Casey poured himself another cup of coffee. These late nights with Cedric were killing him, especially when he had to perform for a mass in the morning.
Gretchen smiled at him. “Rough morning?”
“Rough night,” he said. “My partner is insatiable.”
She laughed. “That’s good! Keeps a man on his toes.”
The door to the rectory opened and Father Miller walked in, another priest in tow. “Oh, good, Casey, you’re here.”
“Is there something wrong?”
“This is Father Barbosa,” he said, and the other priest leaned forward to shake Casey’s hand. The man was of an olive complexion, compared to Miller, and looked like he came from the Mediterranian. Dark hair, dark eyes, and short compared to Casey, he looked about his mid-40’s. “He’s from Cap.”
“Hello, Father,” said Casey, shaking his hand.
“I have heard your excellent playing,” said Barbossa. “I was wondering if you could possibly play at some weddings for me.” He hurried and said, “You will be fully compensated for your time and travel.”
Casey waved his hand. “Pay me what you can.” Miller paid him per instance, such as when he played for a wedding or a funeral, but he did the other masses for free. He glanced at Gretchen’s calendar. “I have a wedding this weekend.”
“We have an afternoon wedding on Saturday,” said Barbosa.
Miller also glanced at the calendar. “I think you have plenty of time to get to Cap and do the wedding after ours,” said Miller.
“Are you on the north or south side of Cap, Father?” Casey asked.
“South side, three streets north from the hospital.”
Casey pictured the landscape of Cap au Diable, and realized that this church was nothing more than a storefront. “Can I swing by Friday to take a look at your instruments?”
Father Barbosa frowned. “We have a donated grand piano.”
“It needs to be tuned,” said Miller. “They don’t have the money for that.”
“I can do it,” Casey said, and pointed to his ear. “This is my tuning fork. I’ll need some help, though.”
“I will get someone to help,” said Barbosa, suddenly smiling. “Thank you so much, Mr. Blackfox.”
“Call me Casey, everyone does.”
—————
It was just as Casey expected, a storefront church. The sign was even in Spanish, School of Gesetheme. Casey frowned, and looked around. He saw an intercom button and pressed it.
A woman’s voice in Spanish said, “Can I help you?”
Casey responded in the same language, “I’m here to take a look at your piano.”
There was a pause, and then a buzz. “Please come in,” she said in accented English. Casey opened the door.
There was a lobby, and Casey realized that this was a coverted movie theater. The frames for the posters were still on the wall, and posters in the frames spoke of the glories of God and the dangers of hellfire. Mostly the latter.
The door to the ticket area opened and a heavy-set woman came out. “Hola,” she said, switching back into Spanish, “My name is Louisa.”
“Louisa,” said Casey, shaking her hand, “I’m Casey. I’ll be playing at a wedding tomorrow.”
“You speak Spanish very well,” she said.
“Thank you. I learned it a long time ago.” Right around the time of the Conquistadors just giving up the last vestiges of Florida. His memory for a moment was flooded with the Conquistador who he had stolen the language from. He dampened it down as he followed Louisa into the movie theater – the church proper.
Casey carried a small briefcase, his tuning instruments. Tuning a piano took some special instruments, and if this was a grand piano, he may well be using all of them.
He saw the baby grand piano in the orchestra pit – this movie theater had been around for some time. He could see the scuff marks on the outside of the piano even before they got to it, and knew it had seen better days. The piano bench was a coffee table, set a little low for him, but he could deal with it. He opened up the piano, then sat down at the piano, playing Greensleeves. He winced at bad notes.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said to Louisa, standing there and watching him.
“Since it was donated last year. We haven’t tuned it. I know it is out of tune because when Pedro plays, our voices are one way and the piano is another way.”
Casey chuckled. “Yes, that can happen.”
He set up the metronome, and started threading a felt ribbon through some of the strings. He first examined all the felt hammers, and replaced what he could. Then he started hitting the strings. He tuned one string to an absolute pitch, and then tuned the other strings around it. It took him about three hours.
By then, Louisa had left, bored. Casey kept the cover open and sat down at the keys. He thought for a minute, and then stared playing “Ode to Joy”, one of his – and Soniac’s – favorites.
He played the first movement, and when he finished, he heard clapping. Four people had gathered at the doorway to the theater. He stood up and bowed.