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“Kamiya-sensei tells me that this year’s players are nothing
like those he had last year. He claims that they have improved sufficiently to stand on their own, without our assistance.
I intend to prove him wrong. ”
Sakaki allowed his eyes to slide along the line of regulars gathered around him.
Hiyoshi was fidgeting and Jiroh appeared to have dozed off leaning against Kabaji’s side. No matter, they were unimportant
for this particular event. Shishido and Mukahi appeared to be having a silent conversation, consisting mostly of grimaces
and face-pulling. He fixed Shishido with a stern glare.
“Can we go back to training now, Kantoku?” Shishido
asked, apparently unrepentant, though Sakaki knew that Shishido had at least a certain degree of fear for his power to remove
him from the team. Out of the corner of his eye, Sakaki saw Mukahi slipping behind Oshitari’s taller figure, safely
out of the way of any ensuing crossfire.
He paused, allowing them to squirm a moment longer.
“Shishido,
Mukahi, Hiyoshi, Akutagawa: you may go,” he said at last, flicking his fingers impatiently and ready to get down to
business. “Now, Atobe, you’re needed in the choir. It appears that bringing in an extra singing teacher has done
nothing to improve the quality of the tenors. The music has been given to your driver already - study it this evening. I expect
you to keep them in tune, if nothing else.”
Atobe nodded in acknowledgement. It was fortunate that his voice
had broken some time ago and that he was a genuinely talented musician. Their eyes met in a moment of understanding and Atobe
excused himself gracefully from the meeting. After all, someone had to supervise the rest of the club in their practice.
Indeed,
it was fortunate that so many of his music students were also in the tennis club, as it meant augmenting the orchestra for
important concerts was much simpler than it would otherwise have been. If being the one to provide such assistance - and from
the tennis club, no less - raised his standing in the staff room, he would not object.
“Clearly, the rest
of you are needed in the orchestra. Ohtori - first violin, Kabaji - percussion, Taki - second oboe. Oshitari, I’d like
you on viola - we must have the entries in the Grieg perfect.”
“Viola?” Oshitari asked with a certain
amount of reluctance, as if Sakaki was not aware that he was a soloist standard violin player and on the whole preferred not
to have to shift to the alto clef. Sakaki didn’t bother to answer him.
The five of them turned up the following evening in the classroom being used as a preparation room perfectly
on time for the concert, dressed in the designer and perfectly-tailored suits that Atobe had provided. They were met by hard
glares and whispered conversations.
Atobe ignored them and swept past the sprawl of instruments and cases to where
the choir was gathered, chin held high. Oshitari watched with amusement before leading the others over to a vacant table.
Really, it was a little much to ask of them to expect them to play in the concert without having rehearsed with the orchestra
beforehand, but then Sakaki-kantoku had only asked it the very best pupils under his supervision.
It didn’t win
them any popularity points with the members of the orchestra either, who had presumably been practicing for months in preparation.
Not that Oshitari planned to let that bother him but the more sensitive members of their group - Ohtori, at any rate - would
likely be hurt by it… was already being hurt by it if the confused look on his face was anything to go by.
It
was with that in mind that when he strode into the school hall, viola tucked under his arm, he sat in the first desk of the
viola section and proceded to arrange the music to his wishes with perfect composure. A quick glance around him revealed Ohtori
tucked diplomatically at the back of the first violins, Taki in the middle of the oboes and Kabaji standing stiffly next to
the timpanist. If Oshitari didn’t know that Kabaji was yet to be scared of anything, including Atobe in a rage, he’d
have said he was nervous.
As Kamiya-sensei made his way to the front, Oshitari took the chance to skim once more over
the score for Grieg‘s ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’. Technically not as challenging as some but Sakaki-kantoku
specifically mentioned the viola entrance, so he would have to make sure it was spot on.
It was, of course. They didn’t
call him a genius for nothing.
Well, the viola line was perfect. He claimed no responsibility for the bassoon’s
inability to keep at a steady tempo. It was unfortunate that the orchestra was obliged to have a first year as a starting
member, even when they lacked the necessary experience, just because there was no one else. Then again, a teacher like Sakaki
wouldn’t have been foolish enough to select a piece with solo bassoon if he knew there was a weakness there.
A
pause for them - and the audience - to catch their breath and then they were off with the distinctive first movement of Beethoven’s
5th, the orchestra joining as one in the thundering chords. Playing in an orchestra - particularly a composer like Beethoven
- was like playing doubles, in a way. The tune was passed around from section to section, the different lines weaving in and
out of each other, some times in perfect unison, sometimes in harmony but never colliding. It was like many bodies with one
mind in the same way that a good pair moved, understanding where the other was without needing to look.
Next was the
Brahms - the 3rd movement of symphony number 4. This had always reminded Oshitari less of doubles and more of a match in general.
The flowing changes from the joyful to the tense reminded him of the changing mood on court, the ending of the movement of
the constant feeling that there was more to come, more tennis to be played.
He was fired up as they went into Danse
Trepak, from Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite. At first it was as though Kamiya-sensei was holding them back and then
slowly he picked up the pace, spiralling faster and faster.
Kamiya’s gestures got bigger and bigger, faster and
faster. There was a sudden ‘CRACK!’ as his baton caught the edge of the stand and Oshitari’s head jerked
up in surprise. He d scarcely enough time to register it before he ducked instinctively to allow the half-baton to fly over
his head and impact harmlessly with Taki’s stand behind him.
Kamiya continued conducting with the remaining half-baton,
as though nothing had happened. Eyes wide, Oshitari focused his attention on the music again kept playing, scarcely dropping
a note.
The final chord was cut off sharply, hanging in the hall for a breathless moment before the applause started.
Kamiya wiped a hand across his forehead, turned and bowed. He then waved the orchestra to their feet, as the applause flooded
over them.
They were permitted their moment of glory, then the stage erupted into organised chaos as the orchestra
filed off and stage hands swept on to clear the stage for the choir. Oshitari paused in the doorway to watch Atobe sweep onto
the stage, leading the tenors into position. The applause doubled in volume as he raised a hand to thank them. Oshitari snorted:
honestly, you couldn’t take him anywhere.
At the end of the concert, Yukimura allowed Sanada to hurry him towards the door. Really, it had been thoughtful
of Atobe to provide them with tickets. It really was lucky that the choice of music had been so good - he’d grown very
fond of Brahms while he was in the hospital.
“Remind me to thank Atobe for the tickets,” Yukimura said.
Sanada was turning said them over in his hands, as if checking for some hidden clue. “I don’t know why he sent
them but it was a good concert.”
Sanada snorted. “Probably wanted us to be ‘awed by the sound of
his singing’ or something equally ridiculous.”
Yukimura laughed. He had his own suspicions. If Atobe had
only wanted to be polite, Yukimura doubted that he would have sent a ticket for the vice-captain as well. “Still, it
was a nice thought. Maybe we should invite him to watch the kendo club’s display next month.”
Sanada froze
abruptly. Yukimura wondered for a moment if his guess about the unresolved tension had hit closer than he’d intended,
before he caught sight of Tezuka’s tall figure just in front of them. Tezuka noticed them at almost the same time.
The
three of them looked at each other in silence for a moment.
“Atobe?” Yukimura offered wryly, at last.
“Aa.”
That
was apparently sufficient explanation for any of them.
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