He was too tall for Cassius to kneel before him, so instead, he leant over.The younger children watched on, dirt and curiosity framing their expressions.‘The trick,’ Cassius said, ‘is to watch people like they might be boring.Like you aren’t interested in them.Then, when you are certain you have the proper hand, offer it.They will be grateful of your attention, and you won’t make a mistake.’
Amadeus searched Cassius’s face, then broke into a wide smile.‘You too?’he asked.
Cassius raised his left hand and spun it with a little flourish.‘Me too,’ he said.‘Did someone say something to you, to make you worry?Something unkind?’
He cast a look across the park, where none other than their patron was walking the path away from the chapel, flanked by two women in bright pastel skirts and white blouses.
‘Mrs Crofts?’Odette asked, her voice thick with anger.As if she was about to cross the gardens and tear both the woman and her opera to shreds.
Amadeus shook his head.‘One of her pastel ladies.She said that being left-handed was a sign that I was not a good person.I was…’
‘A sinister,’ Cassius asked.‘Untrustworthy?Cursed?’
The boy nodded solemnly.
‘What if I told you it was true?’
‘I’m cursed?’No more fear, only horror remained on the poor boy’s face.A horror he remembered from his own young days.
‘Maybe not cursed.But a powerful sinister… if you want to be.Let me show you.One left hand to another.’Cassius strode across to an oak.He snapped off a short twig and swished it through the air a few times.‘Our kind make the best assassins.The best sword fighters.The best magicians.Even the best conductors are left-handed.’
Odette coughed.‘Conductors?’she asked, not even bothering to hide her scepticism.
‘I was referring to Wagner,’ he said, feigning churlishness.Sniping.Musical sparring.This was more familiar ground between them.Much better.‘As I was saying.The left-handed are the best at everything.Do you know why?’
The boy shook his head.A few of the other children, all younger than Amadeus, had gathered around him.They watched Cassius, mesmerised.
‘Because we have the element of surprise.Everyone is looking for what is familiar, for what is common.They all watch the right.A left hand keeps them on their toes.It forces them to pay attention.The right hand can hold a baton’—Cassius flipped the twig along his fingers—‘but the left is for expression.Like this.’
Cassius pointed the twig at one of the children, the next shortest in height from Amadeus.‘Who are you?’
‘Nova!’the little girl replied.
‘Nova, you are my flute,’ Cassius said.The little girl raised her hands, her fingers wiggling in the air like she was touching the holes of an instrument.‘My violin.’He pointed to the next shortest, another girl.Another boy, far younger, wobbled, then fell to his bottom with a thud.‘Percussion,’ Cassius said.‘And you’—he offered the stick to Amadeus—‘can be the conductor.’
‘I can?’The boy touched the twig as if it was magic, not just a piece of wood snapped off a tree behind them mere moments earlier.
‘If I can, then you can.’Cassius flipped the twig so it spun one revolution in the air, caught it, and presented it again.‘You still have to hold the baton in your right hand.Otherwise it’s too confusing for the musicians.But the left is for the expression.The nuance.And, of course, to keep the musicians on their toes.’
Amadeus grinned, snatched the stick, then turned to his siblings.‘Are you ready, orchestra?’And with a wave of his twig-baton, he led them along the path, all of them singing the sound of their imaginary instruments.
‘Since when?’Odette asked.
‘Since when what?’
‘Since when do you play games like that?’
Cassius tamped down the longing he thought he’d abandoned once he’d grown too tall for the silks of the performing prodigy.During those years when he, stupid sensitive thing that he’d been, had craved the company of other children… or even just one other small person who understood the wordplayin its simplest form.Oh, how he’d wanted to justplay.‘When I was young and travelling with my father, I would play piano for the adults, but sometimes, I’d be able to spend time with their children.But the performing never stopped, really.Even childish games became a part of the show.I learnt a few tricks to distract them, so they would leave me be.’
‘They are wonderful children.I am sorry if they have reminded you of unhappy days.’
‘Once, it bothered me.Now it is nothing.It was nice to help a fellow cursed soul.I thought you, with all your worries about good and bad luck, would be concerned about left-handers.’
‘That is a silly superstition.I believe in the luck of the theatre.They are not the same thing.In Italy, they call the left hand the heart hand.Did you know?’
‘I did.’
‘And you use it for the music?’
