Her Name Is Rose

by Christine Breen

  Iris spotted Conor in the now crowded auditorium. He was talking with a tall man she could only half see, his back was to her. Hector? Was he here? Her heart skipped. Conor saw her and nodded. The stranger in a white shirt and jean jacket turned.

  It wasn’t Hector.

  Iris swiftly scanned the crowded room. No Hector. Why hadn’t she asked Rose what he’d said? Had she told him about the concert? She couldn’t spot Rose, either. Where was she? Practicing? Was she anxious about the piece? Did I not put her at ease about playing?

  “Here we go.” Tess hurried back onstage and laid a gold cloth on the piano. “It’s the best I could find.” It had the name of the local drama group and their mascot, a greyhound, emblazoned in green. Tess laughed and stood back while Iris lifted the flowers and centered them on the piano.

  “Looks rather fab,” Tess said. “You did a good job. Don’t you think?” She checked her wristwatch.

  Iris didn’t answer.

  “Iris?”

  Movement down at the door had caught Iris’s eye. She let out a gasp and abruptly turned to face the back curtain of the stage.

  “Iris? What’s wrong?”

  “I have to get out of here,” she whispered.

  “What? Why?”

  Iris ducked past the piano, slipped through the curtain, and was gone.

  Tess quickly followed her into the women’s dressing room.

  “Something’s happened,” Iris said, “I tried to tell you earlier … at lunch. But … oh … I met someone in Boston. He’s here. Rose met him. He came to the house when you and I were at lunch. He’s been to my house, Tess.… And now … he’s here!”

  “Okay. Okay. Calm down.”

  “Tess! I don’t … he’s here … and I don’t—”

  “It’s all right. Slow down.” Tess’s hands were waving up and down like she was softly combing the air. “Breathe.”

  Iris blew air at the ceiling.

  “Did you know he was coming?”

  “No!”

  “So he just—”

  “Followed me.”

  “Wow. I mean—”

  “What should I do?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  Iris brought her hands to her face and felt the heat there. She shook her head and said, “I don’t know.”

  Tess laughed. “You poor thing.”

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Okay. Sorry. But listen. You can’t leave. You have to hear Rose and Conor. Wait until most of the seats are taken. Before the music is about to start, which is in a few minutes! Slip out and take your seat. Easy peasy. I’ve put a reserved sign on our chairs anyway. At the front.” She squeezed Iris’s hand. “I’ll mind you.”

  Somebody had bumped into the drum set onstage and set the cymbals clanging. It made Iris jump. “Where is Rose?”

  “She’s probably tuning up.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Tess checked her watch again. “I’ve got to get back to the front and help with the raffle tickets. You’ll be all right, pet.” At the door, Tess turned around. “What’s he look like?”

  Iris gave her a helpless look.

  “Gorgeous? Tall?”

  “Tess!”

  When Tess had gone, Iris caught herself in the dressing room mirror and sighed. She paced the room, casting her eyes about and listening for sounds of someone approaching. She hoped any moment Rose would come. The door opened and closed, but it was only the musicians gathering in the next dressing room. She heard Italian spoken and laughter rising from children running in front of the stage. It was time for the concert to start.

  She stayed in the curtained wings, determined not to look out, but she couldn’t help herself. The community center was packed, every seat taken. Long benches had been carried in from the local school and placed up along the side walls. Rows of twenty seats now took twenty-five. The buzz of chat and shuffling noises of chairs and shoes and coughs and children’s squeals built around the auditorium.

  She looked out into the faces, but she couldn’t see Hector’s. What was she feeling? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t pinpoint it but it felt something like a mortified schoolgirl might feel. If he wasn’t so … so Hawaiian shirt!

  For a moment her eyes locked on the man with whom Conor had been speaking. He was walking toward a seat at the back but looking directly at her. She lowered her eyes and went down the stairs and slid into one of the empty chairs at the front marked “reserved.” She held her hands in her lap and tried to be still and silent and invisible and studied the program notes.

  A few moments later she felt someone standing in front of her.

  “Mrs. Bowen. Hey. Exciting, isn’t it? Can’t wait to play with Rose.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m sure, Conor. Where is she, though, I wanted to speak with her.”

  “She said she needed to clear her head. She drove down the road to the beach. Took Gerty. I mean, my van. She should be back soon.” Conor paused, eyeing the auditorium. “No worries. We’re not playing till after the intermission.”

  “She used to go there with her father,” Iris said quietly. “To the White Strand. Just the two of them.”

  “Ohhhh. Right. I didn’t know … okay. I’ll wait for her by the door so.” As he walked away he pulled out his phone.

  Tess was hurrying up the aisle. She had the metal cash box with her. “Great crowd! Isn’t it just mad?” She sat down, leaned in to Iris, and whispered, “Did you see him yet?”

  Iris shook her head. “I’m not looking!”

  “Right.” Tess turned her head around but Iris grabbed her arm.

  “Don’t. Please.”

  Something onstage caught their attention. A group of young men in tuxedos in various states of wear came on carrying a bass, guitar, and violin. The man with the electric guitar introduced them as Tuxedo Jazz.

  “Oh, they’re cute,” Tess said. Iris nodded, but she was only half listening. They started playing. Tess rocked to the beat of the bass. Iris closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the violin part. And before she knew it, the piece was over.

  Tess nudged her and whispered, “You okay, pet?”

  “Not really. And where’s Rose?”

  Tess’s eyes swept the audience and she gave a little wave and turned back.

  “She’s at the back. Look over your shoulder to the left of the door.”

  There was Rose standing with Conor. She seemed all right. In her brief scan of the audience she hadn’t seen Hector. It gave her time to think. For an encore the Tuxedo Jazz group played “Sweet Georgia Brown” and behind Iris someone was singing. It seemed as if half the audience was singing or humming and tapping their feet. Iris relaxed a moment and felt lifted, slightly. Rose was there. Okay.

  Maybe Hector had left.

  Maybe she had only imagined him. And in that moment, when she felt somewhere deep inside a swelling warmth, she realized she did want to see him.

  When Tuxedo Jazz finished, they bowed and the crowd clapped wildly. It was as if their jazz was an exotic thing that landed in West Clare only once in a blue moon. It lifted the audience and with it came a greater freedom in their lives, if only for that evening. At the intermission the back doors were opened and evening sunshine spilled in. Some of the audience stood and chatted and some went out for cigarettes and some over to Tubridy’s for a pint before the second half. Three women started through the audience selling Tess’s raffle tickets. First prize was a dinner for two at the Doonbeg Lodge. Second prize was a family ticket for Bunratty Castle Folk Park and third prize was a wash, cut, and blow-dry at Peter Marks in Ennis.

  “You want first prize,” Tess whispered. “I need third.” And she stuck two tickets into Iris’s hand.

  The two women stood and stayed where they were facing the stage. Rose and Conor came toward them. Rose had changed into a black dress and her hair was pulled back. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and she looked tired, her mother thought.

  Tess said, “Rose,
you look wonderful.”

  “Yeah, super,” said Conor.

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  “Um. Yeah, I guess. I’m fine.” She looked down. “A little nervous maybe.” Conor put his arm on her bare shoulder and she faced him, but in moving, his arm slipped off as she seemed to intend. “Who was that man you were speaking to when I came back?”

  “The white shirt guy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s the guy I told you about. He picked me up when my van broke and brought me to your house. I gave him a ticket. You should have come over. I wanted to introduce you. Nice guy. American. Golfer, he said.”

  “Oh, that was him? Nice,” Rose said distractedly.

  “Seems it’s the day for meeting the Yanks, hey?” said Conor.

  Only Tess laughed and when she did Iris darted her a look.

  “Okay, then. I’ll leave you all for a bit,” Tess said to Iris. “Better check on what trouble my boys are into,” and to Rose and Conor added, “I’m so looking forward to hearing you play.” As she darted off she crossed two fingers on both hands and held them up. “Best of luck!”

  “Rose?” said Conor. “White shirt guy? I sort of told him all about you. He was superimpressed. He said he’d love to meet you one day. He gave me this.” Conor reached into his pocket. “He said to give it to you … some sort of good luck charm.” He dropped a little silver coin into Rose’s hand.

  She turned it over. “What is it?”

  “Old money. It’s got a hare and harp on it.”

  Rose handed it to Iris.

  “It’s an old Irish threepenny piece,” her mother said after a few seconds and handed it back.

  “He said he hoped it would bring you luck.”

  “That’s kind of random,” Rose said. “Nice, but random.”

  “Luck sometimes is. Isn’t it, Mrs. Bowen? I mean, Iris.”

  Iris smiled.

  “He told me he wanted to be a musician himself. Hadn’t worked out for some reason. He said he was hopeful you’d have a wonderful career, though.”

  Rose looked at both sides of the coin, at the hare and the harp, and then slipped it into the pocket of her dress. She looked around at the crowd as if to see him, to even thank him perhaps, Iris thought, as recognition crossed her daughter’s face.

  “Hey, Mum, isn’t that your new friend, Hector? Over there?” She pointed.

  Without thinking Iris turned to look, diagonally to the far side of the room.

  There.

  “Oh. He’s seen us,” Rose whispered.

  Hector came gingerly toward them, excusing himself as he weaved though the audience, his head nearly a foot above most of them.

  There was no way out unless Iris made a show of herself. Rose sensed her mother’s disturbance, as if somehow the very air in the room was changed and she could feel her steadying against it. She stepped forward as Hector approached.

  “Hello, Mr. Sherr.”

  “Hello. Hello, Rose.” He carried a bouquet of flowers. He’d acknowledged Conor with a nod but he looked directly at Iris. “Hello, Iris.” He laughed self-consciously. “I had to see you again.” He spoke as if they were the only two there. “I’m sorry, I just had to.”

  Iris felt she had fallen off the world, or into it. She couldn’t tell. She had too many feelings scrambling for her attention and no thoughts for any of them. Except one, the understanding that she couldn’t deny she was happy to see him. Hector. Hector Sherr. Mr. Jazz Piano Man was standing in the Doonbeg Community Center in the middle of the west of Ireland.

  “Rosie?” Conor said, nudging her. “We’d better get—”

  “Mum?”

  Iris found herself looking from one to the other. Then to Hector: “You’ve met Rose … she’s playing … with … with…”

  “Conor,” Hector said. Iris looked surprised. “I saw it on the program.” He turned to Rose. “Yeah, you’re performing one of my favorite pieces.” He handed her the flowers. “Good luck.”

  “Two good luck tokens in one evening. You must be on to a winner,” Conor said.

  “Thanks. Thanks, Mr. Sherr.” Rose’s expression showed she was somewhere between bewildered and bemused. She took a deep breath and let it out with a long, slow whoosh. She gave her mother the flowers and hurried up the stage steps with Conor and disappeared behind the curtains, leaving Iris somewhat thunderstruck and standing alone beside the tall, tanned man in the colorful shirt with his fair, midlength hair behind his ears, like wings, and his eyes sympathetic and glad.

  “May I sit with you?” he asked.

  Iris nodded and sat down with the flowers on her lap. Hector took the seat to her left.

  Tess suddenly reappeared and, without batting an eye, seeing her seat was taken, sat down on the floor alongside some children seated in front of them. They giggled and Tess shushed them.

  Tess’s husband, Sean, introduced the second half of the evening as being devoted to duets, and then acknowledged the great work of the volunteer committee. He announced the winners of the raffle and thanked the sponsors, saying it couldn’t be done without them.

  “And if anyone has a free seat, would they be so kind as to give it over to my wife, the tireless Countessa, who’s sitting down there on the floor!” The audience laughed and a few shouts went up and Sean said, “There, Tess, at the back. Thank the good man and let the music begin.” They all watched as Tess got up and spiritedly jogged her way to the seat vacated by the man in a white shirt and jean jacket who moved to the back wall of the auditorium.

  First up was a jazz version of “As Time Goes By”—on violin accompanied by harmonica. Hector turned briefly but Iris refused to look at him or anyone and kept her eyes straight ahead. The duet of two young musicians, a teenage boy on harmonica and a young woman in her early twenties on a blue electric fiddle, began. By the end of the first verse Hector was humming. Dear God, he’s humming. And then he started singing, softly, though.

  Iris knew the words, too. The facts of life …

  Hector then put his hand on top of hers. He stopped singing.

  She closed her eyes but faced slightly toward him, and she let her hand be covered until the end of the piece. Then she slipped it away to clap with the rest of the audience.

  * * *

  For Rose to perform in front of the local community was not in and of itself a challenge. She was used to playing in front of audiences. Iris watched the first duo leave the stage, then Conor and Rose appeared. They stood side by side. A cold sweat broke out on Iris’s forehead. The audience stopped clapping. An expectant hush hung in the air.

  Conor bowed, lifted his fiddle up under his neck, and brought his bow to the strings. He began with the musical introduction, playing the way into the piece for Rose. She stood with her violin and bow hanging. She caught her mother’s eye and in a single flowing movement took a step back and lifted her violin. She rested it on her shoulder and settled her chin into the rest. Her bow arm still hung at her side but it was already moving in time. Then she lifted her bow and joined Conor.

  There are some people in the world whose presence is such that when they stand before you, whether in conversation, or performance, or whatever, they are met with awe. Rose’s presence onstage commanded this attention. And she was beautiful. It wasn’t just Iris’s imagination that the audience hushed as she played. It was like there was always this secret part of her daughter that only achieved perfect expression through her playing. Her bow arm was flawlessly positioned. Her violin was held high and her elbow was angled exactly the way Andreas had taught her.

  Iris felt her heart expand beneath her breast as if something was let go and there was more room in her, wide and free, and she felt like encompassing everything and everyone. The pink light coming through the windows. The raffle sellers paused in counting money. The children with their noisy snack wrappers. The blue guitar that won first prize (and the one that didn’t). The rapt countrymen. The coughers. The man in the white shirt. Her best fr
iend, Tess. Conor. And the man beside her. Hector Sherr.

  Sensing this easing in her, Hector started the quietest humming. Bluebirds fly … She turned to him, wanting to both smile and shush him.

  Then the music weakened.

  Onstage, Rose had lowered her bow. It was like she was frozen or dumbstruck, or had she lost the notes? The audience paused with her. Iris caught her breath. She knew that pose of Rose’s: At any moment she would burst. Tears streaming. Body shaking.

  Hector turned to Iris. “What’s wrong?”

  Iris kept her eyes on her daughter and opened them wider as if to say, It’s all right. Everything is all right. Conor continued playing but he, too, looked at Rose, his eyebrows raised questioningly and turned slightly away from the audience to face her. Rose was starting to shake.

  “May I?” Hector asked.

  “What?”

  “I know this version.”

  Iris didn’t know what to say. But now Hector Sherr was standing and in his long-legged stride was hopping up the steps two at a time. Within seconds he was seated at the piano with the watering can full of flowers on top. Conor had slowed the tune, pulled the melody into melancholy, but he had kept it going. He was waiting for her but Rose was riveted to her spot, looking down to her mother. Iris was nodding her head and mouthing the words all mothers know, and all have said, after every fall down and disappointment and heartbreak: It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. Go on …

  And then Hector played. Joined right in with Conor.

  At first Rose didn’t react. So Hector played a jazzy solo. Conor moved toward her and exaggerated his own playing, encouraging her to join in. And finally Rose shifted gears and came back to the moment, to herself. She returned to the melody. Even Iris’s centerpiece came alive, the lime flowers of lady’s mantle pulsing as Hector’s fingers beat the piano keys.