Puzzles of the Black Widowers - By Isaac Asimov Page 0,54
such a foul humor, Manny, that - "
"When have I ever been in a foul - " began Rubin, and then Henry, the pearl-beyond-price of waiters, interrupted.
"Gentlemen, please be seated," he said. "Dinner is served."
To do Rubin justice, he did his best to control himself during the dinner. His eyes, behind his thick glasses, flashed; his sparse beard bristled; and he snarled unceasingly; but he managed to say little and leave the conversation to the others.
Gonzalo, who sat next to Jarvik, said to him, "Pardon me, but you keep humming."
Jarvik flushed again, something his fair skin made easy. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."
"It doesn't exactly disturb me. It's just that I don't recognize the tune."
"I don't know. I'm just improvising, I suppose."
"Is that so?" And Gonzalo was quiet for the remainder of the dinner until the rattle of spoon on glass marked the beginning of the questioning of the guest.
Gonzalo said, "May I volunteer to do the grilling?"
"You can, for all of me," growled Rubin, who, as host, had the task of appointing the griller. "Just don't ask him to justify his existence. The editor doesn't live who can do that."
"On the contrary," said Gonzalo, "any editor who has handed back a manuscript of yours has already justified his existence a hundred times over."
Halsted said, "May I suggest we go ahead with grilling our guest and not needling each other?"
Gonzalo brushed some imaginary dust off the sleeve of his loudly checked jacket and said, "Exactly. Mr. Jarvik, during the course of the dinner I asked you what tune you were humming and you said you were improvising. I don't think that's quite right. Once or twice you hummed again after that and it was always the same tune. Now that you are being grilled, you are forced to give full and honest answers, as I hope Manny has explained to you. I therefore repeat: What was the tune you were humming?"
Trumbull intervened. "What kind of stupid question is that?"
Gonzalo turned a haughty face on Trumbull. "As the griller, I am under the impression I can ask any question I choose consistent with human dignity. Host's decision."
"Go ahead, Manny," said Rubin, thus appealed to. "Ask away. - And leave him alone, Tom."
Gonzalo said, "Answer the question, Mr. Jarvik." And when Jarvik still hesitated, Gonzalo said, "I'll help you out. This is the tune." And he hummed a few bars.
Avalon said at once, "I know what that is. It's 'The Lost Chord.' The music is by Arthur Sullivan of the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. Except for those operettas, Sullivan is known only for the music to two songs. One is 'Onward, Christian Soldiers' and the other is the aforementioned 'The Lost Chord.' "
"Is that what you were humming, Jarvik?"
"I suppose so. You know how a song gets trapped in your mind and won't get out."
There was a chorus of agreement from the others and Avalon said sententiously, "It's a universal complaint."
"Well, whenever I'm trapped in some sort of loudness," said Jarvik, "that song keeps going through my head."
Drake chuckled. "If you're going to be dealing with Manny, you'll be humming it till either you or he dies."
Gonzalo said, "Does it have some significance in that connection? What are the words?"
"I only know a few words, actually."
"I know the words," said Avalon.
"Don't sing them," cried out Trumbull in sudden alarm.
Avalon, whose singing voice was well known to resemble the sound of an alligator in heat, said with dignity, "I shall recite them. The words are by a lady named Adelaide Anne Procter, concerning whom I know nothing, and the poem goes as follows:" (He cleared his throat.)
Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease
And my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys.
I don't know what I was playing, or what I was dreaming then;
But I struck one chord of music, like the sound of a great Amen.
It flooded the crimson twilight, like the close of an angel's psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit with a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow, like love overcoming strife;
It seemed like the harmonious echo from our discordant life.
It linked all perplexed meanings into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence as if it were loth to cease.
I have sought, but I seek it vainly, that one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the organ, and entered into mine.
It may be that Death's bright angel will speak in that chord again,