Eric led Anna out of the practice room, taking an abrupt right turn and leading her through a door that she hadn’t even noticed. They descended a staircase and she found herself in a maze of passages and open doors, each one becoming narrower and darker. Anna felt a flicker of worry igniting inside, growing brighter with every turn into every hallway that Eric was taking. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” she asked, struggling to keep up.
“My father has played in this theater many times,” he said over his shoulder. “This is how I get to watch him.”
They continued turning this way and that until Anna felt as if they had just gone in a dozen circles and she had completely lost her sense of direction. And just when she was regretting ever having agreed to go along, they suddenly emerged through a low archway to find themselves inside the grand theater. Well, they weren’t actually inside the theater itself, at least not in the audience section. Eric had brought her to a small waiting area just to the side of the stage. From this vantage point, Anna could see the stage and she could see the audience, but when they crouched down as Eric instructed her to do, no one could see them. It was a perfect spot.
Eric nodded with satisfaction even before she could thank him. “I told you I knew where I was going,” he whispered. She felt her face grow hot and knew it had turned to a color that was not unlike Eric’s hair. But he continued as if he hadn’t noticed. He pointed beyond the stage and out into the audience. Anna could see several men and women seated at a wooden table that had been set up across from some of the audience chairs.
Eric pointed to the man in the middle and mouthed the word “Huberman.” But Anna couldn’t see the maestro’s face. He was sitting with his back to the stage. How odd. She raised her eyebrows to Eric as if to ask why. But he shook his head. He didn’t seem to understand it either.
Anna continued to scope out the theater and noticed that there was a large wooden board leaning on an easel that had been placed next to Mr. Huberman and his panel. She squinted to try to figure out what was on it and finally realized that it was a chart of an orchestra and it was divided into sections to represent the instruments: strings—that would be the violins, violas, cellos; brass—those were the trumpets and French horns; percussion—the drums and cymbals; and the woodwinds—clarinets, oboes, and the like. Under each section on the board, there were squares that seemed to indicate how many instruments there would be in that section. Several of the boxes were already covered with names. Anna didn’t have to ask to know immediately what that meant. A number of musicians had already been chosen for those openings. Her eyes zeroed in on the woodwind section and on the clarinets. There were four boxes—four spots to fill. Two of the boxes were already covered with names.
Eric tapped her arm. A woman carrying a violin was walking onto the stage. She bowed in the direction of the panel. The man next to Mr. Huberman began to speak.
“Mr. Huberman will have his back turned while you are playing,” the man began. “This is what we refer to as a blind audition. There will be no consideration as to your name or appearance. How you play will determine everything. You may begin at any time.”
So that was it! Mr. Huberman would be picking his orchestra based only on how the musicians sounded to him. Anna wasn’t sure if this was good or bad.
The woman onstage raised her violin to her shoulder, closed her eyes, and began to play, swaying slightly in time with the music. Anna could see Mr. Huberman’s head moving from side to side. Every once in a while he stopped, placed his hand against his ear, listened, and then resumed his head nodding and swaying. The woman finished playing and bowed again. The man who had spoken in the beginning said, “Thank you. That is all.” And the woman left the stage. Only then did Mr. Huberman turn around, and Anna finally had a chance to really see him.
He seemed to be an average-sized man, about as tall as Papa, and very formal looking in a gray suit with a high, stiff collar and a vest, from which he withdrew a pocket watch that he tapped on. He had slicked-back dark hair, a clean-shaven face, and eyes that were penetrating. But even from this distance, Anna could see that his face was kind, not severe or angry.
He began to talk with the men and women on his right and left. With heads together, the group argued back and forth for what seemed like forever. Finally, Mr. Huberman jotted something on a slip of paper. The man who had given the instructions rose from his chair and placed this slip of paper over one of the spots on the orchestra chart. Anna squinted again. There was a name written on the paper and Anna knew immediately that it was the name of the violinist who had just played. That woman had made it into the orchestra. But Anna didn’t have a moment to think about this when a man—this time carrying an oboe—walked onstage. And the whole process was repeated. Musician after musician walked on the stage, and Mr. Huberman had his back to them all. After each solo, someone simply said, “Thank you,” and the musician was dismissed. Then Mr. Huberman would turn around and the debate would begin again.
Sometimes he wrote a name on one of his slips of paper; other times he wrote nothing. Once, he interrupted a cellist even before the musician had had a chance to finish. Another time he stopped a French horn player in the middle of her solo. Anna knew that wasn’t good, and those musicians hurried offstage looking stunned and shaken.
When Eric’s father came on, Eric stiffened next to her. His father raised his trumpet to his mouth and played. He made it through the whole piece. When he had finished and left the stage, Mr. Huberman had a long conversation with his colleagues, then wrote a name on the paper and posted it in the brass section of the chart. Eric grinned at Anna when he saw his father’s name on the board, and she returned the smile.
Finally, it was Papa’s turn. He walked onstage, bowed as all the musicians had done, listened to the instructions, and raised his clarinet to his lips. Anna moved slightly forward from her crouched position. Her heart was beating in big thumps like the timpani drum of an orchestra. And her breath was quick and shallow. She stared at her father and then out at the table where Mr. Huberman sat turned in his seat; she prayed and willed him to like what he heard. And when Papa began to play, Anna felt her heart soar with pride. This was her father, the renowned Avrum Hirsch, a great clarinetist. Anna had never doubted his talent and she had to believe that Mr. Huberman would recognize it as well. At one point, Eric put his arm on hers as if to stop her from leaping out onstage. She hadn’t even realized that she was inching forward from her crouched position. If she wasn’t careful, someone would see her.
Mr. Huberman did not interrupt Papa. When her father finished playing, he bowed again and left. That was when Mr. Huberman turned and began the discussion with the other people at the table. Anna could feel the sweat begin to gather at the back of her neck. She was hot; she needed air and it felt as if the theater, enormous as it was, was closing in on her. What would Mr. Huberman do? Would he write her father’s name down? Would he give them a chance to start a new life in a country far away from Poland?
The discussion seemed to be drawing to a close. This was it. Decision time. Anna inched forward again and held her breath. Please choose Papa, she prayed. Please write his name down!
“Hey, you little stage rats. What are you doing here?”
Anna and Eric reeled about and came face to face with an elderly man who had snuck up behind them. His face was badly scarred, and the lines around his cheeks and eyes were so deep that Anna thought they looked like the peaks and gullies of the hillside they had passed on the train ride to Warsaw. He held a broom in his thick hand, poised above his head. “No kids allowed. Get out of here!” He looked as if he might strike them at any second. Anna held her hands in front of her face, but before anything could happen, Eric grabbed her by the arm, pulled her out of her crouched position, and pushed her forward, back into the maze of hallways and arches and small doors leading away from the stage. “Run!” he whispered.
“Get back here so I can show you what we do to stage rats.” The man was growling behind them but his voice was growing fainter and more distant as Eric urged her forward.
Anna turned and shouted over her shoulder. “No, wait. I have to go back.”
“Forget it,” Eric replied, huffing and puffing on her heels.
“But I didn’t see if he wrote my father’s name down.”
“The only thing we would have seen is that broom coming down on our heads.”
Hot tears were threatening to spill down Anna’s cheeks. A voice inside her head was screaming. Did he choose us? Did he save us? There was no answer. Finally, they emerged into the musicians’ waiting room just as Anna’s father was entering.
Anna was still breathing heavily and her face must have been flushed. Papa touched her forehead. “Are you all right, Annichka? Do you have a fever?”
She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She couldn’t tell her father what she and Eric had done. He would have been terribly cross that she had disobeyed him and left the room to sneak behind the stage. But besides that, there was nothing to tell him, no way to reassure him about anything. They were both in the dark about what had just happened.
“Come, let’s go home,” her father said. “I think that went well.”
Just as Anna was putting on her jacket, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to face Eric.
“I hope I see you in Palestine,” he said, and then he turned and left the room with his father.
I hope so too!