Nobody Behind the Curtain

Every Saturday at four, Safiya pulls a rope. A green curtain slides across a small wooden stage. Then an act steps out, and she pulls the rope again. The curtain opens. That is her whole job. She loves it.

The stage stands on the roof of the shopping centre. Up here, it is quiet. There are long boxes of mint and tomato plants. There are benches, string lights and a path of small stones. Far below, behind a glass roof, people ride the escalators with bags.

Safiya is fifteen. She volunteers in the roof garden every weekend. She likes the curtain because it hides her. Behind it, she sees everything, and nobody sees her. She writes songs in a notebook, but nobody hears them. The notebook lives at the bottom of her bag.

Today, only one act is on the list. His name is Edin. He climbs the last steps at three forty. He carries a guitar case that looks too big for him.

"Is this where I play?" he asks. His voice is thin.

"This is the place," Safiya says. "You are on at four."

Edin sits on a bench. He opens the case and closes it again. He opens it again. His fingers are white at the tips.

"I never play for real people," he says. "Only for my dog."

"What does your dog think?" Safiya asks.

"He sleeps," Edin says. "But he is very polite about it."

Safiya smiles. "Then you are ready," she says.

"No," Edin says. "Please close the curtain. Keep it closed until I am ready. Then open it. That is how it works, right?"

"That is how it works," Safiya says.

At three fifty, twelve people sit on the benches. A man with a coffee. Two girls with ice cream. A family with a small baby. The garden manager checks the lights. Safiya goes to the rope.

She pulls it.

The curtain slides, stops, and sticks in the middle.

She pulls again. Nothing. She pulls harder. The rope burns her hand. The curtain does not move. The green cloth hangs in a fold. A large gap shows on the left.

"It is stuck," she says to nobody.

She gets the ladder. She climbs up and looks at the rail. One small wheel is out of its track. The metal rail is bent. She pushes it back. The curtain jumps forward a little. Then it stops at the same place. She tries three times. Each time the wheel jumps out.

"Safiya?" the manager calls. "It is almost four."

"One minute!" she says.

She has no new rail and no time. Edin stands on the stage and stares at the gap. To him it looks like a hole in a boat.

He comes over to the ladder. His face is the colour of paper.

"Can't you fix it?" he asks.

"Not today," Safiya says. "The rail is bent. I need a new one."

"Then I cannot play," Edin says. "I am sorry. I wanted the curtain to hide me. I wanted to start, and nobody sees my hands shake."

He picks up his guitar case. He turns toward the stairs.

Safiya climbs down. She stands in front of him. She does not know why. It is not her job to stop people. Her job is to pull a rope.

"Wait," she says.

"Why?" Edin asks.

Safiya looks at the benches. The twelve people wait. The baby makes a happy noise. The man with the coffee looks at his phone. Nobody is angry. Nobody even looks unkind. They only wait.

"The first time is the hardest," she says. "After the first minute, nobody sees your hands. They hear the music."

"How do you know?" Edin says.

"I do not," Safiya says. "Not really. I only watch other people do it."

Edin laughs, a short, surprised laugh. It is the first time he laughs. "That is not very helpful," he says.

"No," Safiya says. "It is not."

For a moment, neither of them says anything. The string lights glow. The sky above them turns grey. The tomato plants smell warm and green. Below the glass, people still ride the escalators. Some of them look up.

Edin puts the case down on the stage. He takes out his guitar. His hands still shake. But he holds it as if he trusts it.

"Will you stand next to me?" he asks.

"Next to you?" Safiya says. "On the stage?"

"At the side," Edin says. "Next to the rope. Where I can see you. Only until the first song ends."

Safiya looks at the rope in her hand. She looks at the gap in the curtain. Then she looks at the people on the benches. Every Saturday, a curtain hides her from them. Now nothing does.

"Okay," she says. "Only until the first song ends."

She walks to the side of the stage. The boards feel strange under her feet. She can hear her heart. She can hear the baby. She holds the rope with both hands. It feels like a rope on a ship.

Edin plays a first note. It is wrong. He stops, breathes in, and plays it again.

This time, it is right.

It spreads over the garden, soft and a little uneven. The man with the coffee puts his phone away. The two girls stop talking. Edin closes his eyes, and Safiya watches his hands slowly stop shaking.

He plays the whole song. When it ends, the people clap. The baby claps too, without knowing why.

Edin opens his eyes. He looks at Safiya and smiles. It is a big, happy smile, with no fear in it.

"Next one?" the manager calls from the back. "Anyone else want to play?"

Nobody answers. The garden is quiet. Safiya looks down at her bag by the ladder. Her hand is on it.

The bag is half open.