Shame

choir. Altos and sopranos and basses and tenors. She was a talented singer and had managed to convince her parents to let her sing in the parish choir, not just the one at her own Congregation. They’d agreed eventually on condition that she sing with the Congregation choir if there were ever a day when both choirs needed her.

    He sang first tenor, and he did it with bravura. The choirmaster always chose him if the piece contained difficult passages.
    ‘Göran, you take the high G. The rest of you can stay on the third if you can’t reach that high.’
    He had noticed her, she knew that, even though they had only exchanged a few words. She always sat with the other sopranos during the break, but sometimes their eyes found their way to each other amongst the altos and basses, just flicking over each other for a moment before shyly moving on. But this evening would be different. This evening there would be no choir to hide their glances, it would just be the two of them and the choirmaster, because they had been chosen as soloists for the Christmas concert. It was a tremendous feeling to have been selected. And especially with Göran.

    As she approached the church she saw him from a distance. He was standing on the church steps reading his sheet music. Unconsciously, she slowed down because she didn’t know if she could dare be alone with him. If the choirmaster was late they would be left standing there on the steps, and what would she say then? He raised his eyes and caught sight of her, and with her heart pounding she kept walking. He smiled as she approached.
    ‘Hi.’
    She greeted him quickly and then lowered her eyes. She felt as if she were burning when she looked directly at him, and her eyes kept flicking off in other directions.
    There was a long silence, a little too long to be comfortable. They both stood there, leafing through their sheet music as if they had never seen it before. Maj-Britt realised in amazement that Göran, who otherwise was always used to being noticed and listened to, didn’t seem to know what to say either.
    ‘Have you had time to practise at all?’
    She replied gratefully. ‘Yes, a little bit. But I think it’s quite hard without accompaniment.’
    Göran nodded, and the next moment he said the strangest thing, which in the days to come she would keep repeating to herself.
    ‘I’m almost more nervous about singing in front of just you than I am about the entire Christmas concert.’
    He smiled shyly. And with the sound of the choirmaster’s footsteps on the gravel path her eyes dared meet his for the first time.

    ‘So we’ll take it from the top without the introduction, and then you go directly to the second verse after the refrain.’
    Maj-Britt had sat down on the edge of one of the pews. Although Göran had admitted how nervous he was, she felt thankful that she didn’t have to go first. He wasn’t the only one who was nervous. In a daze she sat there, astonished at his words. She watched him in front of her, following his slightest movement; he was so talented and so handsome. With his eyes closed he began to sing. His sonorous voice was jubilant, and she felt a chill run down her spine. Göran had laid his jacket on the pew next to her, and she secretively stuck her hand in it and touched the lining at the very spot that usually pressed against his heart. No man had ever been allowed to come near her, but now a little stray desire fluttered inside her chest. She wanted to be close to him, assure herself that she held his interest, because when he wasn’t there he was still present inside her heart. It was inconceivable that a person who had never had anything to do with her life could suddenly fill her whole being.
    When he was finished singing he opened his eyes and looked at her. In a moment of silent understanding they both knew.
    Afterwards she told Vanja all about it. Again and again she told her what had happened and what he had said and in what tone of voice and how he had looked when he said it, and Vanja listened with patient interest and offered precisely the interpretations that Maj-Britt wanted to hear. In the evenings she lay in bed and counted the hours to the next choir practice when she would get to see him again. But nothing turned out the way she had hoped. Mixed in with the rest of the choir they were again like strangers to each other. Göran was the centre of attention as he always had been, and there was not a trace of the uncertainty