Her voice rose to a crescendo as the audience sat apparently awed by the power of the human voice. A few passages back I had sang a very fast-paced part which really took all my concentration to do well. It also contained some really high notes, straining even my tenor voice. During practice I had almost failed to give that particular passage its proper interpretation, not always able to execute those high notes with the power, brilliance and clarity they deserved. But today I had gone through it with aplomb, and I hoped that as soon as this piece was finished the audience would show its appreciation of both of us as a duet. Those feelings of having finally come to this performance well-prepared and giving the audience their money's worth filled me with a deep joy so that as we combined our voices for the final part of the song, we sounded our best ever. Together we soared, passed and repassed each other, chased one another up the scales, and down again to bring the piece to a very satisfactory finish. For the first time in many years the entire hall erupted in a standing ovation.
Helina and I had sang in many performances over the years since we were but teenagers. Today I shudder to think how our music must have sounded then! Under the guidance of old man Zenigizokay, we had built up our expertise until today we could feature on the programme of the Adelaide Music Society Evening Concert. It meant that after years of hard slogging, practices and performances in lesser concerts around the country we had finally made it to the pinnacle of the choral music society. It was indeed fortunate, for the conductor was in dire straits since three top singers had died in a tragic accident on the Bendigo Road on the way from Melbourne. Thus we were invited not just because the organisers wanted to include something fresh in the programme and our fame had reached their ears, but also to explore the possibility of adding to their numbers of professional musicians. We could feel it in our bones that we had made a very powerful impression; it was now only a matter of time before we were formally invited to join the ranks of the Music Society.
In music we each needed to sing our part not merely accurately and enunciating the lyrics clearly, but also conveying the mood to the audience in such a way that they also felt what the composer had intended. Our personalities allowed us to complement each other on stage, but there was another duet we discovered belatedly we could play equally well. Though everyone, our parents included, expected that when we decided to marry we would pick each other, it just did not happen that way. She ended up marrying a jazz singer and composer, while I fell in with a teacher of among other subjects, music. Both marriages were productive of children, but hardly of marital bliss. Mine was the first to die while her sputtered on for a few more years before giving up the ghost.
The judgmental among us said that it was the musical ties that weakened the marital ones, but then we had started singing together long before meeting each our spouse. I had felt reasonably happy and secure in my marriage. Only when my wife developed a scolding, cantankerous streak did the amorous flames begin faltering. Eventually we were together for the sake of our three children, rather than for the reasons we had started out with. On her part, Helina found that her husband was fond of collecting things and when it got to his picking up cars with the stated intention of repairing and reselling them, things started to get difficult. For their front yard eventually had four which he promised day after day to dispose of after giving them the much-needed repairs; he never got round to doing that. She saw all too clearly that too much of their resources were tied up in these toys of his, leaving them struggling for basic necessities when they really should not have been.
Through all this Helina and I continued to give each other support, musically and emotionally, yet in a non-marital manner. We knew deep inside of us that had we married, the routines of married life would have dampened our musical spontaneity; it could very well have spelt the end of our musical careers. Worse, if we were to have serious disagreements and so poison our home life, it could in all probability pour into our practice sessions and spread its toxins there as well. So we had long ago promised each other never to feel towards each other the way spouses feel, that they can only be truly happy when together. We knew we were not made to live with each other. Neither with anyone else, it now seemed after our marital difficulties.
