The Concert

Until today, it hadn’t rained in a month with temperatures in the low 100s. Now all of sudden it was pouring, flooding the scorched grass and dripping off the wilted leaves of the trees and manicured shrubs. The band shell was barely visible from where Ethan sat in his deck chair covered in a bright yellow poncho. He was the last member of the audience—all the rest having fled to dry safety. The orchestra continued playing “Ride of the Valkyries” through the summer rainstorm—as long as there was no lightning. On stage the conductor kept his eye on his audience, not wanting to give up the show if even one person remained.

Then, just as suddenly as it came the rain went and the clouds broke open to let the late afternoon sunlight through. The air was 10 degrees cooler but still hot and muggy. With the return of the sun, the audience took up their places again, having only been waiting nearby in their cars for the downpour to end. The ground was nearly dry again, the rainwater greedily soaked up. Meanwhile, the conductor led the orchestra through one piece after another.

After an hour and a half, the concert was concluded. Once again the folding chairs were packed up but this time for the evening. Several members of the audience approached the band shell to talk with the conductor or one of the musicians. Ethan remained seated while all the rest moved their belongings to their cars.

Gradually, the stage started to clear as the musicians wiped down their instruments and packed them away. The sun was still shining and would continue for another two hours before sunset. Ethan made his way to the band shell and up onto the stage where he headed towards the conductor.

“Andrew!”

The conductor turned around to face a large bearded man in a yellow poncho.

“I see you’re still squandering your opportunities,” said Ethan in a challenging voice.

“Who are you?” asked Andrew.

“Ethan, you remember me don’t you?”

“Yes, but you—”

“Lost at sea. That was staged for the sake of my creditors. You should know a thing or two about staging things.”

“But how—”

“How is what I’d like to know after all these years. Let’s start with how you sabotaged my performance of Dvořák’s New World Symphony in Berlin—”

“I didn’t sabotage anything,” said Andrew, remembering the concert now. “It was your decision to go onstage with a high fever.”

“Pshaw! The entire strings section was off and the 4^th movement was a debacle. The acoustics were awful as if there had been a draft across—God! It’s a wretched hall to play.”

“Still the same old Ethan—ever evading responsibility.”

“So, how in the world did you come by this local ensemble of amateur musicians? Last I heard you were replacing me in New York.”

“It’s a long story.”

“So’s mine, but I’m putting an end to it.”

With that Ethan pulled a large knife out from underneath his poncho and stabbed Andrew in the belly. He dropped the knife, stripped off the poncho, and hurried to the stage stairs.

Three musicians ran to Andrew’s side, and two more ran Ethan down and took him in hand. The bloody knife lay next to Andrew who had apparently not been fatally stabbed.

“You never could finish anything, Ethan,” he half-shouted before groaning and passing out from the loss of blood.

“We’ll see about that,” said Ethan as he bucked loose from his handlers and reached down for the knife.

Before anyone could stop him, he had plunged the knife deep into his own chest. He collapsed and landed on top of the unconscious Andrew.

The paramedics arrived and separated the two men. Down in front of the stage, a handful of young boys played soccer on the grass.

First published in Down in the Dirt, April 1, 2017.