"DECEMBER BOYS" PART THIRTEEN: "LA CHANTEUSE"

LA CHANTEUSE

     By July, the informal meeting of the Fundamentals In Ethics study group were held in earnest twice weekly either within the confines of Der Rathskeller or surrounded by the open air of the Union Terrace. Where the meetings began with three sole members in mid-June, by midsummer, it would not be uncommon to witness up to as many as thirteen classmates huddled together and engulfed by a collection of papers, texts, refreshments and intense conversations which often disintegrated into bursts of laughter that bordered from jovial to downright maniacal due to the difficulty of the course work. By this time, the work load now included weekly mini term papers and would soon include an oral report or rather, what Professor Scarfe had decreed to be a “speech.” (Thankfully, that is depending upon whom you asked, exams were counted for very little in this class—even the percentage of actual attendance counted for more of one’s final grade as Scarfe had a stronger preference for participation than pointless regurgitation.)

     On one vehemently continuous downpour of a rainy evening, Rhett Brazelton, soaked to the skin just from racing into the Union after parking his Uncle’s car, shook his wet hair and entered Der Rathskeller to find several of the usual suspects bunkered in a corner. Ralph Ising, 20 year old Sophomore (undeclared). Young Lee, 19 year old Sophomore (English major). Cathy Joplin, 20 year old Junior (transfer student from UW Eau Claire, Women’s Studies major). Leslie Copeland, 19 year old Sophomore (undeclared). And finally, the two resident 21 year old Junior Liberal Arts majors, Marcus Ridenhour and Klaus Berkhoffer. The collective all greeted Rhett warmly, with raised glasses and the polish of Steely Dan flowing luxuriously from the jukebox.

     For a flash, Rhett’s astral brain contemplated the scenario in which friendships were so quickly and intensely formed only to dissolve at semester’s end. What combination of molecules were in place that somehow knew precisely which other molecules were needed to live and thrive and for such a finite period that it all felt natural or even pre-determined? Regardless of the duration, Rhett reminded himself that it was always good to know when people were happy to see you. Within the group, he had forged a nice reputation for himself with regards to his writing and his ability of taking such esoteric concepts and being able to re-frame them into something tangible. While Professor Scarfe never expressed as much in words to Rhett, his high marks on papers were all that needed to be said.  For his classmates, Rhett became a strong sounding board, offering suggestions whenever thoughts felt to be too muddled or incomplete or just plain bullshit. For himself, Rhett enjoyed hearing everyone’s ideas, especially as he was wrestling with his own and the often conflicts of opinions continuously forced him to really sharpen his understanding of the material. Returning to his thoughts of molecules, it was amazing to witness how symbiotic these relationships truly were, and in doing so, his spirit felt a brief lift.

     This rainy night was a Monday, which meant that this night was also Open Mic Night, when aspiring student performers, singers and musicians claimed the wooden stage for themselves to a mostly indifferent public. But, once in a blue moon, an individual was somehow able to cut through the din of alcohol infused frivolity and forge a connection. This night was one of those nights.

     After a couple of hours of studying and having reached the point of where not even one more idea could be forcefully inserted into their brains, the Ethics class study group decided to cast their work aside and actually experience Open Mic Night in earnest (and besides, nobody was terribly anxious to head back out into the rain just yet). As for this evening’s collection of aspiring performers, some were decent. Others, not so much. But thankfully, this night’s audience was more receptive than rowdy, therefore keeping a certain inattentive yet respectful warmth in the atmosphere. Once the Ethics study group heard four performers, the last of which was so somnambulant that two group members came dangerously close to falling asleep. “Man, that guy made James Taylor sound like Public Enemy,” groused Cathy Joplin to whomever was alert enough to hear her.

     “Uh oh…here comes one more,” uttered Marcus Ridenhour. “If she’s anything like the last one, toss me a blanket and I’ll just curl up right here.”

     “Shit yeah,” grumbled Ralph Ising in agreement while giving his arms a mighty stretch. “Who said that acoustic guitars had to be equated with narcolepsy?”

     “Just give her a chance,” offered Young Lee. “You just never know. What if we end up seeing the next Joni Mitchell?”

     “Or the next Sally Nicholson,” said Marcus.

     “Who’s that?”

     “Precisely my point.”

     Young chuckled softly. “Well played, sir. Even so, let’s not heckle.”

     “It wouldn’t be ethical,” Ralph interjected.

     “You know,” Cathy began to wonder openly and for obvious comic effect, “How could one heckle ethically?”

     “’The Ethical Heckler’?” quipped Ralph.

     “Sounds like a new ABC series,” joked Marcus.

     “Would that be on before or after ‘Doogie,’?” Ralph asked.

     “After,” Marcus answered. “Definitely after. ‘Doogie’ is the lead-in.”

     While Rhett was enjoying the banter, he politely shushed his friends as the next singer began to get settled upon the stage.

     The girl was waif like, as if she emerged from a Dickens novel. She practically screamed for a shawl, as her thin (though some would say “under-fed”) frame looked as if it was afflicted by a perpetual chill. So it was not to anyone’s surprise when she pulled a sweater from her guitar case before actually producing a guitar. She gingerly climbed upon the stool, crossing one skinny black tight covered leg over the other and after taking a few stray blonde strands and tucking them behind her ear, she fiddled with her guitar tunings momentarily. She soon cleared her throat and leaned closer to the microphone.

     “Bonjour!!!” she announced somewhat nervously but loudly enough to capture the full attention of the room. “Thank you…Merci beaucoups…,” she continued is her thick French accent. “Thank you for being here this evening or at least for choosing to stay dry with me in here instead of swimming with the fishes in the street outside. I appreciate you rating me so highly by not leaving.” She then elicited a warm chuckle, when combined with her accent, considerably elevated the audience’s attention. Noticing a flurry of heads and eyes turning to face her suddenly, the girl performed an exaggerated pop of her own eyes in mock surprise, causing herself to unleash a forceful guffaw into the microphone, which itself caused a shocking yet brief shriek of feedback. “Excuse moi!” she said demurely before bursting into another guffaw—this time, away from the microphone. “I have to say to you that that was much more feedback than I would have requested.” And as she continued to laugh her loud, boisterous guffaw, the entire crowd of Der Rathskeller became completely charmed.

     “Bon soir!” My name is Karine and as you can tell from my accent, I am from Wisconsin!”

     More enthusiastic laughter from the crowd.

     “I’m joking, of course. Really, I am from Montreal and what brought me here to this University in Madison is…oh well…it’s a story to be true. This first song that I will sing is a sad song. So, very, very sad. It is about a man. A lonely man who goes upon along journey. He goes here. He goes there…and it is all so terribly sad because he discovers that nothing is ever quite as it seems.”

     “Good grief!” Cathy expressed though a lengthy exhale of disdain. “I really can’t wait to hear this now. Oh and did she happen to mention that the song was sad?”

     To be fair to Karine from Montreal, Rhett felt increasingly annoyed with the wisecracks emanating from his friends. Yes, it was mostly due to their fatigue that their filters had set themselves into the “OFF” position. But there was something rather flighty, yet fetching, about this girl who would soon be performing, an act, truth be told, no one of the members of his study group would be brave enough to try themselves, so why not squash the rudeness and just listen?

     The first strum of Karine’s guitar was crisp and fragile, instantly creating a mood of longing. By the time Karine began to sing, the audience Der Rathskeller became entranced. While Karine sang entirely in French, her song was instantly received by her audience just as she had described. The melancholy permeated the room like a light, descending mist—almost pleasantly cool but nothing to drown inside of. For Rhett, he was filled with an unquestionable yearning that surfaced from who knows where. Regardless, the feeling existed ad it made his heart gently ache as he watched and listened to Karine.

     Was it different for girls?  Rhett wondered to himself that very question as he pondered if girls responded to the sound and tenor of a boy’s voice in the same way that a boy responded to a girl’s. Rhett thought about how Craig was mesmerized by the tone of Mariah Esposito’s rich, low voice. And now, Rhett felt himself taken in and touched in the deepest chambers of his heart by the timbre of Karine’s singing. While he didn’t want to resort to well-worn clichés about Karine having the voice of an angel, it would be truthful to note that a description of that quality was not terribly far off. There was a purity to her voice. An effortless, unaffected clarity of compassion and empathy yet so knowing of the pitfalls contained within emotional wounds. In a way, Karine’s voice reminded Rhett of someone’s like Karen Carpenter’s but without the goopy arrangements and in French, of course. Karine’s voice was direct and honest. Not even one note sounded false and her audience could connected fully. Rhett was convinced that he was the most touched as he was so swept away in the song’s lush embrace.

     And then, the song ended.

     The currency of quiet in a place like Der Rathskeller is often unattainable and sometimes, impossible. But, on this rainy night, the Union was pin drop silent. Whatever musical alchemy had occurred over the last several minutes held a magical afterglow, as if some form of pixie dust hung in mid-air for a moment before falling to the ground. As for Rhett, he felt that the silence was actually part of Karine’s song itself.  

      Then came the applause. Fully enthusiastic, not as grudgingly polite as responses tended to be on Open Mic nights. Karine beamed at her audience and then, once again, came the explosion of loud, hearty laughter, which then made the audience, including Rhett and his friends, applaud harder and laugh along with everyone else. If Rhett knew how to place his two fingers inside of his mouth and whistle, he would have done so.

     “WOW!! MERCI!!!!” exuded Karine, blushing from the approval and looking around the room at all of the faces. Rhett hoped for a split second that she would catch his gaze and hopefully receive his message that her message was received in turn.

     “With that, I am thinking that I should quit while I am …in front? Is that correct? No? Maybe one song is enough,” she teased to a round of “boos.” Karine laughed again and then said, “Well fine, as you have requested, I do have one more.” The crowd’s voices then began to soften.  “This next song is a little like the first one, as it is about a man—not the same man, I assure you—but this man is all alone on a boat in the sea, under the skies, the sun and the stars. But he is a lonely, sad man who begins to realize that nothing is quite as it seems.”

     After a momentary chuckle to herself, Karine, just as before, began singing entirely in French and crafted from the same wellspring of sorrow and delivered through her exquisite voice.

     Rhett Brazelton was even more entranced the second time around, mentally pinching himself of his good fortune at being a part of this audience on this rainy night with Karine’s voice and guitar as the guide through the storm.

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