Heart of Stone by James W. Ziskin Read Free Book Online Page B

protest. Despite his aversion to fascistic governance, especially given that this had all taken place at the height of the war, my father still chuckled over my moxie.
    Once I’d been welcomed by all, some of the older folks retired for the evening. I explained to the remaining Arcadians why I’d nearly KO’d Isaac’s father, that I’d been quite frightened earlier in the woods. But by then few were listening. Isaac took my elbow and showed me to an armchair. He pulled up one of the chairs the chamber group had been using and sat down with me.
    â€œSorry I interrupted the music,” I said.
    â€œDon’t worry about that. We were almost finished anyway.” He paused to reflect. “Not that anyone could tell.” I laughed. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said and grazed my hand with his so no one else would see.
    â€œI was otherwise detained. My cousin Max went missing this morning, and I only located him this evening.”
    Isaac showed what looked like true concern. “I remember him from so many evenings here at Arcadia. He used to drink port, I think, and have long discussions with my dad and Herbie Schwartz. Is he all right?”
    â€œMax is fine. Resting comfortably at Cedar Haven. And he still enjoys his port. He was well enough to enjoy a couple of quick glasses when he got home. But I’m so sorry about your father. I’m afraid I gave him a shock just now.”
    Isaac smiled at me. Such an infectious smile. My eyes surely sparkled, and my skin tingled again, this time without the terror I’d felt in the woods earlier that evening. His gaze held mine for several beats until I blinked and looked away. He asked if I wanted a drink.
    The evening’s musical program had ended with my awkward arrival, but the assembled seemed happy to continue the revelry. Isaac managed to scare up a glass of whiskey. Not my usual Dewar’s, but a reasonable substitute in the circumstances. (I had an unopened bottle in my suitcase back at Cedar Haven.) The others were well into a third bottle of Mateus, and soon Miriam sat down at the piano against the wall and started playing the “Brindisi” from La Traviata . The assembled joined in in full voice, clinking glasses and making merry. I was drinking too fast and, since I’d missed dinner, felt a rush to my head and a rumble in my stomach. The singing continued with a stream of popular arias chosen seemingly at random. From Puccini (“Parigi o cara”) to Verdi (“La donna è mobile”), ending with Mozart. With no mandolin in the house, Isaac plucked his violin on bended knee as he serenaded me with “Deh vieni alla finestra” from Don Giovanni , thrilling and embarrassing me at the same time. He had a lovely voice and did justice to the “Serenade.” He segued into “Là ci darem la mano” but butchered it, inadvertently creating an obscene result by changing le pene (“pains”) to il pene (“penis”). I suspected I was the only one who noticed.
    â€œThat’s enough,” said Isaac, coughing and laughing in highest spirits. He packed his violin into its case and suggested the group show some consideration and play something Ellie could enjoy. My heart sank.
    â€œPlay ‘The Twist’ for her,” said Simon, giggling like an idiot. “That won’t go over her head.”
    The others laughed as well, and Miriam rose to switch on the radio. I struggled to maintain a smile for public consumption. How I wanted to fit in with these remarkable people, but they clearly considered me a dilettante. Their laughter stung me hard, humiliated me, and I felt the blood drain from my cheeks. Half of me wanted to slip away and dissolve into the night, run fast and far from the chair where I’d received Isaac’s irresistible romantic serenade. I wanted to disappear, especially since I’d demurred like a coward and—like