Shadows of Sounds

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The man at the back of the Upper Circle sat gnawing his fingernails and concentrating on the unbroken shadow cast by the proscenium.

Nothing could go wrong, surely. He’d thought of everything. All the details had been double-checked. The musicians who were only coming on for the second half knew exactly when to be on stage. It had been made quite clear during the rehearsal that there would be no sloping off to the bar until after the performance. The Orchestra Manager had driven home that point.

So why the hell hadn’t the lights in the Concert Hall been dimmed? The programme was already ten minutes late in starting. He bit a flake of skin from his index finger. It was hard and waxy between his teeth. With an effort of will the man wrenched his gaze from the wings to the musicians on stage, as if trying to make sense of the delay.

On the platform the members of the Orchestra were looking bored. They had already tuned their instruments and were only waiting for the Leader to come on to start the evening’s proceedings. Had this been a rehearsal, he knew from experience that the Sunday papers would be spread across their music stands. However, protocol dictated that they assumed an air of gravity towards the actual performance. As his eyes travelled over the players, he saw that the brass section weren’t even attempting to hide their feelings. Typical, he thought.

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