Beatrice and Virgil - Yann Martel [35]
They'd hardly got home before they started at each other.
"He's helping me," Henry said.
"What do you mean he's helping you? How? With that hideous monkey skull he tricked you into buying? What is that monstrosity? Yorick to your Hamlet?"
"I'm getting ideas off him."
"Of course, I'd forgotten. The monkey and the donkey. Winnie the Pooh meets the Holocaust."
"It's not like that."
"THE GUY'S A CREEP! DID YOU SEE THE WAY HE WAS LOOKING AT ME?"
"Why are you shouting at me? People always look at pregnant women. And what does it matter to you who I hang out with? I like his store. It--"
"IT'S A FUCKING FUNERAL PARLOUR! YOU'RE SPENDING YOUR TIME WITH DEAD STUFFED ANIMALS AND A SLEAZY OLD MAN!"
"Would you rather I spend my time in a bar?"
"THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"
"Will you stop shouting at me?"
"IT'S THE ONLY WAY YOU'LL LISTEN!"
And so it went, a full-blown row while bags full of baby things lay around them.
. . .
The next morning, Henry left early for his music lesson. Events conspired to improve his mood. First, his clarinet teacher surprised him with a gift.
"I can't accept this," Henry said.
"What are you talking about? It's from a good friend, an old student. He hasn't used it for a century. He wanted to get rid of it. I got it for practically nothing. What's the point of the thing never being used?"
"I'd like to pay you for it."
"Never! Over my dead body. You'll pay me by playing it beautifully."
Henry was holding in his hands the loveliest Albert system clarinet.
"And I think you're ready to try some Brandwein," his teacher added. "We'll start today."
Maybe my heavy black ox is starting to take off, Henry thought. He was playing all the time, after all. Two tricks helped him. The first was to devote a corner of his apartment exclusively to music playing, with the stand set up, the sheet music in order, the clarinet clean, and a cup in place in which to soak his reeds in warm water. The second was to practice often, but only in short bursts, no more than fifteen minutes. He usually practiced just before a commitment he couldn't miss. That way, if he played well, he stopped regretfully and eager to come back to it, and if he played poorly, he was forced to give up before dejection and exasperation had him wanting to throw the clarinet out the window. With this arrangement, he was practicing three, four times a day.
He had two faithful spectators: Mendelssohn, who was patiently fascinated in the way only cats can be, and the monkey skull, which he had set on the chimney mantel nearby. Their round eyes, the cat's and the skull's, were always on him when he played. Erasmus, the Philistine, would whine and howl, so Henry had to lock him in another room, usually with Sarah.
The weather also soothed Henry. It was a Sunday that was gloriously living up to its pagan name, a bold rebel burst of warm weather that announced the impending vanquishing of winter. Music was escaping from doors and windows that at long last could be left open, and everyone in the city was parading in the streets. Henry arrived early at the cafe to have a light lunch before his appointment with the taxidermist. A smart thing too, as the place was packed. He got a table right next to the wall, one chair in the sun, one in the shade. He had Erasmus as usual, but he didn't have his normal zip. The dog lay quietly in the shade of the table.
The taxidermist arrived exactly at two, as punctual as a soldier.
"Sunlight, warm wonderful sunlight!" Henry said expansively, his arms open