The Opening

Management put twelve chairs in two straight rows for the opening.

They faced the counter, where we had left a glass of water and our speech.

The quartet arrived at six.

“Outside?” asked the cellist.

“People will hear you from the pavement.”

We went behind the counter. The violinist raised her bow.

A woman stopped by the lamp-post. She changed her shopping bag from one hand to the other.

We brought out a chair and set it facing the window.

“Thank you,” she said.

She turned it towards the musicians and sat down.

By the end of the piece, three more people had stopped. We brought three more chairs.

They made room for a man with a pushchair.

We went back for another pair.

At seven, all twelve chairs were on the pavement. We were alone behind the counter.

We picked up our speech and the glass of water and went to the door.

The cellist looked along the row. A woman moved her shopping bag off the last chair.

We sat down with the paper in one hand and the glass in the other.

“Shall we?” said the cellist.

We put down the glass.

She counted under her breath.