Page 12 - Omar!

“Wait,” Fey chimed in. “This is my best staging in the whole opera:
have you seen it yet? No? Well, of course it is a seduction; everyone’s
expecting that. But Omar is no coarse drunken rapist. He sings to her
frankly about his view of life and death, using games and play and
dramaturgy itself as metaphors of human endeavor. Here he must
balance the themes of meaningless cycles and fleeting time with great
care, in order not to scare off his lady-love. So, he sings:

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End.

Ah, what a beautiful blending of eternity and the moment! How
could she resist him after that touching plea?”
The trustee’s fists were clenched. “We both know she does not,
Mr. Fey. But did she have to disrobe completely before getting into
bed with him?”
Barnaby Fey inclined his head. “Perhaps not. But Sharleen
Omphalopoulos—she’s the soprano in the role—got her start off-
Broadway in X-rated musicals, so it seemed natural to end the scene
that way.”
“Well, we have some very militant feminist groups in this town, as
well as a few church-oriented anti-pornography organizations. I don’t
suppose you were aware of that?”
“Hadn’t entered my mind.”
Baron waved two letters at Fey. “These women are going to stand
in front of the theatre and harass anyone who tries to buy a ticket!
Not to mention, of course, the fundamentalists, who want the show
closed before any innocent eyes are injured by the sight.”
“Mr. Baron, I’m sure you know that the constitution of the United
States protects my right to present this show as is.”
The realtor regained his self-control and shifted into a familiar role,
the negotiator disguised as mediator.
“Now, don’t get excited, Mr. Fey, please. We’re both men of the
world; let us consider the matter closed for the moment. I want to
wrap up this meeting as quickly as possible, and I’m sure you do, too.
Now, Act Three: this one starts off back in the tavern, at dusk.
Omar and the Vine-daughter are seated, sharing a pot of wine; they
are the only clientele. Omar sings “Ah, fill the Cup” and the Grape-
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