Foundation and Earth (51 page)

Both men were bare above the waist and Trevize tightened his abdominal muscles whenever he thought of it and stared down, on occasion, with complacent self-admiration at his dark-haired chest. Pelorat, in his ardent observation of everything about him, was indifferent to his own appearance. Bliss’s blouse drew
covert stares of puzzlement but nothing was said concerning it.

Trevize noted that the hall was only about half-full and that the large majority of the audience were women, since, presumably, so many men were out to sea.

Pelorat nudged Trevize and whispered, “They have electricity.”

Trevize looked at the vertical tubes on the walls, and at others on the ceiling. They were softly luminous.

“Fluorescence,” he said. “Quite primitive.”

“Yes, but they do the job, and we’ve got those things in our rooms and in the outhouse. I thought they were just decorative. If we can find out how to work them, we won’t have to stay in the dark.”

Bliss said irritably, “They might have told us.”

Pelorat said, “They thought we’d know; that anyone would know.”

Four women now emerged from behind screens and seated themselves in a group in the space at the front. Each held an instrument of varnished wood of a similar shape, but one that was not easily describable. The instruments were chiefly different in size. One was quite small, two somewhat larger, and the fourth considerably larger. Each woman also held a long rod in the other hand.

The audience whistled softly as they came in, in response to which the four women bowed. Each had a strip of gauze bound fairly tightly across the breasts as though to keep them from interfering with the instrument.

Trevize, interpreting the whistles as signs of approval, or of pleased anticipation, felt it only polite to add his own. At that, Fallom added a trill that was far more than a whistle and that was beginning to attract attention when pressure from Bliss’s hand stopped her.

Three of the women, without preparation, put their instruments under their chins, while the largest of
the instruments remained between the legs of the fourth woman and rested on the floor. The long rod in the right hand of each was sawed across the strings stretching nearly the length of the instrument, while the fingers of the left hand shifted rapidly along the upper ends of those strings.

This, thought Trevize, was the “scraping” he had expected, but it didn’t sound like scraping at all. There was a soft and melodious succession of notes; each instrument doing something of its own and the whole fusing pleasantly.

It lacked the infinite complexity of electronic music (“real music,” as Trevize could not help but think of it) and there was a distinct sameness to it. Still, as time passed, and his ear grew accustomed to this odd system of sound, he began to pick out subtleties. It was wearisome to have to do so, and he thought, longingly, of the clamor and mathematical precision and purity of the real thing, but it occurred to him that if he listened to the music of these simple wooden devices long enough he might well grow to like it.

It was not till the concert was some forty-five minutes old that Hiroko stepped out. She noticed Trevize in the front row at once and smiled at him. He joined the audience in the soft whistle of approval with a whole heart. She looked beautiful in a long and most elaborate skirt, a large flower in her hair, and nothing at all over her breasts since (apparently) there was no danger of their interference with the instrument.

Her instrument proved to be a dark wooden tube about two thirds of a meter long and nearly two centimenters thick. She lifted the instrument to her lips and blew across an opening near one end, producing a thin, sweet note that wavered in pitch as her fingers manipulated metal objects along the length of the tube.

At the first sound, Fallom clutched at Bliss’s arm and said, “Bliss, that’s a——” and the word sounded like “feeful” to Bliss.

Bliss shook her head firmly at Fallom, who said, in a lower voice, “But it is!”

Others were looking in Fallom’s direction. Bliss put her hand firmly over Fallom’s mouth, and leaned down to mutter an almost subliminally forceful “Quiet!” into her ear.

Fallom listened to Hiroko’s playing quietly thereafter, but her fingers moved spasmodically, as though they were operating the objects along the length of the instrument.

The final player in the concert was an elderly man who had an instrument with fluted sides suspended over his shoulders. He pulled it in and out while one hand flashed across a succession of white and dark objects at one end, pressing them down in groups.

Trevize found this sound particularly wearing, rather barbaric, and unpleasantly like the memory of the barking of the dogs on Aurora—not that the sound was like barking, but the emotions it gave rise to were similar. Bliss looked as though she would like to place her hands over her ears, and Pelorat had a frown on his face. Only Fallom seemed to enjoy it, for she was tapping her foot lightly, and Trevize, when he noticed that, realized, to his own surprise, that there was a beat to the music that matched Fallom’s footfall.

It came to an end at last and there was a perfect storm of whistling, with Fallom’s trill clearly heard above it all.

Then the audience broke up into small conversational groups and became as loud and raucous as Alphans seemed to be on all public occasions. The various individuals who had played in the concert stood about in front of the room and spoke to those people who came up to congratulate them.

Fallom evaded Bliss’s grasp and ran up to Hiroko.

“Hiroko,” she cried out, gaspingly. “Let me see the——”

“The what, dear one?” said Hiroko.

“The thing you made the music with.”

“Oh.” Hiroko laughed. “That’s a flute, little one.”

“May I see it?”

“Well.” Hiroko opened a case and took out the instrument. It was in three parts, but she put it together quickly, held it toward Fallom with the mouthpiece near her lips, and said, “There, blow thou thy breath across this.”

“I know. I know,” said Fallom eagerly, and reached for the flute.

Automatically, Hiroko snatched it away and held it high. “Blow, child, but touch not.”

Fallom seemed disappointed. “May I just look at it, then? I won’t touch it.”

“Certainly, dear one.”

She held out the flute again and Fallom stared at it earnestly.

And then, the fluorescent lighting in the room dimmed very slightly, and the sound of a flute’s note, a little uncertain and wavering, made itself heard.

Hiroko, in surprise, nearly dropped the flute, and Fallom cried out, “I did it. I did it. Jemby said someday I could do it.”

Hiroko said, “Was it thou that made the sound?”

“Yes, I did. I did.”

“But how didst thou do so, child?”

Bliss said, red with embarrassment, “I’m sorry, Hiroko. I’ll take her away.”

“No,” said Hiroko. “I wish her to do it again.”

A few of the nearest Alphans had gathered to watch. Fallom furrowed her brow as though trying hard. The fluorescents dimmed rather more than before, and again there was the note of the flute, this time pure and steady. Then it became erratic as the metal objects along the length of the flute moved of their own accord.

“It’s a little different from the——” Fallom said, a little breathlessly, as though the breath that had been
activating the flute had been her own instead of power-driven air.

Pelorat said to Trevize, “She must be getting the energy from the electric current that feeds the fluorescents.”

“Try again,” said Hiroko in a choked voice.

Fallom closed her eyes. The note was softer now and under firmer control. The flute played by itself, maneuvered by no fingers, but moved by distant energy, transduced through the still immature lobes of Fallom’s brain. The notes which began as almost random settled into a musical succession and now everyone in the hall had gathered around Hiroko and Fallom, as Hiroko held the flute gently with thumb and forefinger at either end, and Fallom, eyes closed, directed the current of air and the movement of the keys.

“It’s the piece I played,” whispered Hiroko.

“I remember it,” said Fallom, nodding her head slightly, trying not to break her concentration.

“Thou didst not miss a note,” said Hiroko, when it was done.

“But it’s not right, Hiroko. You didn’t do it right.”

Bliss said, “Fallom! That’s not polite. You mustn’t—”

“Please,” said Hiroko peremptorily, “do not interfere. Why is it not right, child?”

“Because I would play it differently.”

“Show me, then.”

Again the flute played, but in more complicated fashion, for the forces that pushed the keys did so more quickly, in more rapid succession and in more elaborate combinations than before. The music was more complex, and infinitely more emotional and moving. Hiroko stood rigid and there was not a sound to be heard anywhere in the room.

Even after Fallom had finished playing, there was not a sound until Hiroko drew a deep breath and said, “Little one, hast thou ever played that before?”

“No,” said Fallom, “before this I could only use my
fingers, and I can’t do my fingers like that.” Then, simply and with no trace of vaunting, “No one can.”

“Canst thou play anything else?”

“I can make something up.”

“Dost thou mean—improvise?”

Fallom frowned at the word and looked toward Bliss. Bliss nodded and Fallom said, “Yes.”

“Please do so, then,” said Hiroko.

Fallom paused and thought for a minute or two, then began slowly, in a very simple succession of notes, the whole being rather dreamy. The fluorescent lights dimmed and brightened as the amount of power exerted intensified and faded. No one seemed to notice, for it seemed to be the effect of the music rather than the cause, as though a ghostly electrical spirit were obeying the dictates of the sound waves.

The combination of notes then repeated itself a bit more loudly, then a bit more complexly, then in variations that, without ever losing the clearly heard basic combination, became more stirring and more exciting until it was almost impossible to breathe. And finally, it descended much more rapidly than it had ascended and did so with the effect of a swooping dive that brought the listeners to ground level even while they still retained the feeling that they were high in the air.

There followed sheer pandemonium that split the air, and even Trevize, who was used to a totally different kind of music, thought sadly, “And now I’ll never hear that again.”

When a most reluctant quiet had returned, Hiroko held out her flute. “Here, Fallom, this is thine!”

Fallom reached for it eagerly, but Bliss caught hold of the child’s outstretched arm and said, “We can’t take it, Hiroko. It’s a valuable instrument.”

“I have another, Bliss. Not quite as good, but that is how it should be. This instrument belongeth to the person who playeth it best. Never have I heard such music and it would be wrong for me to own an instrument I
cannot use to full potential. Would that I knew how the instrument could be made to play without being touched.”

Fallom took the flute and, with an expression of deep content, held it tightly to her chest.

EACH OF THE TWO ROOMS OF THEIR QUARTERS were lit by one flourescent light. The outhouse had a third. The lights were dim, and were uncomfortable to read by, but at least the rooms were no longer dark.

Yet they now lingered outside. The sky was full of stars, something that was always fascinating to a native of Terminus, where the night sky was all but starless and in which only the faint foreshortened cloud of the Galaxy was prominent.

Hiroko had accompanied them back to their chambers for fear they would get lost in the dark, or that they would stumble. All the way back, she held Fallom’s hand, and then, after lighting the flourescents for them, remained outside with them, still clutching at the youngster.

Bliss tried again, for it was clear to her that Hiroko was in a state of a difficult conflict of emotions. “Really, Hiroko, we cannot take your flute.”

“No, Fallom must have it.” But she seemed on edge just the same.

Trevize continued to look at the sky. The night was truly dark, a darkness that was scarcely affected by the trickle of light from their own chambers; and much less so by the tiny sparks of other houses farther off.

He said, “Hiroko, do you see that star that is so bright? What is it called?”

Hiroko looked up casually and said, with no great appearance of interest, “That’s the Companion.”

“Why is it called that?”

“It circleth our sun every eighty Standard Years. It
is an evening star at this time of year. Thou canst see it in daytime, too, when it lieth above the horizon.”

Good, thought Trevize. She’s not totally ignorant of astronomy.
He said, “Do you know that Alpha has another companion, a very small, dim one that’s much much farther away than that bright star. You can’t see it without a telescope.” (He hadn’t seen it himself, hadn’t bothered to search for it, but the ship’s computer had the information in its memory banks.)

She said indifferently, “We were told that in school.”

“But now what about that one? You see those six stars in a zigzag line?”

Hiroko said, “That is Cassiopeia.”

“Really?” said Trevize, startled. “Which star?”

“All of them. The whole zigzag. It is Cassiopeia.”

“Why is it called that?”

“I lack the knowledge. I know nothing of astronomy, respected Trevize.”

“Do you see the lowermost star in the zigzag, the one that’s brighter than the other stars? What is that?”

“It is a star. I know not its name.”

“But except for the two companion stars, it’s the closest of all the stars to Alpha. It is only a parsec away.”

Hiroko said, “Sayest thou so? I know that not.”

“Might it not be the star about which Earth revolves?”

Hiroko looked at the star with a faint flash of interest. “I know not. I have never heard any person say so.”

“Don’t you think it might be?”

“How can I say? None knoweth where Earth might be. I—I must leave thee, now. I will be taking my shift in the fields tomorrow morning before the beach festival. I’ll see you all there, right after lunch. Yes? Yes?”