A hush fell over the room. Immediately, a voice, passionate and pure, rose high, kissing the rafters, filling the room with a soft stream of lyrics:
“Thi . . la wee . lek . fee . . neh roi . . yeh hah feen . . .”
The guitar began quietly, and then the drum entered with definitive Middle-Eastern quarter tones, not overwhelming, but blending with the tenor’s voice that achieved the highest notes with remarkable ease.
The notes—fairies dancing atop a puff of air—wove lithely among the crowded tables until they found the shy red-haired young woman standing alone in the entranceway. Students and teachers clustered around tables blocked the woman’s view of the singer at the far end of the social room. Even standing on her toes, she could see only the tips of the musicians’ heads.
The song caressed the young woman with tenderness, encircled her, held her in its arms, drew her into the room, guided her between the tables, lingering with her until she sat at a small empty table close to the others, yet still detached.
Notes exploded like silvery fireworks, first into a spectacular crescendo, then sprinkled like fairy dust onto the sea of rapt faces. The final whispered note hung in its purity for an eternity, then softly dissolved into the stillness of the night.
Silence.
The tenor bowed, his head almost touching his knees.
The silence gave way to applause from all except the red-haired young woman. She didn’t—couldn’t—move.
Without hesitation, the singer immediately began a rendition of The Sloop John B, popularized by the Kingston Trio a couple of years before. A dozen teenage boys surrounding the singer joined in the chorus with such enthusiasm, it was apparent they had done so many times before. Minutes later, though obviously enjoying the ovation that greeted their harmonic ending, the man apologized to the crowd. “We didn’t mean to put on a show or break up the party,” he said, taking another modest bow.
The spontaneous show over, the teens and the group of college-age girls burst into excited chatter. The young woman listened as the girls exchanged stories of their first two weeks in Europe. She didn’t move to join them.
She sat transfixed. She had heard about the magic in Salzburg—a force that captures, captivates, bewitches so many who visit the city known best as the birthplace of the musical phenomenon, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Is that what was happening to her now? She wasn’t sure about being enchanted, but she did know one thing—the tenor’s voice had touched her, struck her to her core.
The Butterfly & The Snail Description:
A tenor’s voice, passionate and pure, draws shy Rebecca Butler into the Studentenheim’s crowded social room. Finished singing, Khalil Khoury notices her sitting alone, joins her, then notices no one else. Georgetown University’s 1964 summer program opens; Salzburg’s magic begins.
“The Butterfly & The Snail” interweaves several heartfelt encounters, creating a fabric of love and intimacy that transforms their lives forever. On one outing, Rebecca loses her footing and tumbles down Untersberg Mountain. Khalil risks his life-and almost loses it-to save Rebecca from falling off the peak.
Two days later, Rebecca discovers a newborn butterfly and then spies a snail picking its way up the path. These creatures come to symbolize this couple’s extraordinary relationship. Relaxing on Gaisberg’s hillside, Rebecca reveals the turmoil she’s had to overcome to gain inner peace. Yet, she confesses, her heart’s desire-love-has eluded her.
When Khalil reacts with sympathy and compassion, she desires that powerful, mystical love radiating from within him. She asks, “How can I love like you?” His answer binds them together forever.
Six weeks later, the program ends. As Rebecca says good-bye, Khalil hands her an envelope: “Not to be opened until out of Salzburg.” Is this his auf Wiedersehen or the beginning of a deeper relationship? Discover if their magic continues beyond Salzburg.
