Chapter 7

A pattern had formed that would prove enduring. I occasionally saw my friends from upstairs during the week, though most of our meetings were limited to running into them on our respective ways to someplace else. Aside from an occasional visit to the grocery store or dinner or something along that line, I would be on my own from Monday to Thursday. Friday nights, Andrew and Lori would go to some manner of classical music performance, usually one of Andrew’s, though I would often meet them out somewhere after it was finished. Saturday was set aside for the observation of the continuing mediocrity of Ray’s band. Andrew would join us if he didn’t have some prior engagement and Lori would always end the night by going to Ray’s.

Sunday, however, was the most entertaining day of the week for me. Quite often, I was able to spend the entire day with Lori: walking the city, talking to her about nothing in particular. She was engagingly inquisitive and always seemed fascinated by the rather few interesting things I’ve done in my life. The problem there was that I never got to know her as well as I would have liked, what with the fact she was usually asking all the questions. But no matter what, Sunday would end at Weddleman’s with Lori and Andrew. It was always entertaining: good food, telling stories, swapping jokes and occasionally hearing what was new with everyone, such as Andrew’s latest, predictable, failed attempt at breaking into a major orchestra.

Weddleman’s became one of my favorite places in the city, mostly due to the quality of my dinner companions. Lively conversation and a relaxed atmosphere were routinely digested along with very good food and a drink or two. Sometimes the place itself could be altogether surprising on its own. For instance, one Sunday, we were just walking in from the sidewalk when a boisterous, happy voice came roaring from the back of the bar shouting, "Andrew! Es ist an der Zeit!"

Andrew looked quizzically toward the back of the bar in an attempt to figure out who had asked the question, "Hans?" His face brightened as he added, "Ja, es ist!"

"Wie geht es Ihnen, mein alte Junge?" the other man asked Andrew; it seemed to be welcoming. Hans, I guessed that was his name, was a gentleman of about forty with a voice that could carry across the Hudson. He looked as jolly as Santa Claus as he came walking over to meet us. Though his suit was well tailored, it did not seem large enough to hold in his exuberance.

"Gut, danke. Und wie geht es Ihnen, mein Freund?"

"Ha! Sehr gut. Good day, Lori! How does life treat you nowadays?"

"Great Hans, glad to see you’re still well."

"Could not be better, thank you," he replied in his thick German accent. I figured that he did not actually live in the U.S. He turned his attention back to Andrew as they continued conversing in German. This was only interrupted as Andrew introduced me to Hans in English, a welcome break from a language of which I have not one iota of knowledge.

"Nice to meet you," I told Hans as my hand was swallowed up by one of the enormous slabs of meat that was attached to the end of his arm.

"Glad to meet you too," he replied in a way that made it seem more than genuine. He returned to Andrew with, "Come, our friends here do not really need to hear us talk business in a foreign language. I have laid plans for your upcoming visit. Tom," he addressed me, "it was good to meet you. And Lori," he continued with a wink at her, "I hope to see you again sometime." Both Hans and Andrew politely excused themselves and headed toward a booth as Lori and I walked toward a table near the sidewalk.

As we sat down, I asked Lori, "Andrew speaks German?" quite incredulously.

"He rather needs to."

"For what? Aside from conversing with the German gentleman I just met."

"His string quartet has toured Europe each of the last three years."

Now that was something I did not know. "How did he end up doing that?"

"Oh, connections. The Weddlemans still have a lot of family over there and Hans, a cousin, is involved with the classical music scene throughout the continent."

"When does that happen?"

"He begins at the end of July and it goes until about mid-autumn. It’s sort of like a consolation prize for his not being able to crack into a major orchestra."

"So he learned German for it?"

"No, he actually learned German in college."

"Oh, okay."

"He learned Czech, though."

After a pause to let that settle in, I asked, "Czech?"

"They do about a week in Prague."

"So he knows German and Czech? Seems like an odd combination."

"He already had a working knowledge of Spanish and French, so he thought it would be in his best interests to broaden his language base."

What do you say to that? In my case, I could only come up with, "Is he fluent?"

"No, but he knows the five languages well enough to get around."

"Five?"

"Italian."

"Lord almighty."

"Dutch, however, he still has some trouble with."

I took a quick turn directly into baffled. "Just so I know, who on earth would want to learn Dutch?"

"Aside from several million people in Holland?"

"Okay, yes, aside from them."

"Well, once Andrew learned German, he figured it wasn’t that much of a stretch to learn Dutch."

"You know, there’s a fine line between very impressive and just plain ludicrous," I noted aloud. After a pause, I added, "I guess there’s more to Andrew than one would expect."

"You’d be surprised."

Andrew came walking back over, putting a cigarette into his mouth.

"Did he give you an idea of the plan?" Lori asked him.

"Yep," he replied. "A tentative one, but it sounds like it can be solidified pretty quickly."

"What have you got?" she queried further.

"It looks like we can add a concert in Salzburg this year."

"Wow, that would be great!" she replied very happily.

"What’s the big deal about Salzburg?" I asked.

Lori answered with, "Mozart’s birthplace."

Andrew continued, "It may not be that big a city, but I guess you could call it symbolically meaningful."

"Where all do you go on your tour?" I asked him.

"Oh God, let’s see," Andrew started, then listed off a very impressive sequence of cities ranging through Germany, France, Austria, Switzerland and northern Italy. He concluded with, "There are a few other cities that change from year to year. We usually hit a city or two in Scandinavia, though last time we went farther south in Italy instead. Hopefully we’ll do Barcelona or Madrid again, but we’ll see."

"Sounds like quite a grind."

"Yeah, we get around quite a bit. It isn’t easy, all that travelling, but that’s a price I don’t mind paying."

After that, Andrew told us some of the tales of his travels and subsequent adventures over there. It occurred to me, while I listened to his stories, that I was starting to consider Andrew something of a friend.