Teardrops in the Snow: The Making of 'The Saddest Music in the World' Page #4

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at a homecoming.

You don't play anymore.

Oh, yes. But on my knees.

No more dignity.

No more dignity, huh?

Family motto.

How are you, Roderick?

Just the way I always picture you.

Thundering down the stairs,

bursting into a room.

Even in bare feet you thunder.

You still sound

like your mewling cello.

In a noisy house,

someone must be soft.

This one plays the grace notes.

Which reminds me.

All of these years,

I have a present for you.

I was waiting for this day.

There's no need for you

to do this, Father.

I remember taking it out nights

when the rats were scurrying.

Carrying it over to the window,

and calling your name through it...

to bring you home.

What else have you got

squirreled away for him?

I knitted you a sweater.

Actually, I made three.

One for ea--

You, and one for your wife and...

... one for your son.

My skin is far too excitable

for wool, I fear.

Would you mind terribly

if we turn that light off?

You're still a hypochondriac.

Take that up with my physician

Dr. Loords... the best doctor in Germany!

His opinion, for what it's worth,

is that I'm lucky to be alive.

Have you heard nothing

from your wife?

Not a sign, not a word,

not a sausage.

She just disappeared

when your son died?

It was gradual.

A ship going down...

with all her lights and barely a sound.

She forgot about loving me.

She even forgot about our son.

What's that hissing?

Can somebody turn that off?

I think I hear

a faucet running upstairs.

- Is your friend still here?

- She went out the back.

Well, someone's left the faucet on.

No more debate!

Just deal with it!

All right, I'll deal with it.

Don't hurt Roderick!

Lady Port-Huntley's

Saddest Music in The World

opening pageant has begun,

led by the Zanis of Africa.

Resplendent!

If I can focus my opera glasses

for a moment here...

... yes!

Resplendent in their

delightful paints and scars.

Absolutely beautiful.

This pageant of sad nations brought

to us by Lady Port-Huntley Beer

is shaping up to be a frightening

contest of human despair...

a cavalcade of misery.

There's Poland,

China, Albania!

That was good fun, Narcissa.

I must tell you my dream.

Yeah? Well, hurry.

The competition's about to start.

A man was showing me

how to take the guts out of the goose.

He stood on the wings

and pulled the bird's legs hard.

That's how you do it.

Everything came loose

in a white heap...

except for the breast

and the heart.

He put the heart in my hands.

It was still beating very faintly.

Maybe you can sing about that.

Make us some prize money.

At the very last moment

of the dream,

it didn't seem to be

the bird's heart I was holding.

It was so small.

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