For Writer's Cramp
"Good Heavens, Mel," I exclaimed on seeing the people present in front of me. "Where are the musicians?"
Mel, a freckle faced girl of seventeen, shrugged. "Not here I guess."
"I can see they are not here, Mel," I almost cried. "But where are they?"
"Do you want me to call them?"
"All 150 of them?"
"Yes. Well, no. Not the once that are here already."
I counted seventeen. That still left out 133 members. Wonderful. The thunder clapped outside and the rain slashed against the window of the hall explaining the little attendance.
I looked at the little group, tuning and strumming their violins. All the violinists were there, but how on the earth would I rehearse Symphony 5 just with seventeen violinists? May the spirit of Beethoven bless me.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," I said clearing my voice. "You see we have just... well... us. So, we'll go on with our rehearsal anyway and..."
"How can we?" Fred asked. "There's no bass or percussion. Even the flutes are absent."
"I know. But we need to rehearse. Our show is in two days. So take your places."
Reluctantly they took their places. I found the arrangement lopsided.
"How are we going to replace the others?"
"I'll give you the count," I said. "Then..."
"Can we make the sound with our mouth?" Peter asked. "Like this?" He whistled the first bar of the symphony. It was little out of tune but better than nothing.
"Great." I said. "We'll whistle the flute part."
"What about the cello? The trumpets, the horns?" Wilma asked. "We can't play them with our mouth, can we now?"
"I have a horn," John said and brought out a kid's horn that one generally finds attached to a kid's bike. Beethoven would turn in his grave.
"Alright," I said. "Let's start."
So we started.
Peter whistled and played the violin, lost control and went out of tune. Some people made deep sound from their throat to sound like a trumpet. They instead ended up sounding like cow mooing. I cringed. Vocals replacing cello and whistles replacing flutes and only violins going like they slicing meat the whole thing was an assault on the ears. After five bars, I raised my hand.
"Stop, Stop, STOP," I cried. "It's not working, people. Let's do the violins only. Go."
So the violins played. The powerful da da da duumm sounded like cat mewing in the rain. On top of that, the thunder rolled so hard I was afraid that the house might fall.
"Hold it." I stopped them again. "Don't kill your instruments. Play softly and no need to replace others. Okay?"
There were nods but the enthusiasm was lost.
We started it all over.
It was going fine and we're almost at the end of the first movement, a strange noise came and thereafter, I could hear some break in the music.
I raised my hand.
"What was that noise and why is there some notes missing from someone?"
Lilly raised her hand a little above her head, sinking her head in between her shoulders and looking right and left. My E string broke."
I glared at her. "I told you to change it day before last day."
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "But I can manage. I'll imagine its there."
I had no idea how to do that but let it pass.
So we started again.
Da da da duummm... We played.
Crrrrraaakkkk.... The thunder replied.
da da da duummm.... We played again.
CRRRRRAAAAAKKKK... The thunder jiggled the windows.
Tanatanan nana.... the musicians went.
Crash... something broke and it went all black.
There was dead silence inside. Outside the thunder rolled off to a distance. Were we doing such a bag job that even the ever-forgiving mother nature couldn't take it?
"Can I make a suggestion?" Mel ventured. "Let's call it a day today."
Reluctantly I agreed. So we all packed and came downstairs with our raincoats and umbrellas, armed to face the fury of the torrent. I opened the door and was about to put on the hat when I suddenly realized that it was no more raining and the clouds had departed leaving a clear star-filled sky with a shining moon for company.
Written For :
Prompt: Write a story or poem about a rehearsal in which only SEVENTEEN members of a 150 member orchestra show up, and they are all violin players. They go ahead with the rehearsal anyway -what happens