tunes, haven’t we? I thought you thought we didn’t have time.” Sheledon
shrugged diffidently. I think Lozell’s idea of making a survey a class
project will solve that problem. And, if Jemmy can whistle up some
lyrics, I can certainly churn out some tunes. Or maybe Jemmy can do
both in his spare time.” Sheledon’s face softened into a wry grin. He
had had a tussle with himself, not to be jealous of Jemmy whose
brilliance was multi-faceted. Though he wasn’t officially graduated’
from the Hall, he already ran several smaller study groups and seemed
able to do a bit of everything – on a high level. The consummate Jack
of all Trades, Clisser called him.
And what if, by leaving it to the student body – who are, as most
students, indifferent researchers – the best notion is missed?” Danja
asked.
That’s why we’re teachers, dear,’ said Bethany. To be sure they don’t
miss an obvious solution. They can at least save us having to sort
through pounds of material and present us with the most viable options.
We can put Jemmy in charge; he reads the fastest and his eyes are
younger.
Just then, the instrumentalists on the stage wound up their last number
and received an enthusiastic ovation from both the sweating dancers and
the onlookers drinking at the tables.
They filed off the stage.
All right, what set do we do, Clisser?” Sheledon asked, tossing off the
last of his wine as he got to his feet.
Those seniors did a lot of fast dance music,’ Clisser said.
Let’s give everyone a chance to catch their breaths and do some slow
stuff . . . the old traditionals, I think. Start with “Long and
Winding Road” – Put everyone in a sentimental mood.” Hmmm… then we
can get some supper while the juniors do what they so erroneously call
“music”,’ said Danja, who had considerable contempt for the contemporary
loud and diatonic musical fad.
Can’t please everyone all the time,’ Clisser said, collecting his
guitar. He drew back Bethany’s chair for her and offered her an arm.
Smiling in her gentle way at the courtesy, she picked up the flute in
its worn hard-case, her recorders in their leather sleeves and the
little reed whistle that had won its maker a prize that year. It had a
particularly sweet, clear tone that young Jemmy had been trying to
reproduce with other reeds. Then she limped forward, seemingly
oblivious to her clubbed foot and awkward gait, her head high, her gaze
directed ahead of her.
Jemmy joined them from his table, automatically taking Bethany’s flute
case from her. He was drummer for their group, though he had been
playing guitar with others. Unprepossessing in physical appearance,
with pale hair and skin and oversized features, he was self-effacing,
indifferent to his academic achievements. While not in the least
athletic, he had won the long-distance races in the Summer Games for the
last three years. He did not relate well, however, to his peer group.
They don’t think the same way I do,’ was his diffident self-appraisal.
That was, of course, accurate since he had tested off the scale of the
standard aptitude tests given prospective scholars.
His family, fishers at Tillek Hold, didn’t understand him at all and at
one point thought him retarded. At fourteen he had followed his
siblings into training in the family occupation. He lasted three
voyages. Though he had proven himself an able navigator, he had had
such constant motion sickness – never acquiring sea legs’ – that he had
been useless as a deck-hand: a source of much embarrassment to his
family. Captain Kizan had interested himself in the lad and recommended
the boy be trained as a teacher, and sent Jemmy to Fort Hold for
evaluation. Clisser had joyfully accepted him – finding such an avid
learner was a real boost to his morale. And, when Clisser had seen how
Jemmy galloped through even the hardest lessons, he had set up an
independent study programme for him. Although Jemmy had perfect pitch,
he couldn’t sing and started playing instruments to make up for that
lack in himself. There was nothing he couldn’t play, given a few hours