  It was undeniably rewarding, Judy discovered, to be suddenly elevated to the position of junior councilor. She received the congratulations of her mother, still in a mild state of shock, and an enthusiastic pat of assurance from her father. But one thought clouded Judy’s satisfaction. When would she be able to see Karl? How was she to tell him her news about camp? If she didn’t let him know at once why she could no longer meet him for lunch at the Chairlift, he might think she’d forgotten. Worse still, that she didn’t care! In a novel she had picked up and eagerly devoured, the word “tryst” was prominent in the story. In fact, all the harrowing events that pursued the unlucky heroine were the result of her not keeping a certain appointment. As Judy sat brooding over this knotty problem, her eyes fell on the telephone—of course. Her mother was busy in the kitchen preparing dinner. Her father was out for the moment. Now was undoubtedly the perfect time. She looked up the number in the directory and called. Karl himself answered the telephone. “It’s me, Judy.” The great news was conveyed. “Wonderful! Good for you!” Judy hurried on to the crux of the matter. “I can’t ever make it for lunch any more—What’s that? A customer? I should come to the Swiss Shop after camp? Yes, I can. All right, we’ll decide then—” The next two days of Judy’s apprenticeship were rather a let-down. It wasn’t only that Claire was as beautiful as a Greek goddess, and withal so capable! Judy watched her as she transformed a bit of wire into an amusing figure. With what patience she encouraged the little ones to fingerpaint while at the same time, with exasperating ease, she gave casual direction to those busy with their puppets! It was small consolation to know Claire was eighteen. But the real hurt was inflicted by the children themselves. They either ignored her or made unflattering remarks. “Your hair’s not nearly as nice as Claire’s,” one pretty little innocent observed. “It’s cool this way,” Judy said, apparently unruffled, but she touched the offending pony tail with a mental note to attempt something more sophisticated. Willie, whose affection she believed she had won by bestowing much labor and many smiles upon his daubs, moved his head closer and closer to hers with fascinated interest. At last he pointed to her teeth, “It comes out at night when you sleep, doesn’t it?” Judy gave an embarrassed laugh. She had forgotten the existence of the small wire brace she wore over a recalcitrant tooth to keep it from protruding. “Don’t be silly. When you grow up and one of your teeth is crooked, you’ll have to wear a brace like mine, maybe a much larger one.” “Does it hurt?” he persisted. “No, it doesn’t.” She closed her mouth with a snap. Otherwise the words “little brat” might have been audible. Claire was still there, kind and helpful, but a trifle unconscious of the children’s studied indifference. “Let me help you,” Judy said time and again, only to be rebuffed. Less than a week later Claire left amid a scene of tears and heartbreaking farewells. She had scarcely left the camp premises when the children of their own accord turned to Judy, ready to transfer their affection to her. How could they forget their adored Claire so quickly! Judy wondered if she had even been so callous or so lacking in loyalty in that faraway time when she was seven or eight years old. When she saw Karl at the Swiss Shop, he made light of her complaints. “All kids are like that.” The shop was empty. Uncle Yahn was taking his siesta. “All Europeans take an afternoon nap. Besides, he gets up at five o’clock every morning.” They sat down at his improvised desk on which were spread sheets of music. “I’ve been trying to enlarge that little melody of my father’s. Write it for violin, piano, and oboe, as a start—I want to make something fine out of it. I will—some day! But I don’t know enough yet about other instruments.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I’m just sentimental.” “No, it’s a wonderful melody,” Judy said, surprised at her own vehemence. “You can make variations on it, like Paganini did on his beautiful theme. Why don’t you talk to my father about it? He loves composing.” “Your mother says it’s all right for me to come?” Karl asked. “Of course,” Judy said, painfully aware she never did get the chance to tell her mother she had invited Karl for dinner. “Seven o’clock all right?” uncaptioned “Or before,” Judy said with decision. She felt certain that her mother would put no obstacles in her path now that it was a “fait accompli,” another expression from that same, much-prized novel. At home that evening she avoided discussing the less happy details of her day at camp and artfully turned the conversation to the Juillard Concert. “Which reminds me, Minna,” her father said, “I have two extra tickets. I wonder whom we can ask?” “I—er—asked Karl to come with us,” Judy said haltingly. “He has his own student ticket, but I asked him to have dinner with us so that we could all—” “Karl?” her father asked. “You know him, Minna?” Mrs. Lurie shook her head. “And why to dinner?” she asked, her eyebrows raised. “You remember, Mother. He’s the music student I told you about. Studies the violin. He lives with his uncle who owns the Swiss Shop. I tried to tell you—” Judy said, almost in tears. “That’s all right. Only I wish you wouldn’t be so impulsive. However, since you’ve asked him,” her mother added with a smile, “there’s nothing more to be said.” “I’ll bring in the dessert,” Judy volunteered, happy to escape any further discussion. “I suppose there’s no harm in having him, especially as Judy has already done the inviting. We’ll have the uncle too,” Mrs. Lurie added as an afterthought. “It might be interesting to meet a native Aspenite.” Judy, standing at the kitchen door, listened breathlessly to this exchange. She entered immediately carrying the bowl of stewed peaches. “Oh you don’t have to invite the uncle,” she said, forgetting she was not supposed to have been within earshot. “May as well be hung for a sheep as a fowl,” her father said enigmatically. “Your mother is asking them both.” “Karl will be glad. He didn’t want to leave his uncle before dinner,” Judy said, suddenly convinced she had the most understanding parents in the world. On the night of the concert the guests arrived in good time. Karl seemed completely overshadowed by his large, ruddy-faced relative. After the uneasy introductions, Uncle Yahn singled out Judy and handed her a prettily wrapped parcel. “This is for you, a little present.” “What is it?” Judy asked, her eyes glistening with anticipation. “Open it and see for yourself,” Uncle Yahn smilingly ordered. It was a small cuckoo clock! She swallowed hard to conceal her disappointment, and with a mischievous glance at Karl’s glum face said, “Isn’t it adorable!” Uncle Yahn beamed. “You see, Karl, I told you she would find it most admirable.” Mr. Lurie and Uncle Yahn seemed to take to each other at once. There was a lovely sunset, just perfect for their cookout. Both were hovering over the crude stones of the grille, watching the steak but more intent on their talk, skiing and music. Mrs. Lurie, relaxed and comfortable in a reclining chair, was entertaining Karl. “There I was, announced in all the papers and posters as the great lyric soprano,” she smiled. “You know the extravagant language of those billings—and my accompanist had broken his wrist an hour after we got off the plane. The manager combed the city for someone to accompany me. We decided to cancel the engagement when at the very last moment a noted pianist, just returned from his tour—” Judy had heard the story. Her attention wavered as she caught snatches of the conversation between her father and Uncle Yahn. She heard Karl’s name and moved a little closer to them. “It looks as if Karl will have an unusual opportunity, that is, if he proves himself worthy.” Uncle Yahn wagged his head mysteriously. “What opportunity?” her father asked. “It’s a little too early to talk. Nothing is definite, but my sister-in-law’s letters in the last two weeks are filled with this miracle, as she calls it.” Mr. Lurie was interested and Uncle Yahn went on to explain. “A close friend of my poor brother managed to escape to America before it was too late. It was my brother who insisted that he get out. He was unmarried,” Uncle Yahn went on, “and could take the risks and he did. After many hair-raising experiences, he reached America and because he knew someone in Chicago, he went there. He got a job as a waiter in a restaurant. The rest is like a fairy tale. He met a man, a customer in the restaurant. They became acquainted, drawn together by the love of music. This stranger offered him a job. No, not as a musician but as a worker in his plastic factory. Now comes the fairy tale. After ten years, he is now a partner and rich! A few months ago he came to New York on business. He stopped in at Ditson’s to buy some music. Karl’s mother works there. They met. You can imagine the scene! He insists upon providing for Karl’s musical education. He says it is only justice!” “And now?” Mr. Lurie asked. “If Karl will put his music before everything else, put himself in Mr. Werther’s hands, his future is assured! He will have the best teachers, study abroad.” “But why abroad?” Mr. Lurie interrupted. “We have the finest schools and teachers right in America.” “That is true,” Uncle Yahn conceded, “but Mr. Werther received his training in Vienna. He feels that with the stamp of European approval, Karl will achieve recognition so much sooner.” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “The decision need not be made for a year, perhaps two. Karl finishes high school in a year. Then it will be up to him.” The steak was finished and placed on a platter. There was laughter and anecdotes and beer. Judy mechanically chewed a piece of steak, her eyes staring at some far-off place. Why did this busybody of a rich man have to come and snatch Karl away just when she was getting to—she hesitated to name her feeling—like him so much. She glanced at Karl. He looked untroubled and was enjoying himself. So was Uncle Yahn. She was worrying needlessly. It was only talk—Isn’t that what Uncle Yahn said? The decision need not be made for a year or two. So much could happen! Karl might prefer to go to the Curtis Music School in Philadelphia or David Mannes right in New York. Anything was better than having an ocean between them! If she studied like mad, she could be through with school and college in six years—be equipped to teach—earn money—six interminable years! And why college, she argued with herself. Many clever people never— “You’ve hardly touched the good meat on your plate,” Uncle Yahn observed, gently nudging her. “Dreaming instead of eating! That’s not what makes a nice, plump young lady.” Nor did she fall asleep during the two hours of chamber music of the Juillard Quartet. She was too excited. Karl sat next to her, his fists under his chin, his body thrust forward, his eyes glued to the players. An occasional smile and a well-directed poke from his elbow helped her to listen. During intermission she told Karl she liked Bartok better, hearing the music a second time. “And I love seeing the red and gold opera house again. But,” she added laughing, “the music can’t compare with the thrilling play I dreamed up about Baby Doe and Horace Tabor when you woke me up.” After the concert, the Luries decided to prolong the evening’s pleasure. They would go to Smuggler’s CafÉ for refreshments and talk. Uncle Yahn excused himself, “No night life for me.” But Lynne and Allen joined the party and Judy’s cup of delight was full. They too would meet Karl. Candles dimly lit the room. A boy played the guitar and sang. When he left off strumming and singing, someone started the jukebox. Wonderful, exciting jazz! Allen and Karl were discussing the merits of their instruments, where they were bought, how many thousands of dollars it took to own a really good violin or viola—Lynne was talking camp—Judy was filled with a vast content and smiled at everyone. The sputtering candles in the dimly lit room, the singing and guitar, the jazz still throbbing, waiters hurrying by with ice cream floats dizzily topped with whipped cream—Lynne and Allen, her parents, gay and carefree—above all, Karl! This was Aspen life! At last she was part of it! |
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