by Shoshi
natural—more like husky. “Man, this is so awful, this place,” he said.
“I’m used to it,” said his dad. ““Sort of. Five more months and I’m out of here. I’ll make it. How are the kids—and your mom?”
“Everybody’s fine.”
“Your mom making the rent?”
“So far. I’ll be working at the station this summer.”
“Good boy.” His dad looked at him hard. “Mom says you’re doing fine in school—but you daydream. Got to get practical, kid. Stop pretending so much.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“There’s no magic out there—except what lawyers do. That’s why I got sent down for only a year. That guy was fabulous.”
“I know, Dad. You want me to be a lawyer.”
“Either that or join the circus. They’re into magic, too.”
Mathew hoped he was just joking.
• THREE •
“So what do you think, Carol?” said Mathew. “How much is a ducat worth?”
“I just don’t know,” she said. “We can ask Dad. He has visiting hours today.”
Her dad was a GP and conducted his practice out of a wing of their house. GP, she knew, meant “general practitioner”--a doctor who does everything. And, if he can’t handle it himself, he keeps a list of who to send you to.
Now they were standing in the yard outside her house on Tupelo Street. It was two stories high and painted a pale blue. “It used to be bluer,” she said, “but it’s been rained on a lot.”
“Which is your room?” he asked.
“It’s behind that window up there,” she said. “Dad’s office is just below me. He says he feels like the President does in the White House.” Mathew was puzzled. “They both live over the store.”
He thought about that one and laughed. “I never saw it that way before.”
Carol looked at him appraisingly. “You should become a doctor, Mat. You like sciencey stuff.”
“You’ve got to be a brain.”
“You aren’t as stupid as I keep saying.”
“Gee, thanks. Do you think he has time to talk to us?”
“He told me once: I always have time for you, Carol.”
“I guess he likes you.”
“Now and then he does.”
“Come on, girl, I’ll bet he actually loves you.” He already knew that Carol had a real thing for her dad. She thought he was the neatest dad there ever was.
“Maybe,” she said, “when he isn’t chewing me out.”
Mathew turned silent for a while. Carol guessed he was thinking about his own dad who left them when he was little and, then, years later came back. And now he was doing time. He didn’t know what it was like to be loved full-time by a dad---having a dad who cared enough about him to chew him out. He might actually like being chewed out, she thought. She knew he missed having him to grow up with. But she also knew it was a subject to stay away from. It was something he just didn’t like talking about. Meantime, his mom had a tough time making the rent.
They waited to see him in the waiting room. There was one patient ahead of them. “Paying customer,” said Mathew. “We’ll have to hang out.” He looked at a fan magazine and tossed it aside. “It’s February last year.”
“All doctors’ offices are like that,” she said. “They also have exactly the magazines you don’t want to read.”
“That way nobody steals them,” said Mathew grinning.
Suddenly, her dad was there. He looked trim and neat in his white coat with the stethoscope around his neck. Mathew had often wondered what it was like to be a doctor. Maybe Carol was right. He ought to become one some day. Forget about being a scientist or a lawyer. Everyone talking to you all the time in that you’re-the-expert-I’m-the-dumbie tone of voice. Not bad, all that respect laid on you every day. Plus all that money.
He’d spent a small pile on the waiting room. Really comfy chairs to sit in all around the room. Carol called them “go-to-sleep chairs.” Big widescreen TV. Big windows that looked out on a tree-lined street. Pretty nice.
He’d walked out to see them. “What’s up, Carol?” he asked and gave her an I’m-thinking-of-something-else kiss on the top of her head. “This won’t take long, will it? I’m kind of busy.” He smiled at Mathew. “Who’s your friend?”
“It’s Mathew, Dad. Remember? You met him at our party last fall. He plays drums in the band.”
He nodded vaguely and, smiling again, shook hands with Mathew—but it was obvious he did not remember.
Carol took in a breath and asked their big money question. “How much is a ducat in our money today?”
“That was the money Mozart used. Why do you want to know?”
He gave them a dark look that said: they brought me out here just to ask me that? Carol realized they didn’t have much of a reason for asking. She began to feel silly for bothering him during his business hours.
But Mathew was totally certain why they wanted to know. “We’re on our way to see him,” he said unsmilingly. “We might need some ducats on the trip.”
Carol’s dad looked at him for a long beat, wondering if he could be even half-way serious. But he had to admit it made him curious so he decided to play along. “I’m trying not to smile,” he said. “Carol does love to pretend. I know that. I guess you do, too. Well, I happen to know the answer to your question. One ducat was equal to about $4.40 in today’s money. I figured it out once. Of course, they’re worth a great deal more now. That’s because they’re extinct. Collectors pay big bucks for them.”
“So how much does that mean he made off the Requiem, Dad?”
“Not much. Less than five hundred bucks.”
“I’ll make more than that baby-sitting this summer,” she said. “How could they pay him so little? He was a genius.” She was shocked.
“They promised him more,” said her dad. “But, of course, he never got it because he didn’t finish the thing.”
Everyone was silent for a moment. “How do you plan to get there?” he said, getting curious again about what exactly they were up to.
“We’re not sure yet,” said Carol hesitantly, “but we’re working on it. Mathew’s good at this. He’s got a couple of ideas.”
“I’d like to hear them,” said her dad.
“Well, I was reading that something that happened on earth long ago happens all over again if you go far enough out in space and look back. It’s like you’re on Planet X and watching the light waves of a movie that took 200 years to get there. We could actually watch this guy composing a concerto.”
“Well, not quite,” said her dad. “Those light waves get really scattered out in space. You won’t get a nicely focused picture---but I like your idea. You’ve also got to figure out how to get out there.” He chuckled. “Sounds like a lot of time travel.”
“It won’t be easy,” said Mathew
“Just keep us informed, Carol,” her dad said. “Your mom and I like to know where you are.” He looked at them and shook his head slowly. Might as well turn this into an educational exercise, he thought to himself. “You should read up on Mozart before you drop in on him. He’ll think better of you if you know something about his music and the time in which he lived. I’ve got some new books about him you can borrow. Some old ones, too---in my library. “
“Right,” said Mathew. “Got to do that.” Trying to sound like maybe they’d done some research already, he added: “Carol says on his last day he was rehearsing something important with a bunch of his friends.”
“It was the Requiem,” her Dad said with an indulgent smile.
“Yeah, that was it.”
“Who were they—the other musicians?” she asked. “We should know their names---in case. Well, you never know.”
“I’d have to look it up again to be sure. I know one of them was his brother-in-law. Another was Benedict Schack, who had a big re
p as an opera singer. He sang the lead in one of Mozart’s operas.” He looked at them quizzically. “Why exactly do you need to know all this detail?”
Without hesitation, Mathew said: “Because we’re going to drop in on their rehearsal. Right, Carol?”
Her dad raised his eyebrows. “So you actually want to be there. It’s not just you watching from outer space.”
“Yeah, Dad.” She hesitated before saying what they really had in mind. “We want to get him to finish the Requiem.” Then, she added: “We want to bring you a copy.”
Her dad seemed almost to crumple for a moment. “Oh, Carol, that would be the greatest present anyone ever gave me.” He shook his head. ‘You know how I feel about Mozart. The Requiem’s super even unfinished. Some people think it’s best thing he ever wrote. Imagine how super super it’d be if he’d actually completed it.” He thought about it. “Now you’ve got me daydreaming, too.” Suddenly he frowned. “Hey, you two. You know what tomorrow is? It’s December 5th, the day he died! If you’re going to get to him, it better be soon. That was the last day he worked on the Requiem.”
Carol and Mathew looked at each other and sagged a little. “You mean he died the next day?” said Carol.
Dr. Pindler nodded. Just then a nurse showed up and told him a patient was waiting for him. It meant he had to leave them.
“See you for dinner, honey,” he said, a small smile playing around his mouth. “Nice talking to you, Mathew. Sort of fun pretending, isn’t it? Tell him hello---if you meet up with him.” A big smile now. “I’d like to meet him myself. He’s an absolute