The Quivering Quavers Read online

  First published in 2014

  Copyright © Text, Ursula Dubosarsky 2014

  Copyright © Illustrations, Terry Denton 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the

  National Library of Australia – www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 1 74331 951 2

  eISBN 978 1 74343 823 7

  Coco’s new tango is ‘Arrabal Amargo’, 1935; music by Carlos Gardel, lyrics by Alfredo Le Pera, translation adapted by Ursula Dubosarsky

  La Bella Cucharita’s sad aria is ‘I lived for Art’/‘ Vissi d’arte’ from Puccini’s Tosca libretto by Luigi Illica and Giuseppe Giacosa, translation adapted by

  Ursula Dubosarsky

  Musical Sudoku by Dover Dubosarsky

  Cover and text design by Liz Seymour

  For Kate de Goldi, dear friend, writer and music-lover!

  – Ursula

  Note to reader: If there is a word in the story you haven’t seen before, it may be a Spanish word. Have a look in the glossary at the back to find out what it means.

  Chapter One

  It was sunset, and Alberta was just thinking about what she might have for dinner, when she heard a strange thud coming from inside the refrigerator.

  ‘I wonder …’ she said to herself.

  She scampered over and opened the fridge door. She was right – the post had arrived! A letter was sitting on top of a plate of carrot sticks. She recognised the handwriting on the envelope at once.

  ‘It’s from Cousin Coco. Now whatever could be wrong this time?’

  Coco Carlomagno was her favourite cousin, but he lived a long way away, in Buenos Aires, the biggest city in Argentina, South America. He had a very important job there as Chief of Police.

  In Alberta’s experience, a letter from Coco usually meant he was having a problem with a case.

  She opened the letter and this is what it said:

  ‘Great carrots! Poor Coco!’ said Alberta. ‘It’s one thing after another with him.’

  Alberta decided not to read the letter again. The only way to find out what was up would be to go to Coco as soon as possible.

  So she quickly packed her brown-paper bag with some lettuce leaves and a game of snakes and ladders, and the necklace made of watermelon seeds that her Tía Abigail had given her for her birthday the year before.

  ‘It will be nice to have an occasion to wear it at last,’ she thought, pleased.

  Then she left a bowl of water for the neighbourhood cat, locked the door behind her and headed off for South America.

  Chapter Two

  By the time Alberta arrived in Buenos Aires, she was very hungry, as she had forgotten to eat any dinner. So before going to see Coco she stopped at an empanada stand for a quick and delicious snack. As always, she listened with interest to the conversation of the other customers.

  All anyone could talk about was the return to the stage of the world-famous opera singer, La Bella Cucharita. It had been many months since the fabled guinea pig diva had sung in public. Apparently she had lost her nerve one night when a mosquito landed on her nose in the middle of an aria.

  ‘Ah, pobrecita,’ said one of the customers, wiping a tear from his eye. ‘I was there that night. Such bad luck!’

  ‘Such a large mosquito,’ remarked a second customer.

  ‘They said she would never sing again,’ put in a third.

  ‘Che! She would never desert us!’ declared the empanada-seller dramatically. ‘And tonight she is back. What a joy for the city!’

  A small cheer arose amongst the customers at this and they patted each others’ furry backs.

  ‘Hmm,’ thought Alberta. ‘I wonder if this is the show Coco was talking about in his letter.’

  Alberta had never been to an opera before, and was not sure if she would like it. But still, she supposed, it would be the experience of a lifetime.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘why is La Bella Cucharita named after a teaspoon?’

  ‘It’s a little habit of hers,’ replied the empanada-seller with a smile. ‘When someone annoys her, she hits the person on the head with a teaspoon. Isn’t that quaint?’

  ‘She must be quite a character,’ said Alberta noncommittally.

  ‘The police had better watch out tonight, though,’ added the empanada-seller, shaking his head. ‘Everyone will be wearing their best jewels for the performance. There may be thieves about.’

  Two of the customers quickly finished their empanadas and left. Alberta swallowed the last crumbs of her own and decided she too had better get going. She complimented the empanada-seller, paid her bill and trotted off to Coco’s office at the top of the famous Obelisco.

  Alberta climbed up the 206 steps. There was the familiar sign, even more shining than usual:

  ‘Alberta!’

  Coco jumped out from behind the door and threw his claws around her. He kissed her many times, which is the South American way.

  ‘I have been counting the minutes since I sent your letter,’ he cried. ‘But I knew you would come. Quick, there is no time to lose – we must go to the Teatro Colón at once!’

  The Teatro Colón, as Alberta knew, was the grand Opera House of Buenos Aires. She could see Coco was in quite a state, so she didn’t ask any questions, but followed him back down the stairs to where his red motorbike was parked at the foot of the Obelisco.

  They zoomed on the motorbike through the fourteen lanes of traffic of the Avenida Nueve de Julio. Brakes screeched and horns hooted from every side as they passed. Soon they arrived at the entrance of the magnificent Opera House.

  A huge crowd of guinea pigs, from grandparents to little ones, were gathered on the front steps, waiting in line to get tickets for the night’s performance.

  ‘Viva La BC!’ they called out in excitement. ‘La BC! La BC!’

  (La BC was what the guinea pigs of Buenos Aires often called La Bella Cucharita for short.)

  ‘Is this the show we are going to tonight, Coco?’ asked Alberta. ‘With La Bella Cucharita?’

  Coco pulled Alberta quickly aside and lowered his voice.

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘But keep it quiet, or there will be a riot. Tickets are hard to come by – ours were given to me by La BC herself! She is very afraid, you see, that something truly TERRIBLE is going to happen at tonight’s performance, and she wants us to be there to stop it.’

  ‘Lucky us,’ murmured Alberta.

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Coco. ‘They are special tickets. She hides them under her wig for emergencies.’

  He pulled out the two tickets, nestled under his sash. Alberta looked at them curiously for a moment.

  ‘I suppose we’re lucky to get them, Coco,’ she said. ‘I just hope we’ll be comfortable.’

  WHY DOES ALBERTA WONDER IF THE SEATS WILL BE COMFORTABLE?

  If you are not sure, have a look at the back of the book.

  Chap
ter Three

  Coco slipped the tickets back under his sash.

  ‘We can worry about that later,’ he said. ‘Now we must go and see La Bella Cucharita in her dressing room. We’ll take the side entrance here, to avoid the crowd.’

  Alberta and Coco trailed down winding corridors and up and down stairways. They passed all sorts of people doing interesting things – making lavish costumes, sawing and hammering huge pieces of scenery, painting furniture, or carrying musical instruments. Voices sang scales, flutes piped, drums banged.

  Finally they came to a stop outside a door covered in shiny golden stars with a picture of a teaspoon and the words:

  Coco raised his claw and knocked. The door swung open, and there in front of them stood La Bella Cucharita herself!

  Alberta had to admit the diva was a most impressive-looking guinea pig. She had an astonishing amount of thick dark fur and a rather sulky expression. She wore a magnificent necklace and a great many spectacular rings.

  ‘Oh!’ said La BC, clearly disappointed. ‘I thought it was my snack.’

  ‘He-hem,’ Coco coughed humbly. ‘I am merely Coco Carlomagno, Chief of Police.’

  ‘You may kiss my claw,’ said La BC, more graciously.

  Coco bowed low and kissed it.

  ‘Who is this person?’ asked La BC, gesturing at Alberta.

  ‘May I introduce my cousin Alberta, señora,’ said Coco. ‘She has come over to help me solve this dreadful crime.’

  La Bella Cucharita sank down on a nearby armchair.

  ‘Come in, then, come in. Close the door behind you,’ she moaned. ‘But I believe nobody can help me.’

  ‘What exactly is the problem?’ asked Alberta in a practical voice.

  La BC reached into her bosom and extracted three pieces of paper, which she thrust at Alberta.

  ‘Look at these! For the past three days, one of these notes has arrived in the mail, in a pink envelope addressed to me. See for yourself!’

  Alberta took the papers, inspecting each sheet carefully.

  On the first sheet this was written:

  On the second sheet was this:

  And on the third sheet was this:

  ‘Qué raro!’ said Alberta, frowning. ‘Do you have any idea what it means?’

  La BC threw herself onto a nearby couch.

  ‘Don’t you see – someone is trying to finish me off! First one quivering quaver, then two, now three. What will be next?’

  ‘Four?’ suggested Alberta.

  La BC threw herself onto a nearby chaise longue. Coco drew Alberta to one side.

  ‘Alberta, I should explain,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Last time, when she lost her nerve, it was because a mosquito landed on her nose on the fourth quaver. So now she fears one of her enemies is trying to break her nerve again – on the fourth quaver.’

  Alberta was going to ask,‘What enemies?’ But then she remembered the teaspoon and reflected that La Bella Cucharita might well have any number of enemies whom she had hit on the head with it.

  ‘But I know,’ said La BC, looking meaningfully at Coco, ‘that you will protect me tonight. I know you and all Buenos Aires would rather die than see me miss a single note!’

  ‘Oh, um, of course,’ said Coco, alarmed. ‘But, dear lady, do let’s hope none of us will die exactly.’

  Alberta held one of the sheets of paper to her nostrils, sniffing.

  ‘There’s a distinct smell of peanut butter on this one,’ she said.

  ‘Che! Don’t talk of food!’ groaned La Bella Cucharita. ‘I am starving. How long I have been waiting for my pre-performance snack!’

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Pasen!’ cried La BC.

  The door opened, very slowly, as if whoever was behind the door did not really want to come in.

  ‘Por fin!’ said La BC. She turned to Coco and confided: ‘Always before a performance I have the same snack. I MUST have it, or I cannot go on.’

  ‘Totally understandable,’ soothed Coco.

  A young guinea pig sidled into the room, looking sheepish. He was holding a large notebook.

  ‘So, Cátulo,’ said La BC testily. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Lo siento, señora,’ gulped Cátulo, who was the diva’s personal assistant. ‘The snack bar couldn’t understand what you wanted.’

  ‘Couldn’t understand!’ spluttered La Bella Cucharita. ‘But you wrote it down – I dictated it myself! I even spelled it for you!’

  She reached into her bosom, pulled out a teaspoon and waved it dangerously in the air.

  ‘I know.’ Cátulo hung his head in shame. ‘But when I showed them what I wrote, they just shrugged.’

  ‘Outrageous!’ cried La Bella Cucharita. ‘They should all be sacked.’

  She rushed towards Cátulo with the teaspoon, but he hid quickly behind a small piano, dropping his notebook in the rush to escape the blow. Alberta leaned down and picked it up.

  ‘I see you have tried hard,’ said Alberta to Cátulo in sympathy as she read what he had written in the notebook. ‘In fact, perhaps you have been trying a little TOO hard.’

  WHAT DOES ALBERTA MEAN? CAN YOU WORK OUT WHAT LA BELLA CUCHA RITA’S ORDER IS?

  If you’re stuck, there are some clues at the back of the book.

  Chapter Four

  With Alberta’s help, La BC was soon happily gorging on her favourite snack. So Coco and Alberta hurried to the Obelisco, to get dressed for that night’s performance.

  Alberta looked splendid in her watermelon-seed necklace, and so did Coco in his hat with large white feathers. They arrived at the Colón under the glittering night sky and made their way up the front steps into the foyer of the Opera House to the sound of applause from the crowd.

  ‘You are quite a celebrity these days,Coco,’ said Alberta, raising her hairy eyebrows.

  ‘Vamos,’ said Coco, embarrassed. He took out the tickets from under his red sash and handed them to the usher. ‘Let’s get to our seats.’

  It was a little uncomfortable squeezing into their seat. But they had a good view of the stage, and so they settled themselves down and waited for the curtain to go up.

  Despite herself, Alberta felt excited at the great occasion. It was a full house. Every place was taken: all the stalls, the boxes and the galleries, even all the standing room positions. The President of the Republic herself was there. And there were even two guinea pigs in the widows’ box, modestly dressed in dark cloaks and hoods.

  ‘What is the opera about?’ Alberta asked Coco.

  ‘Well, it’s rather complicated,’ he said. ‘And very tragic. It’s a great love story, naturally—’

  The orchestra filed in and a roar of applause filled the theatre. Coco stopped what he was saying in irritation. Someone was kicking on his seat from behind. He turned around to see who it was, but then the lights dimmed. The performance was about to begin.

  In the hushed silence a little voice piped up: ‘Why is it dark?’

  ‘Shhhh!’ said several guinea pigs crossly. ‘Quiet!’

  The curtain rose. The music swelled. A spotlight shone in the middle of the stage, and La Bella Cucharita stepped into it, her fur flowing.

  The little voice piped up again: ‘What’s the lady doing?’

  ‘Shhhhh!’ repeated the cross guinea pigs.

  La Bella Cucharita opened her mouth and began to sing. And sing and sing and sing. More guinea pigs appeared on stage, one after the other, and they sang, too. Alberta tried to pay attention, but there were so many guinea pigs wandering on and off in so many different costumes that she got rather confused. All she could tell was that everyone was very upset – especially La Bella Cucharita.

  ‘Will it never end?’ she wondered silently.

  She glanced at Coco, but he was transfixed by the performance. Alberta’s eyelids drooped and to stop herself from falling asleep, she began to count carrots backwards.

  ‘Seven hundred and eighty-four carrots, seven hundred and—’


  Suddenly she jolted awake. Coco was digging her in the ribs.

  ‘This is it,’ he said urgently. ‘This is the aria!’

  Alberta opened her eyes wide. La Bella Cucharita was standing on a rampart, flinging herself about as usual and booming out with deep emotion:

  ‘I lived for art, I lived for love, I never harmed a living soul! With a discreet claw I relieved all misfortunes I encountered!’

  ‘Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration,’ thought Alberta.

  ‘It’s now,’ hissed Coco. ‘The fourth quaver!’

  He stood up on his seat. It was as though the whole audience held their breath, remembering the mosquito. Would the horror happen again?

  But no, La Bella Cucharita sailed through the fourth quaver without even a single quiver, right to the end of the song. There was a huge sigh of relief which rumbled through the entire theatre like a great wind. The crowd stamped and clapped and cheered and wept as the curtain went down.

  ‘Let’s go to the dressing room and congratulate her,’ said Coco, getting down from the seat. ‘There’s time before the next act.’

  ‘You mean there’s more?’ said Alberta, aghast.

  But Coco didn’t hear, as he was already caught up with the rush of guinea pigs frantically heading to the bar for a glass of iced lemonade. The two cousins lost each other in the throng.

  Coco found himself wedged behind the two hooded widows who had emerged from the widows’ box.