numerous fumeroles on the broken sides below.
When we were as close to the summit as possible the guide parked the bus. She invited us to ascend the remaining distance to the lip of the caldera on foot. I began to follow the others but as soon as we clambered down from the vehicle I changed my mind. It was freezing cold at this altitude and the air was smoky, smelling of ash and sulphur dioxide. It made me cough more than I liked. I waited inside the bus with a few other unadventurous souls, while the rest stepped away and up, soon moving out of sight as the smoke and steam concealed them.
I was content to remain inside, looking down from my window through the wisps of passing vapour at what I could see of the fantastic view far below: the aquamarine sea, the dense forest on the plain to the north of the mountain, the white fringes of the coastline where the surf broke on the shores. Music sprang spontaneously to mind – I hummed happily to myself. Above everything else I relished the stunning, directionless daylight of the high-clouded sky, the sun brilliant but lost to sight above the nacreous layer.
Sitting there peacefully, breathing warmed and filtered air, I wondered if it would ever be possible to return to this place, to become a deserter, so to speak, from the grim belligerence of Glaundian life. I wanted to live out my days in this paradise. That is how Temmil seemed to me then: an island of physical perfection, where music constantly vibrated through my soul.
I was aching to return to my studio at home, fulfil the dreams of melodies and harmonies that flooded through me, but I did not ever want to leave this place.
That night, the final concert. That night, Cea Weller.
21
I was in my reserved seat in the front row. My piano concerto was the third item in the programme, immediately following the first interval. I listened intently to the orchestra, conducted by our guest Bayan Cron, as they opened with the familiar and well-loved humoresque
Musical Explorers
, by Micckelson. This was always popular with audiences, because of the way different instruments took turns to deliver one of a series of semi-comic solos. It required a light touch, and Msr Cron, who in person I had found imperious and self-centred, handled it well. He appeared to be enjoying the comic pieces, and from time to time would turn to the audience and let loose an anguished or roguish smile whenever one of the famous dud notes was blown or struck. After this came a selection of theme tunes from classic films. The audience was loving all this.
After the interval, the music became more serious, beginning with my piano concerto. A concert grand was wheeled in for the performance. The interval felt to me as if it was lasting forever, but in the end the orchestra re-assembled, Msr Cron returned to the podium, and Cea Weller made her entrance. Clearly a well-known figure on Temmil she was greeted with enthusiastic applause from the audience. I joined in, of course, but by this time I was in a state of nervous tension, as I was whenever something of mine was played in public.
Cea Weller played the first movement well, but I was still anxious about how she would handle the second, slow movement. This includes a long cadenza requiring several intricate passages, the right hand slightly out of time with the left. She performed it brilliantly, and she and the orchestra swept, without a break, into the final movement, the rondo allegro. I could hardly bear to stay still, and at the climax I leapt to my feet, my arms waving excitedly. Fortunately, many members of the audience also rose to their feet, so I was not alone.
As the applause continued, and the conductor, the soloist and the various sections of the orchestra took their bows, I was invited up to the stage by the maestro, and stood beside Cea Weller as she repeatedly bowed and waved to the audience. She was cradling a huge bouquet in one arm.
Then Bayan Cron led Cea Weller and myself
When we were as close to the summit as possible the guide parked the bus. She invited us to ascend the remaining distance to the lip of the caldera on foot. I began to follow the others but as soon as we clambered down from the vehicle I changed my mind. It was freezing cold at this altitude and the air was smoky, smelling of ash and sulphur dioxide. It made me cough more than I liked. I waited inside the bus with a few other unadventurous souls, while the rest stepped away and up, soon moving out of sight as the smoke and steam concealed them.
I was content to remain inside, looking down from my window through the wisps of passing vapour at what I could see of the fantastic view far below: the aquamarine sea, the dense forest on the plain to the north of the mountain, the white fringes of the coastline where the surf broke on the shores. Music sprang spontaneously to mind – I hummed happily to myself. Above everything else I relished the stunning, directionless daylight of the high-clouded sky, the sun brilliant but lost to sight above the nacreous layer.
Sitting there peacefully, breathing warmed and filtered air, I wondered if it would ever be possible to return to this place, to become a deserter, so to speak, from the grim belligerence of Glaundian life. I wanted to live out my days in this paradise. That is how Temmil seemed to me then: an island of physical perfection, where music constantly vibrated through my soul.
I was aching to return to my studio at home, fulfil the dreams of melodies and harmonies that flooded through me, but I did not ever want to leave this place.
That night, the final concert. That night, Cea Weller.
21
I was in my reserved seat in the front row. My piano concerto was the third item in the programme, immediately following the first interval. I listened intently to the orchestra, conducted by our guest Bayan Cron, as they opened with the familiar and well-loved humoresque
Musical Explorers
, by Micckelson. This was always popular with audiences, because of the way different instruments took turns to deliver one of a series of semi-comic solos. It required a light touch, and Msr Cron, who in person I had found imperious and self-centred, handled it well. He appeared to be enjoying the comic pieces, and from time to time would turn to the audience and let loose an anguished or roguish smile whenever one of the famous dud notes was blown or struck. After this came a selection of theme tunes from classic films. The audience was loving all this.
After the interval, the music became more serious, beginning with my piano concerto. A concert grand was wheeled in for the performance. The interval felt to me as if it was lasting forever, but in the end the orchestra re-assembled, Msr Cron returned to the podium, and Cea Weller made her entrance. Clearly a well-known figure on Temmil she was greeted with enthusiastic applause from the audience. I joined in, of course, but by this time I was in a state of nervous tension, as I was whenever something of mine was played in public.
Cea Weller played the first movement well, but I was still anxious about how she would handle the second, slow movement. This includes a long cadenza requiring several intricate passages, the right hand slightly out of time with the left. She performed it brilliantly, and she and the orchestra swept, without a break, into the final movement, the rondo allegro. I could hardly bear to stay still, and at the climax I leapt to my feet, my arms waving excitedly. Fortunately, many members of the audience also rose to their feet, so I was not alone.
As the applause continued, and the conductor, the soloist and the various sections of the orchestra took their bows, I was invited up to the stage by the maestro, and stood beside Cea Weller as she repeatedly bowed and waved to the audience. She was cradling a huge bouquet in one arm.
Then Bayan Cron led Cea Weller and myself
Similar Books
