He heard a tap on his door and called “Come in,” in Italian. A man in the costume of Tonio, with the fake hump on his back, entered the room and smiled.
“We all know,” he said. “We shall help, no matter what happens. You are safe. And we shall never forget the great honor of having sung with—” then he decided he should never even mention the name, lest the Gestapo hear—“with the world’s greatest tenor.”
“Thanks,” Dick said, with a smile. “I hope I won’t get any of you into trouble.”
While Tonio sang the prologue, Dick wondered what the men at the cave would be thinking. They expected him back there by this time. And what about Tony, still maintaining his lonely vigil in that old bell tower? He would have seen the Germans encircling the town, going through every house. It would be some little time before the searching parties would reach the opera house. It would be best if they came in while the performance was going on, and while Dick was on the stage.
Then someone called him, and he stood in the wings waiting for his cue. He looked about. The sets were old and dirty, as Tomaso had said. The stage was not very large. And the orchestra in the pit was about half as large as it used to be, Dick knew. But the men played as if they loved it, and the singers sang with fire and sincerity, even if their voices did not have the best quality in the world. He felt a thrill—a thrill he had not known for a long time—go through him as he heard the music and got himself ready to step on a stage once more and sing.
When he finally was there, singing, he knew that his voice was rusty, not up to its best by any means. But perhaps it was just as well. If he were in good voice, the Germans might make inquiries about him.
At the end of the first act there was a burst of applause that shook the old opera house, even though it was less than half filled. Between the acts, after taking his many bows, Dick was nervous. The audience obviously knew that he was not Enrico, the regular tenor. It was a big crowd to be in on something that was supposed to be so secret, but it was a chance he had had to take in view of developments. He kept listening for the approach of the searching German troops, hoping they would not come until the performance started again.
Finally there came the bell for the second act, and Dick as Canio went on the stage for his great aria, Vesti la giubba. It was in the midst of that sobbing, heartbroken song of the clown that Dick saw the Germans. They came in the front entrance of the opera house, about fifteen of them, led by the elegant but worried Gestapo colonel, who did not yet know, Dick concluded, that one of his uniforms had been stolen. Then Dick saw more soldiers in the wings, on both sides of the stage. But he kept on singing, as if nothing had happened. The Germans just stood and listened and, when he finished the aria, joined in the applause.
Dick bowed, and bowed again as the applause continued. But then the other singers started to go on with the performance. At that the colonel, with some of his men, strode down the hall holding up his hand for silence.
The singers stopped, and the orchestra drifted quickly into silence. The colonel then mounted the steps leading to the stage, strutting like a peacock. An aide followed him. When he was sure he had the attention of everyone, he uttered a few words in German to the aide, who thereupon spoke in Italian to the assemblage.