amc.killashandra-第23部分

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membered　family　outings　in　the　summer　in　the　mountain　lakes；　or　at　the　ocean　shore；　when　she　had　led　the　singing。　Was　that　what　Antona　had　had　in　mind　for　Killashandra　to　keep　as　enriching　memories？　Well；　there　were　aspects　of　even　those　mellow　evenings　which　Killashandra　would　have　as　soon　forgot。　For　her　older　brothers　had　always　teased　her　about　screeching　at　the　top　of　her　lungs；　and　showing　off　and　preening　herself　in　public。
　Even　before　this　evening；　Killashandra　had　been　aware　that　some　melodies　seem　to　be　universal；　either　recreated　within　a　planet's　musical　tradition　or　brought　with　the　original　settlers　and　altered　to　fit　the　new　world。　Words　might　be　changed；　tempo；　harmony；　but　the　joy　in　listening；　in　joining　the　group　singing　was　not：　it　struck　deep　nostalgic　chords。　Despite　her　musical　sophistication；　despite　her　foreswearing　that　same　background；　there　was　no　way　Killashandra　could　have　remained　silent。　Indeed；　not　to　participate　in　the　evening　would　have　marked　her　as　antisocial。　For　the　Angel　Islanders；　singing　was　a　social　grace。
　Nor　was　the　singing　simple；　for　the　islanders　added　embellishments　to　choruses　and　songs；　six…part　harmonies　and　intricate　descants。　Lars　Dahl　functioned　as　both　stage　manager　and　conductor；　pointing　to　the　people　expected　to　rise　and　sing　or　perform　on　their　instruments：　performing　to　a　high　degree　of　musical　petence　on　such　unexpected　instruments　as　trumpet；　a　woodwind　that　looked　like　a　cross　between　an　oboe　and　an　ancient　French　horn；　and　on　a　viola　with　a　mellow；　warm　tone　that　must　have　arrived　with　the　early　settlers。　The　hand　drums　were　played　with　great　skill　and　showmanship；　the　three　drummers　executing　a　whirling　dance　in　time　to　their　intricate　rhythms。
　Even　when　the　rest　of　the　audience　was　not　actively　participating；　their　attention　was　rapt；　and　their　reaction　to　the　occasional　mistake　immediate　and　understanding。　There　were　songs　about　polly　planters：　one　sung　by　two　women；　humorously　itemizing　the　necessary　steps　to　make　one　polly　plant　produce　everything　needed　by　their　family。　Another　tune；　sung　by　a　tall　thin　man　with　a　deep　bass　voice；　told　of　the　trials　of　a　man　bent　on　catching　an　ancient　granddaddy　smacker　fish　which　had　once　demolished　his　small　fishing　boat　with　a　negligent　flick　of　its　massive　tail。　A　contralto　and　a　baritone　sang　a　sad　haunting　ballad　on　the　vicissitudes　of　gray　fishing　and　the　vagaries　of　that　enormous　and　elusive　quarry。
　〃You've　dallied　long　enough；　Lars；　you　and　Olav　sing　it　now；〃　a　man　demanded　from　the　shadows　at　one　point。　A　wave　of　cheering　and　handclapping　seconded　that　order。
　Grinning　amiably；　Lars　nodded；　beckoning　to　someone　seated　to　Killashandra's　left。　The　man　who　came　to　stand　beside　Lars　had　to　be　related　to　him　for　their　features　were　similar；　if　differently　arranged。　Though　the　older　man　had　a　thin；　long　face；　the　nose　was　the　same；　and　the　set　of　the　eyes；　the　shape　of　the　lips；　and　the　firm　chin。　Neither　man　could　really　be　called　handsome；　but　both　exuded　the　same　unusual　quality　of　strength；　determination；　and　confidence　that　made　them　stand　out　as　individuals。
　A　respectful　silence　fell　and　the　instruments　began　the　overture。　Killashandra　had　a　good　musical　memory：　she　could　hear　a　position　once　and　remember　not　only　the　theme；　if　there　was　one；　but　the　structure。　If　she　had　studied　the　score　in　any　detail；　she　would　know　the　poser　and　performances；　what　different　settings　or　arrangements　the　music　had　had　over　the　years；　and　possibly　which　Stellars　had　performed　it　and　where。
　Before　the　men　began　to　sing；　she　recognized　the　music。　The　words　had　been　altered　but　they　suited　the　locality：　the　search　for　the　lost　and　perfect　island　in　the　mists　of　morning；　and　the　beautiful　lady　stranded　there　for　whose　affections　the　men　vied。　Lar's　beautiful　tenor　paired　well　with　the　older　man's　well　produced　baritone；　their　voices　in　perfect　balance　with　each　other　and　the　dynamics　of　the　music。
　Nevertheless；　at　song's　end　Killashandra　stared　at　Lars　in　amazement。　He　had　the　most　outrageous　gall。。。　until　she　also　remembered　that　he　had　been　required　to　sing　it；　however　appropriate　it　might　also　be　to　her　circumstances。　And　Lars　Dahl　had　not　had　the　grace　to　look　abashed。
　Why　should　he？　The　performer　in　her　argued　with　her　sense　of　personal　outrage。　The　music　was　beautiful；　and　so　obviously　a　favorite　of　the　islanders　that　the　last　chorus　trailed　off　into　reverent　silence。
　Then　the　baritone　held　out　his　hand；　into　which　was　placed　a　twelve　stringed　instrument　that　he　presented　to　Lars　Dahl。
　〃The　Music　Masters　may　not　have　approved　your　position　for　the　Summer　Festival；　Lars；　but　may　we　at　least　hear　it？〃
　Plainly　the　request　distressed　Lars　Dahl；　for　his　mouth　twitched　and　he　had　ducked　his　head　against　the　pelling　level　gaze。　Nevertheless；　he　took　a　deep　breath；　reluctantly　accepting　the　instrument。　His　lips　were　pressed　into　a　thin　line　as　he　strummed　a　chord　to　test　the　strings。　Lars　did　not　look　at　Olav；　though　he　could　not　refuse　the　older　man'　s　request；　nor　did　he　look　out　at　the　audience。　His　expression　was　bleak　as　he　inhaled　deeply；　concentrating　onward　to　the　performance。　The　rankling　disappointment；　the　pain　of　that　rejection；　and　the　sense　of　failure　which　Lars　had　experienced　were　as　clear　to　Killashandra　as　if　broadcast。　Her　cynical　evaluation　of　him　altered　radically。　She　was　possibly　the　only　one　in　the　entire　assembly　who　could　empathize；　could　understand　and　appreciate　the　deep　and　intense　conflict　he　had　to　overe　at　that　moment。　She　also　could　approve　heartily　of　the　professionalism　in　him　that　unprotestingly　accepted　the　challenge　of　an　excruciating　demand。　Lars　Dahl　possessed　a　potentially　Stellar　temperament。
　Despite　her　proximity　to　him；　she　almost　missed　the　first　whispering　chords　which　his　strong　fingers　stroked　from　the　strings。　A　haunting　chord；　expanded　and　then　altered　into　a　dominant；　just　like　the　dawn　breeze　through　the　old　polly　tree　on　her　island　of　exile。　Soft　gray　and　pink　as　the　sky　lightened；　and　then　the　sun　would　warm　the　night…closed　blossoms；　their　fragrance　drifting　to　beguile　senses：　and　the　rising　lilts　of　bird；　the　gentle　susurrus　of　waves　on　the　shore；　and　the　lift　in　the　spirit　for　the　pleasure　of　a　new　day；　for　the　duties　of　the　day：　climbing　the　polly　for　the　ripe　fruit；　fishing　off　the　end　of　a　headland；　the　bright　sun　on　the　water；　the　rising　breeze；　the　colors　of　day；　the　aroma　of　frying　fish；　the　somnolence　of　midday　when　the　sun's　heat　sent　people　to　hammock　or　mat。。。　an　entire　day　in　the　life　of　an　islander　was　in　his　music；　colored　and　scented；　and　how　he　managed　that　feat　of　musical　conjuring　on　a　limited　instrument　like　a　twelve…string；　Killashandra　did　not　know。　How　that　music　would　sound　on　the　Optherian　organ　was　something　she　would　give　her　next　cutting　of　black　crystal　to　hear！
　And　the　Music　Masters　had　rejected　his　position？　She　was　beginning　to　understand　why　he　might　wish　to　assassinate　her；　and　why　he　had　kidnapped　her：　to　prevent　the　repair　of　the　great　organ　and；　perhaps　other　less　worthy　positions；　from　being　played　by　anyone。　And　yet　there　was　nothing　in　her　brief　association　with　Lars　Dahl；　in　this　evening's　showmanship；　even　in　his　reluctant　acquiescence　to　the　demands　of　his　island；　to　suggest　such　a　dark　vengeful　streak　in　the　man。
　When　the　last　chord；　heralding　moon…set；　had　faded　into　silence；　Lars　Dahl　set　the　instrument　down　carefully　and；　turning　on　his　heel；　stalked　away。　There　were　murmurs　of　approval　and　regret；　even　anger　in　some　faces；　a　more　plimentary　reaction　to　the　beauty　of　what　they　had　been　privileged　to　hear　than　any　wild　applause。　Then；　people　began　to　talk　quietly　in　little　groups；　and　one　of　the　guitars　tried　to　repeat　one　of　the　deceptively　simple　threnodies　of　Lars's　position。
　With　a　glance　to　be　sure　no　one　was　observing　her；　Killashandra　rose　to　her　feet　and　slipped　out　of　the　flickering　torch　light。　Adjusting　her　eyes　to　the　night；　she　saw　movement　off　to　the　right　and　moved　toward　it；　almost　turning　her　ankle　in　one　of　the　footprints　that　Lars's　angry　passage　had　gouged　in　the　soft　sand。
　She　saw　his　figure　outlined　against　the　sky；　a　dark　tense　shadow。
　〃Lars　。　。〃　She　wasn't　sure　what　she　could　say　to　ease　his　distress　but　he　shouldn't　be　alone；　he　shouldn't　feel　his　music　had　not　been　appreciated；　that　the　totality　of　the　picture　that　he　had　so　richly　portrayed　had　not　e　across　to　his　listeners。
　〃Leave　me　…　〃　his　bitter　voice　began；　and　then　his　arm　snaked　out；　and　catching　her　outstretched　hand；　pulled　her　roughly　to　him。　〃I　need　a　woman。〃
　〃I'm　here。〃
　Holding　tight　to　her　hand；　he　pulled　her　into　a　lope。　Then；　pushing　at　her　shoulder　with　his；　he　guided　her　at　right　angles　to　the　beach；　up　toward　the　thick　shadow　of　the　polly　grove　on　the　headland；　near　where　she　had　beached　that　morning。　When　she　tried　to　slow　his　headlong　pace；　his　hand　shifted　to　her　elbow。　His　grip　was　electric；　his　fingers　seemed　to　transfer　that　urgency　to　her　and　anticipation　began　to　course　through　her　breast　and　belly。　How　they　avoided　running　into　a　polly　tree　trunk；　or　stumbling　over　the　thick　gnarled　roots；　she　never　knew。　Then　suddenly　he　slowed；　murmured　a　warning　to　be　careful。　She　could　see　him　lift　his　arms　to　push　through　stiff　underbrush。　She　heard　the　ripple　of　a　stream；　smelt　the　moisture　in　the　air；　and　the　almost　overpowering　perfume　emanating　from　the　creamy　blossoms　before　she　followed　him；　pushing　through　the　bushes。　Then　her　feet　were　on　the　coarse　velvet　of　some　kind　of　moss；　carpeting　the　banks　of　the　stream。
　His　hands　were　urgent　on　her　and　the　initial　physical　attraction　she　had　felt　for　him　was　suddenly　a　mutual　sensation。　He　put　her　at　arm's　length；　staring　down　at　her；　seeing　her　not　as　a　vessel　from　which　he　expected　the　physical　relief；　but　as　a　woman　whose　femininity　had　aroused　an　instinctive　and　overpowering　response。
　〃Who　are　you；　Carrigana？〃　His　eyes　were　wide　with　his　amazement。　〃What　have　you　done　to　me？〃
　〃I've　done　nothing　yet；〃　she　replied　with　a　ripple　of　delighted　laughter。　No　one　else　had　awakened　such　a　response　in　her；　not　even　Lanzecki。　And　if　Lars　had　somehow　sensed　the　crystal　shock　in　her；　so　much　the　better：　it　would　enhance　their　union。　She　had　been　cel