Musician

  At the station the man at the barrier would not accept her ticket. Susan was late, as usual, and she could see the train standing ready at the platform. Finally she was let through and ran to the train, only to hear the whistle blow and the train put on speed as it left the station. "Oh bother," she said loudly, She had bought a ticket for Die Zauberflöte for her birthday money, and today was to be the day. She had pestered her mum and dad until she was allowed to go to Copenhagen alone by train to see the opera at the Royal Theatre. And now that stupid man ... Suddenly the loudspeakers announced an extra train for Copenhagen Central station leaving in five minutes due to many passengers from Sweden. Susan ran to the announced platform, the one furthest away of course, but  this time she made it on board the train just before the whistle blew.
  The overture had already begun as Susan entered the theatre. Of course her seat was at the interior of a row; with a lot of whispered sorry's and excuse me, please's, she finally found her seat and sat down.
  From the first minute Susan was captivated by the happenings on the stage. It was not a modern staging. Susan was happy, she loved the oldfashioned, long skirts of Pamina and her companions, and Papageno in lederhosen and Papagena in dirndl were just as she had imagined them.
  During one of the didactic, and therefore boring interludes, Susan's thoughts returned to the first time she heard those wonderful songs. As so often before she was at the library, the big, new one near the park, where one of the attractions was a long row of listening stations. You found a record, told the nice man or lady which listening station you sat at, and then you could enjoy the music by holding the two handsets pressed to your ears. In desperation over the choice of music by her contemporaries, she had found Die Zauberflöte in the back of one of the rows, and listened to it. She was forced to hand over the listening station before she was through, as her time was up. But she brought the records, four in all, home and listened to them when she was alone in the attic. She had seen the opera on TV as well, but she always had dreamt of seeing it in the theatre.

In the break Susan walked quietly around the foyer, studying all the photos and paintings of the famous singers, conductors and ballet dancers who had ever guested the Royal Theatre. The bell rang and called them back to the magic of the stage.

   The mythology of the play, with masons, trials and wows went over her head, but the big arias, sung in German, by a basso, a giant of a man, able to reach notes resounding deep down in Susan's stomach, and the almost ear piercing soprano notes of the Queen of the night, were just as exquisite as she had imagined. And Papageno was just as charming, toe-curlingly naive and clumsy as he should be. His light banter with an old, decrepit wife, his beloved Papagena in disguise, was the kind of love affair, Susan liked. The haughty, almost cool play between Tamino and Pamina did not fascinate her half as much.
The ending, with Papageno and Papagena's comical duet producing more and more small Papagenos and Papagenas made her laugh, not loud, but loud enough to make some near sitting stuffy persons look askance at her.

  It was late, but Susan was used to being out and about all alone, the night was not cold, and not a wind moved. All the way home in the train she sat still, looking out of the window at the moon, imagining the cruel Queen descending, or softly humming to herself: Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja ..

  An instinct made her turn as she reached the short cut leading from the station to the main street. Somebody was following her, she was sure. It was nothing new, she looked young and naive, and it was not the first time someone had tried stealing either her money or her virginity. She regretted the fact that her wand lay at home in the hidey hole beneath the lose floorboard. She had to handle this in another fashion. Let it not be some witch or wizard, Susan prayed, just an ordinary idiot.

***

  Susan walked a bit faster, just a bit. She was not far from home, only a kilometre or so, and she was fully able to run the whole way if necessary. But first she wanted to be sure she was followed. The other person walked faster as well. Susan crossed the road and turned a corner and looked behind her at the same time. A tall, gaunt person was the only one to be seen behind her. Somewhere she felt she had seen this figure before. Susan quickly turned into the bare, narrow alley. It was so narrow that she could not extend both arms all the way without touching the houses on both sides of the street. Her steps echoed and so did the irregular steps of her follower. As she reached the end of the old, narrow alley she turned left into the main street, and immediately left into another, slightly broader alley. Now she was hidden from the following person's view. She raced to the end of this alley and turned right toward home and safety. As she crossed the next intersection, she heard the steps behind her again, but further away. She crossed yet another street and heard music streaming out from a house further on. She followed the sound. The music came from Stellan's house, Outside she saw Laurids' antique motorbike. She ran to the green door and knocked. Nobody opened; she heard the uncertain steps coming down the street toward her and knocked once again louder this time. As the man was almost upon her, she knocked yet again. Still no reply. She panicked, opened the door, jumped into the hall, banging the door shut behind her and stood with her back to it, panting.
  The living room door opened and Stellan came out of it:  "Good evening Susan," he said. "I'm afraid we did not hear your knocking. We were playing. Do you want to join in?"
  "No, well, yes, maybe. But I do not have an instrument with me, or anything. I came home by train, and a man followed me from the railway station, I ran, and heard your music. I'm sorry for interrupting. He is outside, I'm afraid," Susan said hurriedly in one single fast breath. 
  "Don' be afraid," Stellan said, opening the door to an empty street, "he's gone now. And I'm happy for your interruption, Stellan said smiling. Me and Luke and lady Marion are trying to play this here song. We need a guitar, please join."
  "I'll have to borrow your phone first, then," Susan said half smiling. "Else Mum will worry, and I still haven't got my guitar."
  "Both no problems," Stellan said, "you know where it is. Throw a coin in the box next to it, as per house rules."
  Susan smiled and went into Stellan's study. She placed a coin in the box, and dialled home. Mum answered. "Hi Mum," Susan said. "I'll be home later, if I may. I ran into Stellan, you know, the photographer." "Yes the one from the House, he's having a jam session. Laurids and Marion are here as well, and a couple of others." "Ate something? no I didn't, I just arrived, but with a jam session going, I'm sure someone is manning the pot or the oven. I won't starve." "Promise. And maybe Laurids will take me home in the Contraption. I love riding it." "OK, Mum, Thank you. I'll take care and be quiet as a mouse, when I return." "Love you too."
  Susan returned to the living room, where Ulla and Jasper, Stellan's brother had joined in as well. Ulla sat in the sofa eating a bowl of stew.
  "Want some?" she asked Susan.
  "Yes please, your stew is famous."
  "Care for a beer as well?" Ulla asked.
  "No thanks. I don't like it," Susan answered.
  "Well then, I think we have only those bitter grapefruit soda pops left. We had a crate of mixed soda pops from the brewery yesterday,, but all the good ones are gone, I'm afraid."
  "I'll take a grapefruit one, it's better than beer, anyway," Susan answered. Everybody laughed at her facial expression.
  While she and Ulla ate, Stellan softly played the tune they were practising. It sounded Irish, but Susan never heard it before.
  "It's a new one," Stellan said, "we heard it in the House yesterday, when a band played there. Lady Marion, Jasper an I have tried to get it right all day, we haven't got a score or anything. Care to try anyway?
  "Yes," Susan said. "My aunt taught me to catch the chords from an accordion player. So if I sit to the left of Lady Marion, I think I can manage. She has a piano accordion not a button one like Laurids. I won't promise not to miss a few chords, or not play a wrong one now and then, but I'll do my best."
  "Catch the chords from the accordion!" Jasper said incredulously, "you can't do that."
  "Let her try,"  Laurids said. "Here, have my guitar, and do you best."
  Susan emptied the grapefruit soda pop, which really was rather bitter, and sat down at a low stool at Lady Marion's left.
  The song was complicated at first, it had some crazy shifts in key and tempo, but after a few false starts she had it down. Lady Marion was an accomplished accordionist, and it was easy to follow her lead.
  When finally they stopped Stellan looked at the clock. Gosh! "It's almost three o'clock. It's time to get some sleep."
  "You were as good as your word," Jasper said with an astonished smile. "Your aunt must be a very good teacher." Susan nodded vigorously. "Were going to practise some more, you'll have to join, and then we all play this song next Tuesday in the House."
  "I'd like to," Susan said, yawning mightily.
  "Care for a ride home?" Laurids asked.
  "Oh, I hoped you'd ask," Susan said. "I'm tired and still a bit scared. That drunkard tailed me from the station, that was why I just ran inside."
  Susan was piled into the sidecar of the contraption, on top of Lady Marion with a guitar-case between her legs and two accordions in her arms. Laurids' old motorbike was a noisy and not very fast thing, and it was pure joy to ride it. Susan sat so low, even on top of Lady Marion, that the speed felt much greater, the wind blew her hair back, and made her eyes water. And Laurids always took the corners with a special flourish. The trip home was far too short, and soon Susan stood at the pavement outside her house waving at Laurids and Marion.

***

  The next week of the holiday was very busy for Susan. Every morning she left home with some excuse, biked to the old lumber yards, hid her bike and jumped through the portal to Unicorn Farm, where she learned, practised and taught magic all day long. She returned for dinner with her family, and after dinner she once again mounted her bike and met with the others either at Stellan's place or in the House. They practised the new, Irish ballad, old, known pieces and new to them numbers Susan even played the violin in one very easy piece. Tuesday was the big day. Laurids collected her in the contraption, as she was dressed in her finest and carried a violin, a guitar and a big crate of home made cookies. The concert went well, everybody sang, danced, applauded, ate and drank and generally had fun. Susan was late for classes at the Unicorn Farm next morning. As she arrived home, Mom had bought the local paper, and proudly pointed to the headline: "The local band was a roaring success!" Susan avidly read the article, and noticed to her chagrin that the journalist had committed a gaffe, he had spelled Stellan's, Marion's and her name wrong.
  "Well it's not a sin," Mom said laughing, "but I sure hope he has recovered from his hangover before writing about the scandal in the Union' finances today."
  "Ahh," Susan yawned and stretched mightily. "Tonight there's no more practice in the House. I think I'm going to lay it off for the rest of the holiday. I'm not made for the live of a musician."
  "I second that," Mum said, "you've been looking far too stretched these last days."
  "Yes, I like making music, I like making people happy, but those late evenings, and the stress to perform ... that's just not me."
  "What are you going to do today?" Mum asked.
  "Nothing!"
  "Shouldn't we go for a ride?" Daddy suggested "I'd like to smell the sea, and maybe eat one of those big ice cream cones from the small harbour."
  "Oh yes," Susan and Linda said in unison. And they ran off gathering bathing suits, towels, books and pencils, things without which no trip was perfect.

As Susan sat in the car on the way home from a lovely day at the beach it suddenly struck her who had been following her that night, and she began laughing. It was a drunkard, an old one, at least in Susan's eyes. He was normally found at the market square with a bottle of the local brew in hand yelling after all and sundry. He was almost totally harmless, well he yelled, and when he was not understood, or when people tried to avoid him, his frustration sometimes led to to him lashing out: But when drunk and aggressive, he was so unsteady on his legs, that it was no problem at all for Susan to escape him. He might have been lost, that night, Susan thought. I was a fool to get all worked up over the local village idiot.