Page 6 - Omar!

Baron blinked.
“No, I don’t see. And neither does the Astronomical Union. They
don’t appreciate seeing their forerunner presented as a drunkard. And
they don’t like what they call ‘preposterous, astrological, and
historically inaccurate depictions of the constellations and other
celestial phenomena.’ We can expect a few of these guys to make
trouble on opening night. I’m sure they’re dying for publicity—they
probably don’t get out much.”
“Perhaps the set designer gave a little too much latitude to the
audio-visual artists,” shrugged Barnaby Fey. “I think the entire effect
is quite effective, both aesthetically and dramaturgically.”
Baron returned to his text.
“‘Dawn’s left hand...’ Sounds like Black Mass stuff to me. I’ve got
something from the Catholics here, warning us against any satirical
allusions to the transubstantiation of wine to blood; I can’t believe
they’d send the Jesuits out on the march against us, but... Well, back
to the action. This bartender, the Grape-angel, he sings through the
bar room window until Omar wakes up, and then a few other hung-
over stragglers enter the scene as it gets lighter; they all chant a rowdy
drinking song ‘Open then the door!’, joined by a raucously crowing
cock; right?”
“Basically. The cock is really the Bird of Time, who appears in
various guises throughout the opera, reminding everyone that time is
flying, so to speak.” Fey smiled.
Baron plunged onward.
“Next, Omar sings, with the chorus of drunkards echoing his
words. Something about spring or New Year here: I don’t get it.”
The director lifted one hand to the ceiling.
“Omar also participated in reforming the Persian calendar, did you
know that? Almost as accurate as the one we use today. Some in the
audience may not realize the Persian New Year begins in spring;
Omar here is again using the alternately collapsing and telescoping
correspondence of temporal cycles: a day, a year, a life.”
Robert Baron shrugged. “That seems harmless enough. So does
the shower of rose petals on the stage. But here you have a round—is
that a kind of song?—that got one of the local fundamentalist
churches upset. The lyrics include:

Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
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