Rain in the Bedroom
The rain in Eli's bedroom was made of dry beans. He tilted a shoe box, and the beans rolled from one end to the other. With his eyes closed, he could hear rain on a roof. His father stood in the doorway with a basket of clean clothes. "Should I bring an umbrella?" he asked. Eli tilted the box again, more slowly this time.
Eli was making sounds for a short play at the neighbourhood theatre. It was about a queen who invited a strange traveller to tea. The traveller could bring any kind of weather into a room, but he could not remember how to stop it. There were knocks, wind, birds and a storm in the script. Eli's job was to make the audience hear them.
He had never worked on a play before. He usually watched from the back row, where nobody noticed him. This time his friend Leah was playing the queen. "You don't have to come on stage," she told him. "We need someone behind the curtain." That sounded comfortable to Eli. He could do something important without standing under the lights.
At the first rehearsal, he brought the beans, a small metal sheet and two wooden blocks. He knocked the blocks together for the traveller's arrival. He shook the metal sheet for thunder. The director, Cora, asked him to make it quieter. "The audience must still hear the actors," she said. Eli tried again. Leah opened the cardboard window, and he started the rain.
After rehearsal, he listened to the sounds on his phone. Some were too loud. Others were difficult to hear. He wanted each one to be right, so he spent two evenings recording them again. On his laptop, he added quiet music between the sounds. Then he put everything into one long recording, in the exact order of the play. He liked the idea of pressing one button instead of moving between different files.
Cora listened on Thursday. "It sounds good," she said. "Can you start each sound when the actors need it?" Eli showed her his paper with times written beside the lines. The first knock came after twenty seconds. The storm came much later. "I'll follow them," he said. He knew where he could pause the recording. Beside his laptop, the shoe box looked rather ordinary.
Twenty Seconds
On Friday evening, the theatre smelled of paint and warm coats. Eli sat at a small table behind the curtain. From there, he could see the cardboard window through a gap. The audience could not see him. He connected his laptop to the sound system and checked the volume. He put on the headphones at the table, then left one ear uncovered so he could hear the actors. He put his paper beside the keyboard, with a pencil across the top.
The box and wooden blocks were still under the table. Eli planned to take them home after the show. He did not think he would need them tonight. The recording sounded much better than his hands did. He opened the sound file and moved the little arrow back to the beginning. His father was sitting in the third row.
Leah came to check the window before the curtain opened. Its painted handle was loose. She turned it carefully and left it in the right position. "Watch this," she told Eli. "When I open the window, send the storm." He nodded. On his paper, the window opened after eight minutes and ten seconds. He drew a circle round that time.
The curtain rose. Leah walked to the tea table in her bright blue coat. Before she could speak, several people in the front row clapped. Her little brother waved both arms. Leah smiled and waited for the room to become quiet. Eli pressed play when she began her first line. He watched the numbers on his screen move forward.
Twenty seconds later, three clear knocks came from the speaker. But Leah was still welcoming the audience into her imaginary palace. People had laughed at her first joke, and she had waited before continuing. The traveller was not ready to enter. Leah looked at the door, then at her plate. "My biscuits are getting impatient," she said. More people laughed.
Eli pressed pause. His face felt warm. The traveller entered a few moments later, without another knock. Eli found the next time on his paper and started the recording again. For a while, it worked. Quiet music played as the traveller unpacked his bag. Eli breathed out. Perhaps nobody would know that anything had gone wrong.
Weather at the Wrong Time
The traveller offered the queen a sunny afternoon. Leah asked how much it cost. He began a long answer about a distant country, but a child in the audience called, "Two pounds!" The actor stopped and looked at the child. "You drive a hard bargain," he said. The audience laughed again. Eli watched his careful timing slip away.
He paused the recording, then tried to move it forward to the next sound. His finger slipped on the little arrow. A loud bird call filled the theatre. The queen was holding a biscuit halfway to her mouth. "At least somebody wants my cooking," Leah said. She put the biscuit down. Eli lowered the volume, but the bird had already finished its call.
From the table, he could see Cora at the side of the stage. She did not look angry. She pointed towards the cardboard window, then put a finger to her lips. Eli nodded. He found the place before the storm in the recording. He would wait for the window this time. The numbers on his paper suddenly seemed less useful than the gap in the curtain.
The traveller continued, but he missed a line. Leah waited, then asked him a different question to help. He answered that one and moved towards his bag. Now they were skipping part of their conversation. Eli could not simply start the recording again. It contained music and a wind sound during those missing lines. If he played it, they would have to wait for the storm. He could move the arrow again, but he did not want another wrong sound to cover Leah's voice.
He looked under the table. The wooden blocks were on top of the shoe box. The metal sheet leaned against a chair leg. He took off his headphones and pushed the laptop away from his hands. Then he lifted the box onto his knees. The beans were dry, just as they were in his bedroom. He listened to Leah's voice instead of watching the screen.
The traveller warned the queen not to open her window. She said she wanted some fresh air. Her hand touched the loose handle. Eli waited. She turned it once, carefully, then pushed the window open. He tilted the box. A quiet rain began behind the curtain. Leah looked out of the window and held one hand beyond the frame. "You could have brought me a towel," she told the traveller.
Wait for the Window
Cora crouched beside Eli's table while the actors spoke. "The microphone," she whispered. She moved its stand close to the box. It was the same microphone they used during rehearsal. Eli watched her hand on the volume control. As the rain became clearer through the speaker, he tipped the box more gently. Now he could hear both the speaker and the actors clearly.
The traveller promised to stop the rain. He reached into his bag and pulled out a bright yellow scarf. That was Eli's next signal. He stopped moving the beans. The sudden quiet made someone in the audience laugh. Then the queen discovered that the traveller's coat was wet. Eli gave the box one small shake. A few last drops seemed to fall from the coat onto the floor. Then he started the rain again. The scarf only worked for a moment.
Near the end, the traveller remembered how to send the storm away. He needed thunder. Eli put the box down and lifted the metal sheet. He watched the actor raise both arms, then shook it once. The sound was lower than the recorded thunder. It stayed beneath the traveller's voice instead of covering it. Leah closed the window. Eli laid the metal carefully on the table.
The play ended with the queen lending the traveller her umbrella. Eli knew there should be music while the curtain closed. He reached towards the laptop, then stopped. Cora was watching Leah take her final bow. Eli let the applause fill the room. When Cora nodded towards him, he played the short closing music from the end of the recording. This time, nobody had to speak over it.
After the show, Leah came behind the curtain carrying the umbrella. "I almost thought the rain was outside," she said. Eli showed her the box. He expected her to ask about the early knocks. Instead, she asked him to teach her the bird call for tomorrow's rehearsal. "That one is still on the laptop," he said. "The biscuits only get birds on Fridays."
His father found him packing the wooden blocks. "I recognised the rain," he said. Eli put the pencil inside the box, away from the beans. On the lid, he crossed out the time he had written for the storm. Below it, he wrote a new note: Wait for the window. Then he closed the box and carried it home, keeping it level so the journey would stay dry.
