The Gradual by Christopher Priest Read Free Book Online Page B

be played by me. I am the best person, the only person, to perform them. I could conduct if they don’t want me to perform—’
    Alynna stood quietly beside me, waiting for me to subside. We knew each other well – I could feel her patient regard, but I also knew that first I had to relieve the pressure of disappointment.
    Finally, she said, ‘Sandro, they want more of you than you think. You are not a player any more – you have grown beyond that now.’
    ‘They want me to stand by, wait around in the auditorium while other people struggle to play my music?’
    ‘You haven’t read the prospectus yet, have you?’
    ‘I don’t need to,’ I said. The three or four extra sheets of paper had been tucked into the envelope, a firmer fit than the small, elegantly hand-written letter of invitation. ‘I’m being marginalized again.’
    ‘Sandro – read the prospectus.’
    She sat down on the small hard chair that was on the opposite side of my writing desk. It was unusual for her to be in my studio with me. She knew all along what the letter contained. Was she complicit in the plans? Had she realized the conflict of feelings they would arouse? I extracted the extra sheets and glanced at them dismissively, skimming.
    The whole thing felt irrationally to me as if it had been spoiled. Part of me accepted how temperamental I could be. Alynna had known for some years what I was like to live with, my preoccupations, my sudden changes of mood, my long silences. I was driven by my art, the giving, the expressing, but I was also ambitious, conceited, quick to jealousy. I was a cocktail of artistic urges and motives, all ultimately caused by the music that surged through my mind. I tried hard to temper my passions, make myself seem normal, modify the impulses that otherwise I would yield to. I loved Alynna, she was everything to me, but I had the devil of music in me, the unavoidable obedience to its demands. This, I knew, was one of those difficult times, but I was annoyed as well as disappointed.
    I did not recognize the name that was signed at the bottom of the letter. But as I read hastily through the prospectus I did glimpse several names I knew: principals from orchestras I had worked with, musicians I knew, solo singers, two conductors based in Glaund City, three more guest conductors whose names I did not immediately recognize.
    Then the list of works that would be performed on the tour: it was the familiar repertoire: symphonies and concerti, operatic arias, several popular light classics, a handful of short modernist works. (Two of mine were included.) All well chosen, varied, acceptable, enjoyable to perform and be listened to.
    On the final page my name appeared. Written large.
Composer emeritus – Alesandro Sussken
.
    I was to mentor young musicians, conduct masterclasses, tutor singly, run seminars, give private demonstration recitals.
    ‘It’s the kind of work you’re best at, Sandro,’ Alynna said, leaning towards me intently. ‘Please don’t be too proud to accept this. The tour could change everything for you: work, career, even your life.’
    Hindsight recalls that moment of inadvertency. Prospects are always ambivalent: Alynna meant changes for the better, and I understood them to mean what she said in the same way. Neither of us then knew any different – but hindsight is the opposite of foresight.
    If the future by some miracle became knowable to us, how would we really behave? Alynna spoke the words at the moment I was feeling my disappointment and annoyance fading away. The tour glittered before me, a prospect of sea and islands and the music I loved. I saw what was intended for me, I realized the great potential.
    ‘Tell me what you knew about this, Alynna,’ I said.
    ‘I had little to do with it.’
    ‘But you knew the letter was coming.’
    ‘The man who wrote the letter, the one who is promoting the tour, is called Ders Axxon. He’s an islander and this is his first major tour. It’s