the river taxi, and he immediately knew from her face that something had happened. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Alfredo,’ she demanded, ‘before you conveniently disappeared and left me to face them both on my own? You could have at least warned me!’

  Alfredo, assuming that she was talking about the fight with Brendan, could hardly breathe. How much had Brendan told her - how much had he told Amelia? Probably everything. ‘I’m sorry for the mess upstairs,’ he stammered. ‘I didn’t plan to get so drunk. Oh God, Marla, it’s a fucking nightmare. I’m sure he didn’t mean to black my eye. It was my fault. If only I hadn’t insulted Amelia if only I hadn’t tried to kiss him...’ Alfredo covered his face as the tears began to pour out of his eyes. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his jacket. When he looked up at Marla he was half-expecting some sort of compassion, but her horrified, bewildered expression told him she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He dropped his gaze to his shoes, suddenly mortified. The driver had probably heard every word.

  Marla came to her senses and took his hand. ‘Alfredo, oh my God,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know what to say. I was angry because they came to lunch to ask if I would be their maid of honour - can you believe it? A maid, me? — and I thought you knew. I thought you hadn’t told me on purpose. Oh, my poor friend - I had no idea you were so unhappy, or that you felt.. .that way towards Brendan.’

  Alfredo didn’t know where to look. He managed a weak smile. ‘Oh Marla, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they wanted you to be the maid of honour. I don’t know how I’m going to face them. He must have told Amelia what I said, and what I tried to.. .do.’

  Marla squeezed his hand. ‘We’ll face them together. Look, we’re nearly there. Come straight to make-up; no one must see those bruises. What a beast to do that to you.’

  ‘Well, I was very rude about her.’

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing. I’ll bet you he hasn’t told her a single word about your argument. Why would he? There wasn’t a single mention of it over lunch. Mark my words: even though he’s been a stranger to us lately, he’ll be very glad to see you tonight.’

  Brendan and Amelia had spent that afternoon going through the wedding preparations with Constance, who was so overheated with excitement that she had to keep fanning herself. Brendan was glad of the chance to stop thinking about what had happened with Alfredo, but his friend’s vulnerable face floated before his mind’s eye, over and over. I love you, Brendan, I always have.. . I can’t help the way I feel... Oh God, I’ve been in love with you from the second we met.. .Amelia asked what was troubling him, but he smiled when he saw her worried face and assured her that he was just tired and that nothing was the matter.

  When he kissed her goodbye, she whispered in his ear, ‘Don’t forget to ask Alfredo to be your best man, will you?’

  Brendan laughed. ‘Of course not, my love. I’ll have to pick my moment, though. He’s been so tired lately.’

  There was a river taxi waiting near the ship, and he reached the stage door with five minutes to spare before the vocal warmup began.

  Marla’s make-up woman had done a good job on Alfredo. As he headed back down the stairs, with his bruise temporarily camouflaged, he was surprised at how much better he felt - until he almost collided with Brendan on the landing. Brendan instinctively caught him by the arm and laughed nervously. Alfredo looked at the floor, but when Brendan saw the obvious make-up, he moved his hand towards the swelling.

  Alfredo pulled away. ‘You’re not going to hit me again, are you?’ Brendan looked up and down the hallway in desperation. ‘Oh Alfredo, my dearest friend, I never meant to hurt you like that. You just shocked me and made me angry, and I lashed out. I’m not proud of myself, and I’ve thought of nothing else since it happened. Please forgive me, Alfredo. I’m truly sorry.’

  He reached for his friend again and stroked the side of his head. Alfredo closed his eyes, too late, as one Judas tear escaped and ran down his lowered face. His heart was racing. The two men both tried to speak at once, tripping over each other’s thoughts. Then Brendan raised his voice. ‘Alfredo, please, let me finish.’

  ‘If you must.’

  ‘I’m in love with Amelia, Alfredo, and I know you know what that feels like. I can never share the feelings you have for me - not ever. It’s just not who I am. I’ve always thought you were the brother I never had, and that’s love, even if it’s not the love you want. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. I’m flattered, if that means anything.’

  Sadness overtook Alfredo. He looked away and swallowed hard.

  ‘Alfredo, please. Oh God, this is so hard. We missed you at lunch today - we came over specially to ask you.. .we would like you to consider being my best man. That’s how much you mean to us.’

  All Alfredo could hear was We, we, we...

  ‘Will you even consider it? Can we let what happened between us stay between us? It’s no one else’s business - I haven’t said a word to Amelia.’

  Alfredo managed to hold his gaze for a second. ‘Marla knows everything. It came out by accident.’

  ‘What? Oh, shit. I’d better have a word with her then. She’s agreed to be Amelia’s maid of honour. That’s why it would be so perfect if you were at my side too, do you see? Will you think about it? Don’t say anything now, just let me know when you’re ready, will you?’

  Alfredo was thinking how clueless and insensitive Brendan could be, but he heard himself say, ‘I’ll think it over.’ All he wanted to do was end the conversation.

  Brendan reached across and hugged him quickly. The call for the vocal warm-up came through the tannoy system, breaking the moment. As Brendan ran down the stairs, Alfredo stayed in the same position for a moment, as if he were still being hugged by an invisible force. His heart felt far more badly bruised than his eye.

  ★

  The show only seemed to benefit from all of the high drama backstage. Alfredo was glad to be the cruel Scarpia - having Brendan arrested and pulling his hair back roughly gave him a kind of thrill - and the audience was particularly responsive to his dark, threatening performance. He avoided Brendan’s eyes at all costs.

  After the performance, Alfredo got changed at lightning speed and told the river taxi just to wait for Marla, as he had other plans. The abandoned tourist gondolas were his only audience as he moved slowly through the quiet Venetian laneways. He wandered the floating city, every window shuttered above the now-silent shops and cafés. The quiet was eerie. The very buildings seemed to halt their creaking gossip, waiting for him to leave. The canal trickled, the hollow gondolas nudged each other, even the legions of tiny dogs that wandered freely during the day knew that the barking hour was over.

  On and on he walked, feeling like some kind of vampire, damned to wander the watery world alone. He stopped to look up the canal from the great wooden bridge. The night-varnished surface of the water was only momentarily unsettled by the occasional police boat moving up and down. When Alfredo looked upwards, there wasn’t a star in the sky, but there was a certain ship silhouetted on the horizon. His legs wobbled, and a few tears tried to escape his eyes without being noticed. He found a step and sat down to rest.

  There was a heaviness in his heart, and he unconsciously placed his hand over it to check that it was still beating. As he did, he felt another weight in his breast pocket and sudden
ly remembered that he had brought his silver brandy flask. As he unearthed it and took a comforting sip, he imagined some other poor creature, somewhere in the world, doing and feeling exactly the same thing. He raised his flask in a toast of unrequited solidarity, and drank the rest of the brandy in one swallow.

  When he finally reached the house, it was in darkness. Alfredo went upstairs and slipped into the best sleep he had had for weeks. He had made a final decision about what to do next.

  The next morning, Alfredo went into a travel agency and changed his ticket. He would leave for Rome at six o’clock in the morning, the day after the final performance of Tosca.

  The Teatro la Fenice was full to capacity for the final performance. Rowers were arriving from all over the city. Backstage was like a Christmas celebration, with decorations adorning every possible surface and various members of the cast passing around programmes to be signed and treasured for decades to come. Alfredo had bought special last-night gifts for all his favourite people, as was the custom. He gave Marla and Brendan exquisite sets of Venetian crystal champagne glasses, which he had his dresser place in their respective dressing rooms. In his own, he found similar packages from his co-stars: crystal candlesticks from Marla and an ornate bejewelled mask from Brendan and Amelia. Brendan had also wanted to buy Alfredo something to make up for the fight, but he hadn’t been able to find him. He had no way of knowing that he had walked right past the travel agency where Alfredo was booking his escape.

  Brendan tried to talk to Alfredo in private that last evening, but Alfredo made sure he was never on his own before the curtain came up. Brendan did find a little bit of comfort in the fact that Alfredo seemed to be in better spirits, smiling broadly and even laughing with the house manager. Marla had also noticed that Alfredo seemed more at ease with himself, but she attributed it to the coming end of their long, exhausting run. Brendan simply thought that it meant he had put everything into perspective and was going to be his best man after all.