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Youth Orchestra, with Dogs
University of the South On the day that Sarajevo falls a gang of music-loving mongrels scraggy, loosely arranged and mysteriously ownerless lolls panting by the junior harpist who plucks bright sprigs of Vivaldi under one of the Gothic arches that knit these slabs of pale sandstone into a medieval surround. Cellists, oboists, French horn players settle themselves at random among the Civil War oaks. Against the resolute machinery of three thousand cicadas and the deep flank-snufflings of a dozen grinning mutts barefoot teens on a dappled lawn rehearse, drop pages, start again. Mahler is ragged. A smoother Mozart. Arpeggios drift past all afternoon. Such concentration is required to stay intime... . Years ago I ferried drums, cellos, children to rehearsals, saved seven dogs the pound prepared to gas, took in a foster son thrust up by an earlier war. . . . What was it the freelance photographer said in her helmet and flak vest? We zoomed in on exploded arms and legs, instant orphans, blownup pets and god! who cares? In the aftermath humanitarians airlift damaged babies to surgeries and skin grafts in safe countries. Once they're healed the doctors pledge to send them back. Now it is evening. The old city is black. Here on the Episcopalian plain that once shunned women, Jews, and colored skin, an orchestra containing all assembles. The first violinist, sincerely sixteen in a Laura Ashley print, arrives on stage to modest applause. The Adam's-apple conductor raises his baton. Members in vigorous unison embark on Copland's "Appalachian Spring."