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.In October she would take herfirst opera role, Strauss's Arabella.That probably meant she would talk for sixstraight weeks beforehand.Otto could bear it.She was very beautiful, andgenerally good-humored, and anyway one need not listen.She did not carefile:///F|/rah/Ursula%20LeGuin/LeGuin,%20Ursula%20K%20-%20Orsinian%20Tales%20[v1].htm (134 of 171) [7/17/03 11:36:03 PM]ORSINIAN TALESwhether one listened so long as one was there, an audience.She talked on, the sound of rushing water came from the bathroom, the telephonerang, she began to talk on the telephone.Gaye had not said a word.The childstood beside him, grave as ever; Egorina had forgotten all about Vasli aftermaking her entrance with him, and had been swearing like a sergeant.Gaye stood up.Relieved, Otto took him to the door, gave him two passes toEgorina's recital tomorrow night, shrugged off his thanks "We're not sold out,you know! This is a dead town for music." Behind them Egorina's voice floodedmagnificently on, her laugh broke out like the jet of a great fountain."Jesus! whatdo I care what that little Jew says?" she sang out, and again the great, goldenlaugh."Gaye," said Otto Egorin, "you know, there's one other thing.This is not agood world for music, either.This world now, in 1938.You're not the only manwho wonders, what's the good? who needs music, who wants it? Who indeed,when Europe is crawling with armies like a corpse with maggots, when Russiauses symphonies to glorify the latest boiler-factory in the Urals, when the functionof music has been all summed up in Putzi playing the piano to soothe the Leader'snerves.By the time your Mass is finished, you know, all the churches may beblown into little pieces, and your men's chorus will be wearing uniforms and alsobeing blown into little pieces.If not, send it to me, I shall be interested.But I'mnot hopeful.I am on the losing side, with you.So is she, my Egorina there, believeit or not.She will never believe it.But music is no good, no use, Gaye.Not anymore.Write your songs, write your Mass, it does no harm.I shall go on arrangingconcerts, it does no harm.But it won't save us."Ladislas Gaye and his son walked from the hotel to the old bridge over the Ras;their home was in the Old City, the bleak jumbled quarter on the north side of theriver.What Foranoy had in the way of wealth and modernity lay south of the riverin the New City.It was a warm bright day, late spring; they stopped on the bridgeto look at the arches reflecting in the dark water, each with its reflection forming aperfect circle.A barge came through loaded with wadded crates and Vasli, held upby his father so he could see over the stone railing, spat down on one of the crates."Shame on you," Ladislas Gaye said without heat.He was happy.He did not careif he had blubbered like a baby in front of Otto Egorin, the great impresario.Hedid not care if he was tired and this was one of his wife's bad days and he wasfile:///F|/rah/Ursula%20LeGuin/LeGuin,%20Ursula%20K%20-%20Orsinian%20Tales%20[v1].htm (135 of 171) [7/17/03 11:36:03 PM]ORSINIAN TALESalready late.He did not care about anything at all, except the child's small, firmhand in his, and the way the wind out here on the bridge, between city and city,carried away all sound and left one bathed in warm, silent sunlight, and the factthat Otto Egorin knew what he was: a musician.So far, in this one recognition byone man, he was strong and he was free.It went no further than that, his strengthand freedom, but it was enough.The trumpet-tune of his Sanctus sang in his head."Papa, why did the big lady have things in her ears and ask if I liked chocolate?Do people not like chocolate?""They were jewels, Vasli.I don't know." The trumpet sang on.If only he and thelittle fellow could stay here awhile, in the sunlight and silence, between city andcity, between moment and moment.They went on, into the Old City, past thewharves, past the abandoned houses built of stone, up the hill, into the courtyardof their tenement.Vasli broke loose, disappeared into a crowd of childrenbrawling, screaming, swarming in the court.Ladislas Gaye called after him, gaveit up, climbed the dark stairs and went down a dark hall on the third floor, lethimself in the dark kitchen, the first room of their three-room flat.His wife waspeeling potatoes at the kitchen table.She wore a dirty white wrapper, dirty pinkchenille mules on her bare feet."It's six o'clock, Ladis," she said without lookinground at him."I was in the New City.""Why'd you drag the child so far? Where is he? Where are Tonia and Givana? Icalled and called them, I'm sure they're not in the court.Why'd you go so far withthe child?""I went to ""My back aches worse than ever, it's the heat, why is summer so hot here?""Let me do that.""No, I'll finish.I wish you'd clean those gas vents in the oven, Ladis, I must haveasked you fifty times.Now I can't get it lighted at all, it's filthy dirty, and I can't goscraping at it with my back like it is.""All right.Let me change my shirt."file:///F|/rah/Ursula%20LeGuin/LeGuin,%20Ursula%20K%20-%20Orsinian%20Tales%20[v1].htm (136 of 171) [7/17/03 11:36:03 PM]ORSINIAN TALES"Listen here, Ladis Ladis! Is Vasli down there in the court in his good clothes?Go down and get him right away, how do you think we can afford to get his goodclothes cleaned every time he puts them on? Ladis? Go down and get him! Canyou never think of these things? He's probably filthy dirty already, playing withthose big roughnecks around the well!""I'm going, give me time, will you!"In September the east wind of autumn rose, blowing past the empty stone housesand down the bright troubled river, blowing scant litter about the city streets,blowing fine dust into people's eyes and throats as they went home from work [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]