The Russian Diva

“Roses! Aah!” shrieked Yulia Vyacheslav. “Tak them avay at vunce!"

Sergei scuttled about, clearing away the roses that stood resplendent in Yulia’ dressing room. Kuzma, Yulia’s terrier scampered around him.

“Who sent them? It must haf been that evil Svetlana!” sniffed Yulia. "Aaachoo!"

“Some water Madam?” queried Sergei.

Yulia opened her mouth but no words came. Then her eyes widened in panic and she clutched her throat.

Sergei stared as he realized that the renowned diva had lost her voice.

They tried everything. Hot ginger tea. Gargling with salt water. Cough syrup. To no avail.

A head popped around the door. “It's time."

Agonized, Yulia nodded. This was her first performance in America; she couldn’t fail.

She scribbled on a piece of paper and thrust it at Sergei before marching off to her waiting audience.

They greeted her with thunderous applause. She bowed and presently they fell silent. The orchestra stuck up. Yulia closed her eyes and swayed slightly. Her mouth began to move. The members of the orchestra threw discreet glances at one another, but continued playing. The audience leaned forward, at first straining to hear; then the looks of anticipation began to be replaced by bafflement. They murmured to one another. But Yulia was oblivious, throwing back her head, her expression flitting from pain to sorrow to longing and finally to rapture, lips moving soundlessly all the while. The orchestra played faithfully throughout till the grand crescendo, which Yulia greeted by standing tip-toe, raising her arms to the heavens then flinging them back at the conclusion.

The theatre was silent when she finished. The stillness was broken by the barking of a terrier that rushed onstage from behind the wings.

Newspapers the following day carried the headline – ‘Russian Diva Sings Ultrasonic’.