Если я останусь
8:12 P.M.
Ifyouplaysomeonecrappy,youendupmissingshotsorservingallsloppy,butifyouplaywithanaceplayer,suddenlyyou’reallatthenet,lobbinggoodvolleys."
"Iwouldn’tknow,"ItoldPeter,feelinglikethemostboring,shelteredpersonever."Idon’tplaytennis,either."
Thenextfewdayswentbyinablur.Ihadnoideawhytheyputoutthekayaks.Therewasnotimeforplaying.Notthatkind,anyway.Thedaysweretotallygrueling.Upatsix-thirty,breakfastbyseven,privatestudytimeforthreehoursinthemorningandintheafternoon,andorchestrarehearsalbeforedinner.
I’dneverplayedwithmorethanahandfulofmusiciansbefore,sothefirstfewdaysinorchestrawerechaotic.Thecamp’smusicaldirector,whowasalsotheconductor,scrambledtogetussituatedandthenitwaseverythinghecoulddotogetusplayingthemostbasicofmovementsinanysemblanceoftime.Onthethirdday,hetrottedoutsomeBrahmslullabies.Thefirsttimeweplayed,itwaspainful.Theinstrumentsdidn’tblendsomuchascollide,likerockscaughtinalawnmower."Terrible!"hescreamed."Howcananyofyoueverexpecttoplayinaprofessionalorchestraifyoucannotkeeptimeonalullaby?Nowagain!"
Afteraboutaweek,itstartedtogelandIgotmyfirsttasteofbeingacoginthemachine.Itmademehearthecelloinanentirelynewway,howitslowtonesworkedinconcertwiththeviola’shighernotes,howitprovidedafoundationforthewoodwindsontheothersideoftheorchestrapit.
