“You’re a godsend!”
“I promise,Godisn’t the one who sent me ...”
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you, but I have a huge favor to ask.” Manon turned toward him. “I’ll pay you, of course.”
“What kind of favor?”
“The organist we hired had some sort of an attack this morning. Today of all days!”
“Now he’s dead too?”
“No, not that kind of attack, more like a sudden onset of dementia. His partner said he screamed while he was in the bathroom, then ran out, shouting as if he were being chased by the devil, and then fell. His leg is broken, and he has a concussion. So, is there any chance you could fill in at the last minute? I don’t understand why you’re smiling.”
“A broken leg, huh? I’m sorry. It’s a nervous tic.”
Thomas glanced at his father, who was fiddling with his cuticles and doing a poor job of hiding his satisfaction.
“No need to give me a dirty look,” Manon protested. “I’m only asking because I don’t have any other options. My father is going to be very upset!”
“So is mine, but that will come a little later.”
“I thought he was—”
“Where is your father now?” asked Thomas.
“He’s attending the cremation.” Manon gestured toward the other end of the park, where the roof of an isolated building rose up from behind an evergreen hedge. “I couldn’t bear it,” she added quietly.
“I’ll do it,” Thomas said. “But I won’t let you pay me. What would you like me to play?”
Manon unexpectedly rested her head on his shoulder a moment, her eyes filled with tears. Thomas didn’t dare take her hand. Instead, he pulled out a pack of tissues and held them out to her.
“Here.”
Manon wiped her eyes and looked closely at him for a second.
“What is it?” Thomas asked.
“A feeling of déjà vu. Come on, I’ll show you where to go.”
They started toward the mausoleum. Raymond followed, lighter on his feet than ever. Halfway there, Thomas doubled back to get the canvas bag he’d forgotten at the foot of the bench.
Manon had accompanied Thomas to the organ, then abruptly abandoned him. The arrival of the first guests had cut short her explanation of the funeral schedule. Luckily, the organist had left his music on the stand in the correct order, alongside a page detailing the cues for the pieces he was to play. Thomas would have liked to practice first, but a crowd was already gathering under the dome. He leaned over the keyboard and studied the various buttons used to change the sound output. Violins, trumpet, guitar, clarinet, percussion, and oboe ... the electric organ could simulate the sounds of an entire orchestra. Thomas selected the button for grand piano and played a perfect chord.
“Not bad,” he mumbled as he adjusted the volume.
His foot touched the fabric bag containing his father’s urn, which he then quickly hid behind the altar before returning to his place. He continued to familiarize himself with the new instrument by gently touching the keys, as quietly as possible.
The room had filled up. The guests stood in front of their chairs, silently paying their respects. Manon was watching the door. Her light dress fluttered in the breeze. Then she turned her red eyes to Thomas and gestured that it was time to begin.
The first piece he played was Debussy’s “Clair de lune,” and since he’d played it so many times before, he performed from memory. His fingers moved gracefully, solemnly accompanying Camille’s ashes as they were carried into the mausoleum. Mr. Bartel handed the urn to his daughter, who placed it on the altar. Then he made his way to the podium and delivered a pompous reading of Lamartine.
What good these valleys, these cottages, these palaces,
Vain objects that for me have lost their charm and grace,
These rivers, rocks, and forests, solitudes once so dear,
A single person is missing, and all becomes a barren waste!
