As advertised, dinner was wonderful. Not only did this café, hidden in a back street that looked exactly like the alley for some of the scenes set in the film Amadeus, serve incredibly delicious food, but they boasted music as well.
Not opera. Klezmer. For those who’ve never heard this style of music before, I shall attempt to clarify.
Klezmer was originally Hebrew liturgical music played by roving minstrels throughout Eastern Europe but evolved to include gigs at wedding ceremonies and then jazz clubs and there are now bands, even in the U.S., that tour like rock groups. The instrumentation is generally made up of violins, cymbals, clarinet, trombone and accordion and when words are sung, they’re sung in Yiddish. Think ‘bar scene in Fiddler on the Roof with the bottle dance’ then jazz it up some. That said, there are many different styles and sounds; just like American “C & W” can claim Hank Williams Jr., Dolly Parton, Garth Brooks, Tim McGraw and Carrie Underwood. Eclectic but huddling under and sharing that umbrella called “country.”
At this café (named something so Czech with so many consonants I hadn’t the slightest clue how to pronounce it) the Klezmer musicians were casually dressed in black turtlenecks and slacks and yarmulkes, which gave them the appearance of Jewish Bohemian beatnik band circa 1950’s. They were called Klezmer Volny Rabin and they were incredible.
I knew ‘rabin’ meant ‘rabbi’ but the adjective defeated me. “What’s Volny mean?” I asked Johnny. I figured he’d learned some Czech for the soap episodes filmed in Prague. At any rate he had to have a heckuva lot better grasp of the language than I did.
He did. “Means ‘free.’”
“Ah. Very post Communism political of them, huh?”
“Possibly.” He chortled. “Then again, it could just mean that Martin, the owner of this fine establishment, doesn’t pay them.”
Shay tapped his arm. “Do you suppose they’re really rabbis?”
“Well, I can’t speak for all of them, but the accordion player, Jacob, can be found teaching at the temple school most days. And Joshua, the clarinet player, is a cantor. Come to the Synagogue next Saturday and you can hear some fine singing.”
I knew a crafty look had just surfaced across my face. Shay glared at me.
“No.”
“What? No?”
“No.”
“Shoot, Shay, don’t tell me no. You don’t mean it.”
“I do. No.”
Johnny put his hand between our faces. “Would you like to let me in on this little tiff since I have no idea what Shay is saying ‘no’ to since as far as I can tell, no topic has been introduced that would cause that word?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Shay is being stubborn.”
She stuck her tongue out at me.
“Am not. You’re being nutty.”
“Children. Children. Stop. Give me a break here. What are you going on about?” Johnny nearly shouted.
Shay shifted her glare to him. “Abigail wants to add the singing Rabbis to the film.”
Johnny’s expression became one of fascination. “Where did that come from? I didn’t hear her say anything even close?” He stared at Shay. “Do you suddenly have the Fouchet gift for extra sensory perception? Can you now read minds?”
I snorted. “Try rooming with someone you’re also in class with twenty-four-seven. Identical twins don’t have the communication Shay and I have.” I added with a sneer, “Not that it helps when one of the duo is digging her heels in and not agreeing to what could be a defining moment in the movie.”
“Defining moment?” she yelled. “You want a bunch of bearded guys with beanies to parachute in ala Gregory Noble or have ‘em pop out from behind that marble coffin and start jamming to the tune of Sunrise, Sunset while all around them counts and countesses and maids and butlers dance a hora?” She brightened. “Wait. When the whole vision comes clear, it’s not that bad an idea. In fact, I’m getting to like it. It’s inspired! I’m so glad I thought of it. Let’s ask these guys if they could use a few extra bucks and get their names splashed onscreen.”
I shot Johnny an “I told you so” look, then contently settled back in my chair to sip coffee and enjoy the music, which was quite a bit livelier and had more jazz influence than Sunrise, Sunset.
I didn’t stay content for long. The Rabbis were taking a break and the violin player was approaching our table. Johnny motioned for him to sit. The musician, who didn’t seem to be a day over sixteen, introduced himself as Benjamin, the “real” rabbi’s younger brother, and gratefully accepted the coffee Johnny had just ordered.
“You play beautifully,” I told him. “I can see this is going to become a fixed hangout for us while we’re in Prague.”
“You are here to visit for how long?”
Shay jumped in and explained about the movie, finishing by asking him to ask his fellow klezmerites—which probably isn’t a word Shay’s dad would buy either, but I liked it—if they’d be interested in performing a number for the film.
Benjamin’s eyes shone. “I would love to do that. I would bet the rest of the band would be interested as well. We are all great film enthusiasts and the chance to actually be in one is not something to pass up.”
That was settled. So we discussed various films that had been shot in and around Prague, mostly the American action films that made such great use of the Charles Bridge in between blowing up historic-looking buildings.
“No CIA explosive devices or spies in this one,” Shay told him. “No wait, that’s not quite true. In the novel we’re adapting, Count Zilania has actually worked as a spy for the British government. I don’t recall the author ever really explaining why though, so this could be nothing more than glossing over that particular piece of back story.”
Benjamin smiled. “I do not care whether a troupe of secret agents appear, I am just thrilled to be asked to play.” He tapped Johnny’s shoulder. “Which brings me to why I came to sit with you—other than simply to say hello and meet these beautiful ladies.”
Shay and I preened. He was a kid, but one preens when one is called beautiful by a male of any age.
Benjamin continued, “I need to get home and finish work for a test in my Biology class tomorrow. Would you mind sitting in for the rest of the evening?”
Johnny enthusiastically agreed, asked us if we could handle being on our own and getting back to the hotel without incident, then, after we assured him that we were not that helpless, he followed Benjamin back to the small platform that served as a stage. He rosined up a bow and began to play the next set.
I groaned.
“What? You’re looking morose. Problems?”
“There are times when I see my wedding to Johnny Gerard getting as lost in time as Ignatz’ flute.”
“Why?”
“Because he gets everything right. I mean, he’s done everthing and is way too well-rounded to be human. Look at today.”
“What? He guides Japanese tourist and still leads us to a Klezmer band who will playing their wonderful tunes soon in our movie to the delight of millions the world over. Not too mention he’s cute as a bug, talented, has steady income, is smart and makes you laugh. Y’all are getting married as soon as he’s not flying around filming Endless Time for two seconds. What’s the problem?”
“I feel like a dweeb next to him.”
“Ah, come on. Yes, the man has more than his share of talents, but you’re not exactly a one-gifted woman yourself.”
“Oh? Really? Aside from breaking feet while roller-skating in bad productions of Starlight Express, what the hell else can I do?”
She shoved a bourbon and coke at me. (We’d switched from coffee after the food had arrived.) “You want the breakdown? The sizeable schemer? The entire enchilada?”
“If it will prevent you from using alliterative metaphors, yes, fine. How in hell can I keep up with The Gerard and his coat of many colorful careers—most of which are related to his beyond-normal soap character?”
Shay took a sip of her own drink, then toasted me. “I like that. Nice. Coat of colorful careers. Well, let me get to your jacket, buddy mine.”
“Before you and I both end up in the Retirement Home for old dancers?” I countered.
“You’re the one stalling. I’m ready to list your accomplishment any time you can keep your mouth quiet for longer than twenty seconds. I shouldn’t do this. This is what your damn idiot agent Angela, who is also my idiot agent, should be doing. But be quiet and I’ll buck up your ego.”
“Okay.”
“Really?”
“I said ‘okay.’ Now who’s stalling?” I downed my drink. “I don’t have other accomplishments, right? That’s why you don’t want to list them. It won’t even take a twentieth of a second, much less twenty.”
“Stop!”
“Okay.” I closed my mouth, then immediately opened it again. “I’m morose.”
“You’re whacked. Be quiet or I’ll disown you. Shoot, Abby, you’re smart. You memorize songs and lines faster than composers and playwrites get them on paper. You can dance, you can sing, you can act. You can choreograph although I’m much better. Uh. You find locations. Well, you found one and you will doubtless find more in future times since you are somewhat accident prone and you do break your feet at least once a year, usually because some idiot director makes you do something idiotic. Where was I? Oh. You can walk into a bare house and decorate it in your mind within minutes of entering. You make the meanest batch of brownies on the planet as well as chili that can peel paint. You love animals and thanks to those episodes on Endless Time playing Vanessa Manilow, Olympic equestrian coming out of a coma, you can even ride a horse without getting thrown, bitten, falling off or making a total fool of yourself. Of course you turn into a blathering, blithering idiot around roaches and you have a tendency to be a wimp most of the time, then lose your temper and spout dumb eptihets at people, but other than that—how’m I doing?”
I shrugged. “Johnny Gerard can paint murals. He sings, he plays violin and guitar and doubtless every instrument in a marching band. He can swing on a trapeze with ease. He’s taught English. He can speak languages and is energetic and personable enough to help guide tours in a country not even his. Every damn female in every damn country in the world is hot for him. What am I missing so far?”
“Nobel-prize winner?”
I groaned. “Wouldn’t doubt it. Hell, Shay, I quit. What’s going to happen when we do get married? How soon will he get bored with me, the bone-breaking underachiever of the millennium?”
“Shit, Abby, you’re such a dweeb. You’re a nice person. And you’re funny. And you listen and you don’t judge people unless they happen to be leading ladies who resemble bitchy dancers you’ve known. You make all kinds of people adore you. . And you’re loyal. And in today’s world, I wouldn’t trade you as my friend for all the gold in Arabia. Or wherever gold comes from. And if Johnny is half as smart as we both agree he is, then he won’t trade you either.”
She added, “Not even for a dozen Hannah Hammersteins.”