A short story for reading aloud by Jonathan Taylor
You have to remember: smile, keep smiling, smile, keep smiling, smile, keep smiling, crotchet-crotchet-quaver-quaver, crotchet-crotchet-quaver-quaver…
The Principal Conductor always smiled when he conducted. And he always smiled when he said: “You have to remember. I am the Principal Conductor now.”
Ted did remember.
“You have to remember. I am the Principal Conductor now.”
Ted did remember. He wasn’t allowed to forget.
He’d always sat next to Kaye, ever since the Burslem Philharmonic had been founded, ever since his first wife had died on him, ever since he’d got bored with grief and had decided to scratch his violin again. He and Kaye had been among the founder members, and had even assumed the conductor’s stick when real conductors were busy with more illustrious out-of-tune bands.
He never talked to Kaye outside Tuesday evenings, never bumped into her shopping in Hanley, never phoned her about some particularly difficult passage-work. But every Tuesday for years – barring Christmas and annual holidays in Llandudno – he was there, next to her, trying to keep pace with her fingers. She was leader, he was deputy leader: that was the Burslem tradition.
But three decades and two ex-wives on, he found himself exiled from Kaye and her smile.
“You have to remember. I am the Principal Conductor now,” said the Principal Conductor, as he banished Ted to the second drawer of violins.
“You have to remember. I am the Principal Conductor now,” said the Principal Conductor, as he banished Ted to the third drawer of violins.
“You have to remember …”
“I know,” said Ted, “you are the Principal Conductor now, and you are banishing me to the Gulag of violins. I’ll be playing kazoo if this goes on.”
“I won’t have insubordination.”
“I thought this was a democratic orchestra,” said Ted.
“Democracies don’t have insubordination,” said the Principal Conductor.
“Kazoo it is then,” said Ted.
Kaye seemed a long way away in his new position at the back of the violins. She was much nearer the Principal Conductor’s smile than Ted’s.
She was even further away when he was sent to the violas.
“You play viola, don’t you, Ted?” asked the Principal Conductor. “We’ve only got a couple since Vince has left. It’ll be a good opportunity for you to brush up an old trick.”
The violas welcomed Ted, but none had Kaye’s smile. And if Ted didn’t have Kaye’s smile any more, nor did he have his own. During a performance of Shostakovich’s Ninth Symphony, the Principal Conductor caught him crying.
“Why were you crying during that performance of Shostakovich’s Ninth Symphony?” asked the Principal Conductor, who never cried at anything.
“Because it was sad,” said Ted.
“How ridiculous,” said the Principal Conductor, “it’s a light-hearted, jolly-hockey-sticks piece for the end of the war.” He paused. “And even if it were sad, you shouldn’t be sad. An orchestra can’t be sad. We’re performers, no more, no less than ballerinas. We have to be smiley all the time. You have to smile when you play, whatever you play, because the audience is watching you.”
“Who says?”
“I say, and I’m the Principal Conductor. I want this orchestra to be made of smilers. I want everyone smiley, whatever they’re playing, whether it’s a funeral march or a festival march, Shostakovich or a Beatles medley. We’re here to please the audience, not ourselves, and we should be seen to be enjoying what we play. We should be smilers, not weepers.”
“I see.”
“Yes, you see. And if you don’t see, I’m afraid you’ll have to be sent to the back drawer of the violas.”
“What if I do see?”
“Then I might think about putting you back in the violins – just a trial period, of course. Just a trial.” He looked narrowly at Ted. “But I want you to do something for me and the orchestra first. I want you to look around during the next performance. I can’t watch everyone whilst I’m busy conducting. So I want you to take a note of who is smiling and who isn’t. I want to know who is a smiler, who a weeper. In short, I want a list, a smiling list.”
“What will you do with the smiling list?”
“I am the Principal Conductor. I will decide what to do with the smiling list.”
At the next concert, the Burslem Philharmonic played a symphony by someone called Kabalevsky which the Principal Conductor had chosen. Ted watched the violists, the violinists, the cellists, the bassoonists, the oboists, the flautists, the harpists, the one-time-friendists, and mentally noted down who didn’t smile. He couldn’t see Kaye – he could only see the back of her head – but he was sure she was smiling, and (moreover) smiling genuinely.
After the Kabalevsky and the weak applause, the Principal Conductor asked Ted who was on his list. Ted asked if he were going to be promoted back to the violins. The Principal Conductor said yes, probably, probably, yes, he thought so. Ted asked if he was going to be promoted back to the first violins. The Principal Conductor said yes, probably, probably, yes, he thought so. Ted asked if he was going to be promoted back to the front desk – back to Kaye’s smile. The Principal Conductor said he would think about it. The Principal Conductor asked Ted again who was on his list of non-smilers.
Ted said no one.
The Principal Conductor asked: “No one?”
Ted said no one.
The Principal Conductor said: “Watch out, Ted, or you’ll be on the list on your own. This is your last chance. Are you sure it was no one?”
Ted told him he was very sure. Ted told him that everyone was laughing because it was a crap piece of music. Ted told him everyone was laughing at the Principal Conductor’s taste in symphonies. Ted told him to fuck his Kabalevsky and his smile.
That night, Ted listened to his stereo and shed a few tears for a certain Ninth Symphony by a certain Dmitri Shostakovich. He thought about how Shostakovich had been put on a list back in the 1940s. Shostakovich hadn’t been much of a smiler either.
He picked up the phone and dialled Kaye.
+ + +
Jonathan Taylor is author of the novel Entertaining Strangers (forthcoming from Salt in October 2012), and the memoir Take Me Home: Parkinson’s, My Father, Myself (Granta Books, 2007). He is editor of Overheard: Stories to Read Aloud (forthcoming from Salt in November 2012). He is Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at De Montfort University, and co-director of arts organisation and small publisher Crystal Clear Creators.