A LONG NIGHT AT THE OPERA: 

IL TROVATORE 

Adrian Korpel 

It all starts when the gypsy Azucena throws her own baby into the fire instead of the Count di Luna’s little baby brother which is surely a dumb thing to do, but who can blame her being confused what with seeing her mother burn at the stake for bewitching the count’s baby brother and noticing the Count’s sardonic grin, and so making a small mistake in dealing out vengeance, wouldn’t you have ? 

Azucena brings up this wrong baby B as her own son and names him Manrico, this being a manly name, but he becomes a troubadour also known as Trovatore, and then falls in love with a hefty lady singer called Leonore of whom as it happens the Count di Luna is also besotted, so the two become bitter enemies though they are brothers but don’t know that, are you with me so far? 

Now Leonora loves Manrico passionately at first sight, but the Count di Luna not so much as he sings bad Italian at her with a Russian accent, so of course the two men come to blows and Manrico wins in spite of being a small troubadour, but he makes the mistake of not killing the Count which really complicates matters and makes an opera much longer than it needs to be anyway, don’t you think? 

A number of hours pass while the two men sing not so much of being in love with Leonora as hating the other one for thinking he is more in love with her, but finally the Count di Luna gets the upper hand by treachery and deceit, and sends Manrico to the block whereupon Leonora poisons herself, and Azucena tells the Count he has killed his own brother which makes him gasp audibly just as the curtain falls. 

THE END

THE PHLEBOTOMIST

Adrian Korpel

Art: health.state.mn.us

See this guy here lying on my couch? Looks peaceful, doesn't he? He came in around ten to give blood for his prostate operation.He's in his sixties, like most of them, all swagger with a scared little boy inside. Look at him now, in his stone-washed jeans and his purple shirt. Pathetic, isn't it, at his age? He's a professor you know. You should have been here when he came in. 

   "My name's Aubrey Stone," he says, "you   can call me Aubrey." 

He lies down on the couch and winks at me. 

   "Well, let's get started," he says," Do your worst and suck me dry." 

Great line, I think, really original. I ask him to roll up his sleeves, and notice that his veins look really poor. I take my syringe and stick the needle into the best one. Nothing. So I poke around a bit: Nothing. He has turned away his face, like they all do, but I see him wince. 

  "Does it hurt?," I say. 

  "Yes," he says, "you're hurting me." 

I decide to stick his hand instead, and this time I'm in luck, the syringe fills up nicely. I take 5 cc of blood, label it and send it to the lab. Then I measure his blood pressure, and find it's 145 over 102. 

   "It's a bit high," I say, "something must be making you nervous." 

   " Yes," he says, "you are." 

Blaming me again, I think. I give him a copy of Better Homes and Gardens, and tell him to look at the pictures to calm down. 

   "Those pictures may be too exciting," he says, "don't you have a Ranger Rick?" 

Smart Alec, I think, just wait till you see the big needle. When his count comes back from the lab, it's 42, so I can go ahead. I take his blood pressure again, and it's gone down to 140 over 90. 

   "That's better," I say. 

  "I'm not surprised," he says, "that magazine you gave me is full of pictures of flowers. It wouldn't excite a rabbit." 

He pauses a moment to think, like those professors do . 

   "Maybe I'm wrong," he says, "maybe rabbits eat flowers." 

I look at him, but he's serious. He must drive his wife crazy with that way of talking. 

   "Well, are you ready for the big one?," I say. 

   "Sure," he says in a kind of pinched voice. 

I put the elastic strap around his arm and take out the big needle. That's when he makes his mistake: he looks at the needle and faints -- 

So there we are. I suppose I'll better get a doctor. Look at him though, all peaceful in his stone-washed jeans. I bet you he's dreaming. Probably about rabbits eating flowers.