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.Every time someone cracks a note, it'sbecause of the Ghost.But also, every time someone finds a lost object, it's because of the Ghost.Every time someone has a very good scene, it must be because of the Ghost.He sort of comeswith the building, like the rats.Every so often someone sees him, but not for long because hecomes and goes like a.well, a Ghost.Apparently we let him use Box Eight for free on everyfirst-night performance.And you say people like him?'' "Like" isn't quite the right word,' said Salzella.'It would be more correct to say that.well, it'spure superstition, of course, but they think he's lucky.Thought he was, anyway.'And you wouldn't understand a thing about that, would you, you coarse little cheesemonger, headded to himself.Cheese is cheese.Milk goes rotten naturally.You don't have to make it happenby having several hundred people wound up until their nerves go twang.'Lucky,' said Bucket flatly.'Luck is very important,' said Salzella, in a voice in which pained patience floated like ice cubes.'Iimagine that temperament is not an important factor in the cheese business?''We rely on rennet,' said Bucket.,Salzella sighed.'Anyway, the company feel that the Ghost is.lucky.He used to send peoplelittle notes of encouragement.After a really good performance, sopranos would find a box ofchocolates in their dressing-room, that sort of thing.And dead flowers, for some reason.''Dead flowers?''Well, not flowers at all, as such.Just a bouquet of dead rose-stems with no roses on them.It'ssomething of a trademark of his.It's considered lucky.''Dead flowers are lucky?''Possibly.Live flowers, certainly, are terribly bad luck on stage.Some singers won't even havethem in their dressing-room.So.dead flowers are safe, you might say.Odd, but safe.And itdidn't worry people because everyone thought the Ghost was on their side.At least, they did.Until about six months ago.'Mr Bucket shut his eyes again.'Tell me,' he said.'There have been.accidents.''What kind of accidents?''The kind of accidents that you prefer to call.accidents.'Mr Bucket's eyes stayed closed.'Like.the time when Reg Plenty and Fred Chiswell wereworking late one night up on the curdling vats and it turned out Reg had been seeing Fred's wifeand somehow-' Bucket swallowed -'somehow he must have tripped, Fred said, and fallen-''I am not familiar with the gentlemen concerned but.that kind of accident.Yes.' Bucket sighed.'That was some of the finest Farmhouse Nutty we ever made.''Do you want me to tell you about our accidents?''I'm sure you're going to.''A seamstress stitched herself to the wall.A deputy stage manager was found stabbed with aprop sword.Oh, and you wouldn't like me to tell you what happened to the man who worked thetrapdoor.And all the lead mysteriously disappeared from the roof, although personally I don'tthink that was the work of the Ghost.''And everyone.calls these.accidents?''Well, you wanted to sell your cheese, didn't you? I can't imagine anything that would depress thehouse like news that dead bodies are dropping like flies out of the flies.'He took an envelope out of his pocket and placed it on the table.'The Ghost likes to leave little messages,' he said.'There was one by the organ.A scenerypainter spotted him and.nearly had an accident.'Bucket sniffed the envelope.It reeked of turpentine.The letter inside was on a sheet of the Opera House's own notepaper.In neat, copperplatewriting, it said:Ahahahahaha! Ahahahaha! Aahahaha!BEWARE!!!!!Yrs Sincerely,The Opera Ghost'What sort of person,' said Salzella patiently, 'sits down and writes a maniacal laugh? And allthose exclamation marks, you notice? Five? A sure sign of someone who wears his underpantson his head.Opera can do that to a man.Look, at least let's search the building.The cellars goon for ever.I'll need a boat-''A boat? In the cellar?''Oh.Didn't they tell you about the sub-basement?'Bucket smiled the bright, crazed smile of a man who was nearing double exclamation markshimself.'No,' he said.'They didn't tell me about the subbasement.They were too busy not telling me thatsomeone goes around killing the company.I don't recall anyone saying "Oh, by the way, peopleare dying a lot, and incidentally there's a touch of rising damp-" ''They're flooded.''Oh, good!' said Bucket.'What with? Buckets of blood?''Didn't you have a look?''They said the cellars were fine!''And you believed them?''Well, there was rather a lot of champagne.'Salzella sighed.Bucket took offence at the sigh.'I happen to pride myself that I am a good judge of character,' hesaid.'Look a man deeply in the eye and give him a firm handshake and you know everythingabout him.''Yes, indeed,' said Salzella.'Oh, blast.Senor Enrico Basilica will be here the day after tomorrow.Do you think somethingmight happen to him?''Oh, not much.Cut throat, perhaps.''What? You think so?''How should I know?''What do you want me to do? Close the place? As far as I can see it doesn't make any money asit is! Why hasn't anyone told the Watch?''That would be worse,' said Salzella.'Big trolls in rusty chainmail tramping everywhere, getting ineveryone's way and asking stupid questions.They'd close us down.'Bucket swallowed.'Oh, we can't have that,' he said.'Can't have them.putting everyone onedge.'Salzella sat back.He seemed to relax a little.'On edge? Mr Bucket,' he said, 'this is opera. Everyone is always on edge.Have you ever heard of a catastrophe curve, Mr Bucket?'Seldom Bucket did his best.'Well, I know there's a dreadful bend in the road up by-''A catastrophe curve, Mr Bucket, is what opera runs along.Opera happens because a largenumber of things amazingly fail to go wrong, Mr Bucket.It works because of hatred and love andnerves.All the time.This isn't cheese [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Every time someone cracks a note, it'sbecause of the Ghost.But also, every time someone finds a lost object, it's because of the Ghost.Every time someone has a very good scene, it must be because of the Ghost.He sort of comeswith the building, like the rats.Every so often someone sees him, but not for long because hecomes and goes like a.well, a Ghost.Apparently we let him use Box Eight for free on everyfirst-night performance.And you say people like him?'' "Like" isn't quite the right word,' said Salzella.'It would be more correct to say that.well, it'spure superstition, of course, but they think he's lucky.Thought he was, anyway.'And you wouldn't understand a thing about that, would you, you coarse little cheesemonger, headded to himself.Cheese is cheese.Milk goes rotten naturally.You don't have to make it happenby having several hundred people wound up until their nerves go twang.'Lucky,' said Bucket flatly.'Luck is very important,' said Salzella, in a voice in which pained patience floated like ice cubes.'Iimagine that temperament is not an important factor in the cheese business?''We rely on rennet,' said Bucket.,Salzella sighed.'Anyway, the company feel that the Ghost is.lucky.He used to send peoplelittle notes of encouragement.After a really good performance, sopranos would find a box ofchocolates in their dressing-room, that sort of thing.And dead flowers, for some reason.''Dead flowers?''Well, not flowers at all, as such.Just a bouquet of dead rose-stems with no roses on them.It'ssomething of a trademark of his.It's considered lucky.''Dead flowers are lucky?''Possibly.Live flowers, certainly, are terribly bad luck on stage.Some singers won't even havethem in their dressing-room.So.dead flowers are safe, you might say.Odd, but safe.And itdidn't worry people because everyone thought the Ghost was on their side.At least, they did.Until about six months ago.'Mr Bucket shut his eyes again.'Tell me,' he said.'There have been.accidents.''What kind of accidents?''The kind of accidents that you prefer to call.accidents.'Mr Bucket's eyes stayed closed.'Like.the time when Reg Plenty and Fred Chiswell wereworking late one night up on the curdling vats and it turned out Reg had been seeing Fred's wifeand somehow-' Bucket swallowed -'somehow he must have tripped, Fred said, and fallen-''I am not familiar with the gentlemen concerned but.that kind of accident.Yes.' Bucket sighed.'That was some of the finest Farmhouse Nutty we ever made.''Do you want me to tell you about our accidents?''I'm sure you're going to.''A seamstress stitched herself to the wall.A deputy stage manager was found stabbed with aprop sword.Oh, and you wouldn't like me to tell you what happened to the man who worked thetrapdoor.And all the lead mysteriously disappeared from the roof, although personally I don'tthink that was the work of the Ghost.''And everyone.calls these.accidents?''Well, you wanted to sell your cheese, didn't you? I can't imagine anything that would depress thehouse like news that dead bodies are dropping like flies out of the flies.'He took an envelope out of his pocket and placed it on the table.'The Ghost likes to leave little messages,' he said.'There was one by the organ.A scenerypainter spotted him and.nearly had an accident.'Bucket sniffed the envelope.It reeked of turpentine.The letter inside was on a sheet of the Opera House's own notepaper.In neat, copperplatewriting, it said:Ahahahahaha! Ahahahaha! Aahahaha!BEWARE!!!!!Yrs Sincerely,The Opera Ghost'What sort of person,' said Salzella patiently, 'sits down and writes a maniacal laugh? And allthose exclamation marks, you notice? Five? A sure sign of someone who wears his underpantson his head.Opera can do that to a man.Look, at least let's search the building.The cellars goon for ever.I'll need a boat-''A boat? In the cellar?''Oh.Didn't they tell you about the sub-basement?'Bucket smiled the bright, crazed smile of a man who was nearing double exclamation markshimself.'No,' he said.'They didn't tell me about the subbasement.They were too busy not telling me thatsomeone goes around killing the company.I don't recall anyone saying "Oh, by the way, peopleare dying a lot, and incidentally there's a touch of rising damp-" ''They're flooded.''Oh, good!' said Bucket.'What with? Buckets of blood?''Didn't you have a look?''They said the cellars were fine!''And you believed them?''Well, there was rather a lot of champagne.'Salzella sighed.Bucket took offence at the sigh.'I happen to pride myself that I am a good judge of character,' hesaid.'Look a man deeply in the eye and give him a firm handshake and you know everythingabout him.''Yes, indeed,' said Salzella.'Oh, blast.Senor Enrico Basilica will be here the day after tomorrow.Do you think somethingmight happen to him?''Oh, not much.Cut throat, perhaps.''What? You think so?''How should I know?''What do you want me to do? Close the place? As far as I can see it doesn't make any money asit is! Why hasn't anyone told the Watch?''That would be worse,' said Salzella.'Big trolls in rusty chainmail tramping everywhere, getting ineveryone's way and asking stupid questions.They'd close us down.'Bucket swallowed.'Oh, we can't have that,' he said.'Can't have them.putting everyone onedge.'Salzella sat back.He seemed to relax a little.'On edge? Mr Bucket,' he said, 'this is opera. Everyone is always on edge.Have you ever heard of a catastrophe curve, Mr Bucket?'Seldom Bucket did his best.'Well, I know there's a dreadful bend in the road up by-''A catastrophe curve, Mr Bucket, is what opera runs along.Opera happens because a largenumber of things amazingly fail to go wrong, Mr Bucket.It works because of hatred and love andnerves.All the time.This isn't cheese [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]