An Overseas Trip

"Are you going to spend the rest of your life in your damn workshop?" Cecilia asked as she and Harry were finishing lunch three weeks into his retirement. "I had hoped that, at least, you would come and help me on my weekly trip to the supermarket after you retired, but you have only emerged from that workshop to eat and sleep. And have you done anything about the holiday at the coast you promised we would have? I'll have to arrange it, as usual, I suppose."

"Perhaps when I get the workshop properly organised," her husband mumbled as he headed out the back door.

"Organised! Properly organised!" Cecilia followed him down the well-worn path to the large extension at the back of the garage. "You've had more than 20 years to get the place organised. And organised for what? If you're planning to build any more furniture, don't bother. The house is overflowing with all the furniture you've made already. We don't need any more."

"No, no, " he replied hastily, "Not more furniture. I'm going to make Christmas toys for the Salvation Army."

"Christmas toys for the Salvos!" she exclaimed in the direction of the rapidly closing workshop door, "But it's not even Easter yet!"

Returning to the house, she selected a CD of famous operatic choruses which she played on the large hi-fi in the living room loudly enough for The Anvil Chorus from "Il Trovatore" to penetrate the kitchen and mix with the clatter of the dishes she washed to its rhythmic beat. Cecilia's enthusiasm for opera rivaled her husband's passion for his workshop but was much more recent. It all began about five years ago with a phone call from Kitty, her best friend.

"Cec, how would you like to come with me to the Sydney Opera House tomorrow night to see Mozart's "The Marriage of Figaro?" Frank has seen it before and says he has something important to do on his computer. Would you like to use his ticket and come with me?"

"I don't know, Kit. I've never been to an opera."

"Well, it's about time you did. I'm sure you'd enjoy it. But even if you don't, it's not as though it's going to cost you anything. We have season tickets."

On the way home she said to Kitty in mock admonishment, "Why have you been holding out on me all these years? Opera is wonderful. I loved it. I think I'm hooked."

Hearing about this, Frank self-interestedly suggested that she replace him on Kitty's season ticket. Cecilia readily agreed and at "La Traviata," the next opera they attended, she began a love affair with tenors. In the years that followed, she haunted record shops looking for recordings of operas and tenors and regularly scoured the news agency for opera magazines. On most days the house overflowed with the sounds of opera, usually sung by tenors.

She had decided that, like many of her friends when their husbands retired, she and Harry would have a trip overseas. She also intended that, as with the trip Kitty and Frank had taken the previous year, every city they visited would have a famous opera house.

She was prepared for a long battle. Months before the date on which she planned to depart Cecilia launched her campaign. It began with an overture—a suggestion here and a hint of things to come there. The overture moved seamlessly into the first act—the suggestions becoming less vague and the hints more direct. The only response from Harry was an occasional grunt or a vague nod of the head. In the second act, the emotional content began to build, and Harry's first hesitant objections only added fuel to what promised to be a mighty conflagration. When the tempo increased, revealing portents of the high drama to follow, Harry capitulated. He agreed to the trip, provided it was no longer than six weeks. Cecilia was ecstatic; she would have gladly settled for a month.

All Harry would say when she tried to involve him in planning their itinerary was, "I'll leave all that to you."

That suited Cecilia. Kitty was engaged as chief consultant. "Frank can get all the details of the opera programs for the places you might like to visit on the Internet, the way he did for us," she volunteered.

A few days later she delivered a thick pile of printouts and said, "Frank's exceeded his brief. Not only has he found all the latest opera programs, but he has also managed to come up with some kind of woodworking, furniture making or workshop exhibition in most of the cities."

After much careful study of the programs and the opera magazines to discover the best places to hear as many of her favourite operas and singers as possible, Cecilia planned their itinerary. Kitty was in general agreement with what she proposed but strongly advised against visiting New York and the Metropolitan Opera.

"Frank wouldn't let me go there," she said regretfully, "He considered New York much too dangerous to visit."

Cecilia may have been inclined to follow Kitty's advice except that, during the period of the trip, the Met would be the only place where she would be able to hear Luigi Lorenzo, her top favourite of all the tenors. Finally, the itinerary was settled and after a nod of agreement from Harry, she worried the travel agent to distraction until everything was booked and confirmed.

Relaxing unscathed in their hotel room in New York at the end of the trip, Cecilia let her memory roam over kaleidoscopic impressions of ten cities while majestic themes from more than twenty operas still rang in her ears. Her only slight disappointment had been the performance at the Met the previous evening. For once, Harry had accompanied her. She suspected he had cast himself in the role of bodyguard.

"I think Lorenzo sings better on those records you've got at home," he complained afterwards.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. A live performance isn't the same as a record," she scoffed.

However, she feared Harry was right but was not prepared to admit this even to herself, let alone to Kitty after they returned home. As it was, whenever Lorenzo's name was mentioned, Kitty always said, "When I heard him at Covent Garden, I thought he was well past his prime." Now, Cecilia could hardly wait to be able to respond, "You must have caught him on a bad night, Kit. When I heard him at The Met, he was magnificent."