The Oboe Player

Three things he loves with no sense of moderation: his wife, Claire, a woman of charm and beauty, twelve years his devoted spouse; his garden, which nurtures forty-seven flower species, and, as he proudly tells friends, not one flower has deserted its place for another garden; his oboe, a majestic affair designed and made by the master, Francois Ballois, in 1819. It virtually plays itself, he tells admiring colleagues. When the offer to premiere Elliot Carter's just composed Oboe Concerto was delivered, he hesitated: Carter's work being so craggy, his fingerings so eccentric, and what did those high notes mean really? ... But his wife said, Oh, darling, how wonderful - a week in New York City; and the flowers sent waves of fragrance over him as he sat in their midst, signalling their approval; and the oboe was unequivocal, You fool, of course we're going! This is Elliott Carter! He's 97 years to heaven, for heaven's sake. What could he do but comply? That evening he and the oboe began rehearsing. It was tough going. The next morning he called his travel agent for flight and ticket arrangements. He could hear the oboe rehearsing in the adjacent room.