Song of the Spirits (52 page)

When Roderick stood on the stage, all his plans and thoughts left him. The applause was better and more satisfying than anything he had ever experienced, even more beautiful than sex. As he fell further behind Kura vocally and people looked at him less, his love for Kura dissolved—insofar as it had even been love and not lust.

After their last performance, he decided not to take Kura with him. She should make her career in New Zealand, he thought; she
would manage that without question. And if she came to London someday, there might be a second chance for them then.

He didn’t want to anger her, though, so he determined it was better not to tell her too soon.

Gwyneira attended the final concert in Christchurch together with Marama. She had wanted to bring James, Jack, and most of all, Gloria. Marama agreed that it would be good to bring Kura and her child together. James, however, refused categorically to pay to hear Kura’s singing, and Jack strongly opposed exposing Gloria to it.

“She’ll probably cry when Kura sings,” the boy said. “But I suppose we haven’t tried it in a while. She might stay quiet, and then Kura might think she has talent. You never know what will run through her head. What will we do if she suddenly wants to take Gloria to England?”

“She is her mother,” Gwyneira objected halfheartedly.

James shook his head reluctantly. “When the boy’s right, he’s right. She’s never cared for the child, but Gloria’s bigger and prettier now, and Kura could get some crazy idea in her head. It’s better not to take the risk. If Kura wants to see her daughter, she can come to Kiward Station. The ship is not leaving for England first thing tomorrow.”

Though Gwyneira considered that a sound argument, Marama remained of the opinion that they should at least try to get Kura to take an interest in Gloria. Erring on the side of caution, Jack found his own solution to the matter: he disappeared with the little girl on the day of the trip. He had recently started setting her in front of him on his horse, so looking for them would be useless. The pair could be miles away.

“I’ll bend him over my knee when he gets back,” James said when the women finally departed, with a wink at Gwyneira. He would more likely congratulate his son instead.

Marama had only been to Christchurch a few times and quickly forgot about the minor disappointment once they were on their way. The women chatted about the weather, the sheep, and Gloria’s development, but they did not have much in common anymore. Marama had completely melded into her tribe, teaching some reading and writing, but she mostly focused on dance and music. The newest books out of England, the latest discoveries, and current events no longer interested her as much as they had when she had lived with Kura on Kiward Station.

The excursion was nevertheless quite congenial. They arrived in Christchurch early and had time to freshen up before the concert. Naturally, they would have liked to have visit with Kura, but they did not get a chance. Apparently, the singer needed to concentrate before she made her entrance. Instead, Gwyneira met Elizabeth Greenwood in the lobby of the hotel with her youngest daughter, Charlotte. Gwyneira had to smile. The light-blonde, delicately framed girl was almost a perfect replica of the little Elizabeth she had met so many years before on the
Dublin
.

“I’m so excited to see Kura,” Elizabeth said cheerfully when the women had sat down to a cup of tea. “Everybody is raving about how beautifully she sings.”

Gwyneira nodded, but she felt uncomfortable. “People have always raved about her,” she said guardedly.

“But George thinks she’s further developed her talent. At least that’s what the impresario says. George doesn’t really understand anything about music himself. He thinks the man is going to take her back to England. What do you think about that? Are you still her guardian?”

Gwyneira sighed. So people in Christchurch were already talking about Kura and the “impresario.” Well, William had seen that coming. But now she had to answer with some diplomatic tact.

“Strictly speaking, I’m not her guardian anymore. She is married, after all. So you would really have to ask William what he thinks. In fact, I would quite like to know that myself. I was almost certain he would come today, but he hasn’t booked a room.”

“Maybe he’s only coming to the concert. But in all seriousness, Gwyneira. I’m not just asking you all these questions because I’m curious—at least that’s not the only reason.” Elizabeth smiled coyly, and Gwyneira was reminded of her shy expression as a child. “George wanted to know what you thought about it. After all, he booked passage on the ship for the other singers. If Kura wants to go with them now, he can arrange that—or if you don’t want her to go, he can set up some ‘difficulties.’ George could claim there were no more cabins on board the ship, and that she would have to take the next one. Then you would have some time to work on her.”

Gwyneira was touched by the Greenwoods’ concern. George had always been a good friend and had a talent for diplomacy. However, she did not rightly know what to think.

“Let me talk to her first, Elizabeth. We’ll see her after the concert, and before that, we’ll hear her sing. Not that I understand much more on that subject than George, but I think anybody should be able to tell if she can hold her own with the other singers or not.”

Elizabeth understood the implication: Gwyneira was alluding to whether Kura would truly be accepted as an artist or merely as the mistress of the impresario—and consequently, whether Roderick truly believed in her career or simply could not resist her body.

“Just let us know first thing tomorrow,” Elizabeth said kindly.

K
ura-maro-tini was in a rage. This was to be their last concert in New Zealand, and all of her relatives and acquaintances would be sitting in the audience, and yet Roderick had struck two of her solos. Ostensibly, the performance would be too long. A cast party for the ensemble thrown by George Greenwood was to take place following the concert, so it was important that the recital not run too late.

Roderick didn’t even talk to her before the concert—it was Sabina who had told her about the changes. And then this cast party! All of the other artists had received formal invitations; only Kura had been excluded. She would still go, of course. Sabina, Brigitte, and all the others had explained that there must have been a mistake, and everyone offered to take Kura as their personal guest—everyone, that is, except Roderick. He had not shown himself all day. Kura decided to make a scene that night in bed.

She took a moment to look into the audience—and felt insulted once again when she saw only Gwyneira and Marama in the first row. It wasn’t that she cared much for James or Jack, but after both of them had complained about her music studies for years, she would have liked to savor her triumph in front of them now. It did not occur to her to miss Gloria. Kura would never have even considered bringing the baby to a concert. She might cry! But where was William? On this point too, Kura had let her imagination run wild; naturally, he would come to Christchurch to see her once more. He would beg her forgiveness and entreat her to stay, but she would tell him once more to his face what she had written when she left: “It isn’t worth it!” She could not entomb herself in Kiward Station just because she loved William. And then? In Kura’s dearest fantasies, he embraced her
at this point, told her that she was far more important to him than all the sheep in the world, and booked a cabin straightaway on a steamer bound for England. Naturally, there would be romantic rivalries. Oh, it would be glorious to play Roderick and William against each other a bit. But in the end, she would have them both: William and her career. Just like she had always wanted. Except that William had put a spoke in her wheel. The concert would begin in a few minutes, and he had not arrived yet. Well, there was always Roderick. Kura left her peephole in the curtain. He would be getting an earful!

Gwyneira was right. One did not need to be a music connoisseur to judge Kura’s performance. It was clear to everyone after the first few notes that the young singer was not only a match for her colleagues but that she outsang them by a considerable margin. Kura met every note with expression, singing with verve and expression—pleading, enticing, and crying with her voice. Even Gwyneira, who had never thought much of opera, and Marama, who was hearing operatic arias for the first time, understood what was motivating the characters onstage, even when Kura was singing in French, Italian, or German.

Marama had tears in her eyes during the
Il Trovatore
quartet, and Elizabeth could not stop clapping after the “Habanera.” Roderick Barrister paled in comparison to his partner. Elizabeth Greenwood no longer knew why she had been so enthusiastic about his singing after the first concert in Christchurch.

After the final curtain—the audience had cheered frenetically for Kura one more time—the women stayed in their seats and looked at one another.

Finally, Elizabeth congratulated Marama. “You have to send the girl to London! I always thought they were exaggerating about Kura’s talent. But now… She doesn’t belong on a sheep farm; she belongs on an opera stage!”

Gwyneira nodded, if somewhat less euphorically. “She can go if she wants. I, for one, won’t stand in her way.”

Marama bit her lip. She was always a little shy when she found herself the only Maori surrounded by whites. All the more so because she was not an exotic beauty like Kura but more typical of her people: short and, now that she was getting older, a bit stocky. She had put her straight black hair up that night and worn English clothes, but she nevertheless attracted attention among the people in this room. And she never was sure whether Gwyneira was embarrassed by her Maori daughter-in-law or not.

“Could you still send her to a school, Gwyneira?” Marama finally said, risking a remark in her beautiful, songlike voice. “What is it called again? A conservatory, right? She sings wonderfully. But this man, I don’t think he taught her everything he knows. Kura could be even better. And she needs a degree. It may be enough merely to sing beautifully here, but among the white people, you need a diploma to become a
tohunga
.”

Marama spoke impeccable English. As Kiri’s daughter, she had practically grown up in the Wardens’ household, and she had always been among Helen’s best students.

She was right. Gwyneira nodded. “We should talk to her straightaway, Marama. It would be best to go straight backstage before twenty people are standing in line in front of us to tell her how irresistible she is.”