Time for Silence

“You are going to a good deal of trouble,” I told my mother.

“My dear Lucinda, it is your birthday, and seventeen is like a milestone. It should be celebrated in style. Your father will have to be here for it. Everyone must know what a special occasion it is.”

They were all talking about the birthday, the highlight of which was the concert. There were serious discussions about what the performers would do.

“Anyone would think this was Drury Lane,” said Mrs. Grey, who, I was sure, had no idea what it was like at Drury Lane. But we all understood what she meant.

The day arrived. There were well-wishers with gifts, and everyone behaved as though I had done something very clever in having lived for seventeen years.

The concert was to start at two-thirty that afternoon.

In the morning I escaped to the garden. I kept thinking of my conversation with Marcus and how he had continually referred to my seventeenth birthday. The fact was I had begun to believe he was in love with me and that thought had excited me tremendously. I had hardly admitted it to myself, but I had the idea firmly fixed in my mind that my seventeenth birthday would be some landmark in our relationship)—which after all was what he had implied.

Lately I had begun to doubt this, but the thought would not go away.

I blamed Annabelinda. She was so determined to be with him and exclude me. I told myself he did not wish it, but was too polite to tell her to go away. I clung to this belief and tried to stifle my doubts.

I saw him in the garden then and I was happy because I had the impression that he was looking for me.

He was walking more easily now. In fact, my mother had said only yesterday that Dr. Egerton had told her Marcus might well be released from the hospital in a week or so.

He still used a cane but moved with apparent ease.

“Hello, Marcus,” I called.

He stopped. “Lucinda! The birthday lady. Congratulations! So, at last you have made it.”

“It was rather inevitable.”

“And there are such celebrations! You must be very proud.”

“Oh…that is all due to my mother. She is determined that all shall be aware of my great age.”

“And rightly so.”

“My mother was saying that you might be discharged from the hospital soon.”

“I cannot malinger much longer.”

“You know very well you have not been malingering.”

“Well, perhaps not. But I am a bit of an old crock, you know.”

“They won’t send you…?”

“To the front line? Not for some time. Actually, I am going to the War Office for a while. It will be something for me to do.”

“That will be interesting.”

He grimaced. We passed the seat and I said, “Would you like to sit down?”

“Doctor’s orders that I should exercise. Actually, I should be rehearsing.”

“Oh, are you performing this afternoon?”

“Yes, I’ve been roped in.”

“What are you doing?”

“ ‘On the Road to Mandalay.’ ”

“Do you add a good voice to your many accomplishments?”

“I am not sure of the accomplishments. I think some would question that I have any. The voice is, well…just a voice. It makes a noise. That’s all.”

“How modest you are!”

“Not at all. I should never have allowed myself to be persuaded. You wait until you hear my performance. It’s a very popular song, so perhaps I’ll get by.”

I guessed it would not be long before Annabelinda discovered that we were together—and I was right.

She came hurrying out.

“Oh, there you are, Marcus. Dr. Egerton told you not to tire yourself.”

“On the contrary, he told me to take exercise.”

“He meant in moderation.”

“I have been very moderate.”

“Isn’t it exciting about the concert? I am longing to hear ‘Mandalay.’ ”

“I think I shall plead stage fright.”

“Nobody would believe you,” I said. “I am sure it will be a great success. They are not expecting Caruso.”

“I imagine,” added Annabelinda, “that the rest of them will be very amateurish. You will be the star turn, Marcus.”

“My stage fright increases with every moment. You must not have too high an opinion of me, my dear Annabelinda.”

“I shall form my own opinions, Marcus.”

“You are a strong-minded young lady, I know. But please do not expect too much. I can make myself heard, and that is about all.”

“I am longing to hear you,” said Annabelinda.

“I think I shall go in,” I told them. “There is a good deal to do.”

“We will see you later,” said Annabelinda blithely.

So I left them and went in, feeling deflated. He was not going to say anything special to me. He had talked so earnestly about my birthday, indicating that he was waiting for it, and then all he talked about was “On the Road to Mandalay.”

The concert was a success, though more remarkable for the weakness of the performances than the discovery of talent. But it was greatly enjoyed and the more mishaps there were the more appreciative the merriment.

Marcus’s “Mandalay” was a great success. He performed with aplomb rather than genius, but he had an agreeable voice that was strong enough to be heard all over the hall. It was his impersonation of a temperamental opera star which amused the audience and was without doubt the success of the show.