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next week for master classes. She shrugged tiredly.  Many students do
not know their music, and now
come the midterms, and after that, the opera. Then I must start the
rehearsals for the Christmas gala, and
that music they have never opened. After sipping more coffee, she speared
an orange slice, from
probably one of the last oranges we would see for a while.  They never
think ahead.
 Think ... what is that? She dipped her toast into the half-runny eggs.
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I poured more coffee into her mug, and she smiled.  Thank you, Johan. It is
nice not to fix the
breakfast.
I didn t comment on the fact that I doubted she had breakfast if I didn t
fix it.
After we finished, Llysette took a shower while I scraped and washed the
dishes. Then I raced
upstairs and hopped into the shower while she struggled with her
makeup.
I dropped Llysette by her house just before eight and headed back to town
and Samaha s for my
paper. There was a space right outside Louie s emporium, and I dashed
in.
After nodding to Louie, I pulled out my Asten Post-Courier and left a
dime, taking a quick glance at
the headlines before even leaving Samaha s. The Derkin box was empty;
another day had passed without
my learning who Mr. Derkin was.
The newspaper headline was bland enough:  NO COMPROMISE BETWEEN
DIRIGIBLES AND
JETS. Since I could guess the content of the story, I folded the paper
under my arm and walked through
the blustery wind back to the Stanley.
Llysette s steamer was not yet in the faculty car park, I noted as I parked
the Stanley in a vacant
space closest to the Music and Theatre building. With my folder in
hand, I trudged to my office. Although
the main office was open and Gilda s coat was on the rack, I did not see
her. There was a message from
David, indicating that Tuesday s departmental meeting would start at a
quarter to four instead of four
o clock sharp.
I took it and made my way upstairs to my office. There I briefly checked
the paper.
There was almost nothing new in the Asten Post-Courier, not about Babbage
fires or political
gambits, except for an editorial warning Speaker Hartpence to beware of
sacrificing the long-held
Columbian ideal of free trade to short-term political goals. With the usual
Dutch diplomacy, it did not
actually accuse the Speaker of political idiocy.
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Then I looked over the master class schedule. Gregor Martin appeared to
be free until ten. I picked
up my leather folder and headed back out. Gilda waved, and I waved back.
Gertrude and Hector were
mulching the flower beds beside the brick walk. As usual, Gertrude wore the
unfailing smile and Hector
the somber mien, but their hands were quick, and they worked
unhesitatingly, taking care to ensure that
the wind did not scatter the bark chips onto the bricks of the walk.
 Good day, I said as I passed.
 Good day, sir, chirped Gertrude, and I wondered what personality disorder
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had rendered her a
de-ghosted zombie.
Gregor Martin s office was in the side of the building away from the
music wing, and probably only
the same size as my office, for all that he was head of an entire area and
I was only a subprofessor. His
door was open, and he was pacing beside his desk as I rapped on the door
frame.
 Yes.
 Johan Eschbach, Natural Resources. We met after several productions
last year. I m also a friend of
Llysette s. I extended my hand.
He ignored it.  What do you need, Johan?
 Well, Gregor, I need to know whether a student absolutely has to take
Introduction to Theatre
before taking the Two-B course.
 It s a prerequisite.
 Even for an arts school graduate?
Surprisingly, Martin shrugged.  You know, I really don t care. Most of
them know nothing about
theatre, not in the performing sense. You have a student who wants to try, I
don t care. I m tired of
protecting them from themselves.
 Is this a bad time? I took the chair by the desk, and he actually sat
down. If Miranda Miller had
been right, and all the new faculty had secrets too heavy to bear, what
secret weighed down Gregor
Martin?
 No worse than any other. He picked up a black pencil and twisted it in
his fingers.
 You came here from the Auraria Performing Arts School. I imagine it was
a shock.
 You imagine?
 I came from the capital, good old Columbia itself, and found that most
of the students knew very
little about politics, and cared less. Why would it be any different in the
theatre? Vanderbraak Centre
isn t exactly the great white way of New Amsterdam or the musical
Valhalla of Philadelphia.
 You re right. But it s worse in theatre. They all have this ... this
Dutch stolidity. He set down the
pencil and waved his hands, almost disconnectedly.  They can t even
imagine being something other than
what they are. Theatre is the art of creating a different reality. How
can you create a different reality when
you can t even imagine its possibility?
 What is, is. Is that it?
 More like what isn t, isn t but it has to be for good theatre.
 What about a sense of wonder? Take ghosts, I offered.  We see a ghost,
and whether we like it or
not, it exists. You can t touch it, exactly, and you can t tell exactly
when it will appear. Doesn t it make
you wonder? I shrugged.  But you talk about ... what if there were a world
where there were no
ghosts? How would that change things? I asked that in a class. No one
knew. They hadn t even thought [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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