Callie raised his child after he departed for a career in the opera. When she steps into the opera, she finds herself drawn to a masked man in the shadows she’s convinced is Pierro. All the while he sings from afar to win back her heart as does another talented fancier.
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I
Red-faced, Callie takes a deep breath.
“I will summon my best vocals
then.” She closes her eyes, ignoring the death
to her self-esteem she sees in the yokels,
no richer in her eyes, just jerks who will mock
her should she lamely mess up and squawk
like a dying monkey, rather than sing
like an exotic bird on a ring.
“Sing like a wonder, for one and all,
I promise I can, free and untired
for all that who with me too aspired,”
she sings, soprano overall
in tone. “Sing on and on, I do in my joy,
come on along and join with overjoy—”
II
Crack! All around, she hears fractures spread
in crystalline glasses. A darkled shadow
races behind them, her note lingering dead
and tinny in the air, time moving slow
and surreal. A ghost breaks them, she thinks,
seeing a hazy hand moves past glass in her winks.
The auditioner looks to her, his hand
in the air. “Stop," he says, "all of Rhymeland
never saw this happen before, but
I sit privy to the shattering of glass
by a human voice. Wow! You have sass,
Callie. If anyone asks, you get the credit.”
She nods. “Oh, you’ve quite a sense of humor.”
“That’s why I want to spread the rumor.”
III
Caught in disbelief, unsure if she saw
a man now or a phantom, or if she caused
the glass to shatter as the man in awe
says, she resolves to let him talk, unpaused
as he stands up. “Let’s go sign the contract.
You will be, as a matter of fact,
the proper woman to satisfy
that mysteriarch, and I won’t pacify
him otherwise. If you get fired, then
I give up. Please, tell me you still want
the job even after seeing the haunt
around here. It just so does happen
that we’re at the mercy of odd forces we fear
in this place. With that power, you belong here.”
IV
“Thank you so much for the offer. My dream
begins today. I promise, sir, you won’t
be disappointed with me on the team.”
“Come along to the office. Already, I don’t
have a second doubt, and that never
happens. An honorable endeavor
I consider taking you on.” He points
her to a brighter lit part of the joint,
a desk and three carved chairs behind
a blue door. “How much will I get paid?”
she asks. “My lifestyle is high-grade,
so I need upkeep to prevent a bind
in throat from ruining my song. Pampering
makes me a queen. I don’t accept hampering.”
V
Squinting, the silver-haired man nods and hands
her a paper. “Read it,” he says. “Value
is one hundred gold coins per month, and
we will solely provide wardrobe, brand-new.”
“Twitterations!” She gasps. “So generous
a sum, I can’t decline.” Ink fluidous,
the sharpened pen writes her name sweetly.
“Now, we must give you a tour discreetly,”
he says, locking the document with a stack.
Click! “The few chambers I’ve seen so far
amaze me as much as the architecture.”
“Wait until you see the practice room, the pack
who will train you, and all the goodies
you need to keep up vim, cakes and cookies.”
VI
Click! Stomp! Her dainty shoes contrast the sound
his thick, cheap soles make on the marble floor,
the man clumsy and her as nimble and profound
as a ballerina. The halls smell of petrichor,
incense accompanying candelabra,
and the sounds of rhythmic cheerful ra-ra
echo. What’s going on behind the stage?
she wonders, a door to the entourage
opened. So loudly many folk bustle.
Her guide points. “Obviously, we stand
in the opera’s music chamber, built by hand
over five hundred years ago. The hustle
required both common laborers and artists.”
She gasps, the chamber giving her lust.
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BELLA RARIORA 