That was when Jack saw all the people in the open windows and doorways of the surrounding buildings. Everywhere he looked, there were people--just listening.
"Of course it's not quite like this in the winter!" Dr. Horvath was saying. "But still they come to h
ear him play."
Jack stood at the bottom of the church stairs, in the middle of the little square--just listening and looking at all the people. There wasn't a sound from the construction workers, who had long ago stopped working. They were standing at attention on the scaffolding, their tools at rest--just listening. The man who'd been wielding the hammer had his shirt off; the two men who'd been working with the flexible saw were smoking. The fourth worker, the pipefitter, held a small piece of pipe in one hand--like a baton. He was pretending to be a conductor, conducting the music.
"Those clowns!" Dr. Horvath said. He looked at his watch. "No finger-cramping episodes so far!"
The Bach sounded like it was winding up, or down. "There's more?" Jack asked. "Another piece after this?"
"One more," Dr. Horvath said, nodding.
Jack realized, from the way they were standing, that the construction workers on the scaffolding knew the program as well as Dr. Horvath knew it; they looked as if they were getting ready for something.
Suddenly the Bach was over. It happened simultaneously with a puzzling exodus--families with children were leaving the church. Some of the mothers with younger children were running; only the adults and the teenagers stayed.
"Cowards!" Dr. Horvath said contemptuously; he kicked a stone. "Get ready, Jack. I'll see you later--for some jogging!" Jack realized that Dr. Horvath was preparing to leave him.
Jack also realized that he knew the last piece. In his case, he'd just heard Heather play it in Old St. Paul's. How could he ever forget it? It was Boellmann's horror-movie Toccata. The construction workers knew the Boellmann, too--perhaps William Burns always played it last. The construction workers clearly knew everything that was coming.
It wasn't at all like not being able to hear it, when Jack had stood outside Old St. Paul's. What poured out of the Kirche St. Peter was deafening. Jack was not familiar enough with the Boellmann to detect his father's first mistake, the first finger-cramping episode, but Dr. Horvath obviously heard it; he winced and made a fist of one hand, as if he'd just shut his fingers in a car door. "Time for me to go back inside!" Dr. Horvath cried.
There came a second mistake, and a third; now Jack could hear the errors.
"His fingers?" he asked Dr. Horvath.
"You can't believe how the Boellmann hurts him, Jack," Dr. Horvath said, "but he can't stop playing."
Jack thought of those prostitutes within hearing distance of the Oude Kerk, no matter how late at night or how early in the morning; now he knew why they couldn't go home if William Burns was playing.
At the fourth mistake, Dr. Horvath was off running. "I like to be there when he starts undressing!" he called to Jack, taking the stairs three at a time.
The music raged on--the soundtrack for a chase scene to end all chase scenes, Jack imagined. In his next movie, there might be such a scene. Maybe he could get his dad to play the Boellmann--mistakes and all.
The errors, even Jack could tell, were mounting. The construction workers were poised on the scaffolding.
"I have a son!" Jack heard his father yell, over the deteriorating toccata. "I have a daughter and a son!" his dad shouted. Then William's fingers locked--his fists came crashing down on the keyboard. A flock of pigeons exploded from the clock tower of the Kirche St. Peter, and the construction workers started singing.
"I have a son!" they sang; they had even learned English, listening to William Burns. "I have a daughter and a son!" they sang out. They had more enthusiasm than talent, but Jack had to love them.
"Venite exultemus Domino!" his father sang, the way you would sing or chant a psalm.
One might assume that ordinary construction workers in Zurich wouldn't necessarily know Latin, but this wasn't the first time these men had listened to William Burns, and--as Anna-Elisabeth had told Jack--these workers were a little different.
"Venite exultemus Domino!" the four workers sang back to Jack's father.
The man who'd earlier been hammering now held his hammer in one hand, his arm high above his head; the two workers with the flexible saw held it aloft, as if they were offering a sacrifice. The pipefitter had seized a long length of pipe, which he held straight up--like a flagpole.
"Venite exultemus Domino!" Jack's dad and the workers sang out, together.
Jack knew the Latin only because he'd just been at Old St. Paul's with his sister. "Come let us praise the Lord!" their father was singing. "I have a son. I have a daughter and a son! Come let us praise the Lord!"
The construction workers went on singing with William.
People were coming out of the church--now that the Boellmann no longer thundered on, now that there was no impending collision. Jack knew that his dad had taken off all his clothes, or he was in a partly undressed phase of the process. Back at the Sanatorium Kilchberg, Nurse Bleibel--either Waltraut or Hugo--would be getting the ice water ready. And then the hot wax, and then more ice water--as Anna-Elisabeth had explained.
Soon William Burns would be standing naked in the Kirche St. Peter, if he wasn't naked already--his full-body tattoos his only choir. And then, both gently and efficiently, Dr. Horvath would begin to dress him--or both Dr. Horvath and Dr. Krauer-Poppe would dress him. After that, they would be on their way--back to the clinic.