The Child Garden by Geoff Ryman

Author:Geoff Ryman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-10-27T23:27:39+00:00

chapter eleven

Forces of Attraction

(Bouquets of Confusion)

The candle of work had burned out. It was late, so late that the sun had risen over the roof of the Shell, and sunlight flooded Milena's room. Milena had been awoken by a light touch on her sleeve. She looked up from the Comedy, and turned around.

Moira Almasy was in the room. Milena's vision was bleary from sleep and dust in her eyes. It seemed to her that Moira Almasy glowed with light so brilliantly that her features were blanched away, with all their lines and creases. Her hair was almost white.

'Milena,' Moira Almasy said. There was a hushed quality to her voice. 'Milena, something's happened.'

Milena sat up, feeling her hair. As always it hung straight and tidy in its ponytail. Moira was holding out a wad of paper towards her. There was a stack of paper on the floor. Milena took what was offered her, and stared.

It was paper in staves, and on it were written the words: Divina Commedia

Canticche Uno

Inferno

Canto I

Piccolo

2 Flauti

2 Oboi

Corno inglese

Clarinetto piccolo (Es)

For a moment it meant nothing.

'After the show, last night,' said Moira. 'There was a call to all of the Terminals. They were told to find paper. Stores were opened, withdrawals recorded.'

2 Clarinetti (B)

Clarinetto Basso

2 Fagotti Contrafagotto 4 Corni (F)

3 Trombe (B)

'Who did this?' asked Milena, still not fully understanding. It was not her music.

'The Consensus,' said Moira. 'Milena. The Consensus has scored the Comedy. The Terminals, all of them. Last night. They wrote it down. Two Cantos each.'

'All one hundred?' Milena felt dazed, hanging between many emotions. 'The whole thing?' She thought of all of her own work. 'All of it?'

Moira nodded yes, her smile muted by awe.

Milena knelt on the floor beside the heap of paper. It rose at least as high as her forearm was long. She fanned through the pages and found Canto Eight.

She wanted to see how horns could be both sombre and hopeful.

'There's no vocal line,' she said.

It was instruments only, until Dante asked Virgil the question: 'Questo che dice?'

None of the narration was sung.

'Those were the red notes!' exclaimed Milena. Most of the poetry was made mute, turned into music.

Milena's viruses played the notes on the page. She heard it, the swirling horns, deep, dark, water smelling of filth and of corpses. But light glinted on the surface of the water, and over the surface of the music. Even here, crossing the river of death, to the marshes of the Styx, there was purpose, there was justice.

Milena began to shake. 'Oh Marx and Lenin,' she said. 'Oh Marx and Lenin.'

She went to Canto after Canto. Music flowered. It was in gorgeous colours, as pungent as scent, combinations of sound that she would never have been able to imagine.

'It's wonderful,' she said, and began to laugh, and shake her head. 'It's all wonderful!'

Something rose up in her, and she stood up and whooped for joy. She jumped up and down in her tiny room, and Moira began to beam with pleasure.

'Moira! Oh, Moira!' cried Milena, and hugged her, and Moira chuckled at her pleasure.

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