Tales of Lawndale
The Demon Takes on The Canterbury Tales
"Your brother is beyond help." Amisha told Jane as he listened to Trent strumming the guitar as he sat on the living room couch. "I don't mean to sound rude or abrupt but he while a somewhat capable guitarist, he lacks any discernible skills as a composer or song writer."
"At least you had the tact to wait until we were at the top of the stairs to say that." Daria commented as they entered Jane's room. Daria had much the same opinion about Trent's music but had never given voice to her own opinions on the matter. She wished she had the excuse that Amisha could make more insightful observations about music as a result of his refined tastes and rich musical background and not because of her 'feelings' toward Trent.
"I don't wish to be mean." Amisha told Daria. "After all, he gets enjoyment out of his music."
"The piano or a good quality keyboard has much greater utility as an instrument for composers as it can span the range of almost any instrument." Amisha held up the tenured opinion of formally trained musicians and composers on that subject and Daria wondered if he had taken the trouble to meet some of the more renowned ones. "I'm not a poet, songwriter or lyricist and won't pretend to be one so I can't comment on the quality of the song lyrics. English and Finnish have very different ideas on matters of meter and timing as I discovered when I read Macbeth in English."
Daria took her copy of Macbeth out of her backpack.
"That brings us to the reason for this evenings meeting." Daria sat on Jane's bed. "The test is tomorrow and Mr. O'Neill can't read Finnish. He gave me some hints about the essay questions on the test and I have them in my notes."
Daria cleaned her glasses in case Amisha needed to read through her eyes.
Jane sat on her computer desk chair while Amisha sat cross legged on her rug and then noticed Jane deeply focused on the painting on her easel.
"I'm flattered." Amisha said as he noticed his portrait. Jane had a talent for the visual arts he admitted to lacking but he noticed how she had somehow captured the Nordic pastels of autumn and the light of the northern latitudes with the rich long shadows. "I can't tell if that is an accurate likeness but it is Finnish in spirit."
"I had hoped to capture some of that." Jane nodded. "My father likes classical music and I used the album art on some records of Sibelius to work from."
"Excuse me." Daria cleared her throat. "Can we please start to study for the exam? If I get home past ten, there will be questions from my mom."
Kevin whispered.
"Misha? Any hints?"
"Quit calling me Misha because it'll catch on?" Amisha amicably answered. "When you appear before God in final judgment; He may not find your excuse that you cheated to remain on a high school football team convincing."
Kevin had heard such admonishments from Amisha and it confused him.
Amisha completed the exam and handed it to Mr. O'Neill after checking, in a moment of self doubt, that it had not been completed in Finnish.
"Thank you Misha." Mr. O'Neill said softly and smiled at Amisha and placed his paper in a file folder. Amisha had finished after a few of the less promising students but his lengthy answers and neat penmanship showed effort. Like Daria, O'Neill enjoyed reading Amisha's writing. Amisha and Daria differed in style: Amisha had a certain innate humanity in his written work as well as a folksy style of rhetoric while Daria had a more distant, thoughtful style.
He found it refreshing to have two insightful students. Amisha took his ideas from his interest in religious ideals, hopes and the Holy writings of at least a dozen faiths coupled with an artistic vision. Daria had absorbed ideas from modern philosophy, literature and her cynicism lurked beneath the surface.
The friendship they shared provided a paradox for him. Amisha liked people and had little trouble making acquaintances, and had a greater fund of patience than Daria when dealing with human frailty. He found no need to be cruel or insulting to people, retaining a restraint and polite manner to his fellows but had a keen sense of hypocrisy in society that came out of his broad and embracing humanity. Amisha was the all embracing humanitarian and took the lessons of great religious leaders as serious injunctions and guidance. He defended his viewpoints by citing Biblical, Buddhist or Islamic examples of how one ought to behave and react to the modern realities he found distasteful. Daria disliked most people and said so to their faces. She had her own principles but unlike Amisha, she didn't tie herself to moral authorities. Daria used concrete examples or blunt observations to call out moral failings.
"I wonder..." Mr. O'Neill thought to himself as he read over the essay written by the clever green fellow. Amisha made many references to musical theory in his essays – his ideas of 'Leitmotifs' in the plays of Shakespeare was not original but clever.
"An overture for the Canterbury Tales?"
Amisha pointed to a note written on his exam to see Mr. O'Neill. He had earned a mark worthy of his friend Daria, but Mr. O'Neill wanted to meet with him during his study hall period and so he had concerns.
"I'd have to know about the orchestral forces I might have at my disposal." Amisha answered O'Neill's request as he tapped his lip with his finger. "I'd have to know the deadlines I'd have to meet – I could do the work but you hardly have the gifted genius standing before you. I can play piano passably and bowed instruments tolerably; composition has always been a hobby and a frustrating one at that."
"Writers often run into writer's block." Mr. O'Neill smiled pleasantly.
"Writing is a quiet activity; people have been known to shoot at musicians for playing badly." Amisha scratched his head. He wondered why Daria was lurking just beyond the door but set that as a question for later. "Stalin nearly had Shostakovitch sent to Siberia for supposed bad music."
'I wonder if the high school audience will riot?' Daria wondered as she listened in on the conversation. If Amisha's tastes in music reflected his musical style as a composer; the audience would not hear something akin to Gilbert and Sullivan. Amisha listened to some dark and tempestuous music – Quinn had come to dread the opening notes of Shostakovitch. That she had learned to recognize the musical style of a Soviet era composer provided evidence of Amisha's talent as a music teacher.
"I can try to work with some material I've had on hand for some time." Amisha explained agreeably. "I haven't written music for drama but I may find some beginning point in some of my experiments."
"Experiments?"
"All kinds of musical ideas I've had." Amisha shrugged. "Stuff I've worked on but which I've never followed through with – writers will know what I mean."
Daria heard that line and knew he meant it for her. She had no doubt he had sensed her listening in. She had joked that most of her best writing had never seen the light of day; Jane had begun art projects just to abandon them and even Trent – that icon of mediocrity and laziness to Amisha had books of songs he had never completed.
"I'll see how the work proceeds." Amisha smiled. "You'll have a chance to see how far my supposed talent actually can go."
"I must go." Amisha looked up at the clock. "I promised to meet Daria and Jane for lunch." While not a lie, it was a distortion because Daria, Jane and Amisha almost always sat together for lunch.
"Very well...keep in touch and let me know how things are proceeding." Mr. O'Neill spoke encouragingly. "Think of it as an opportunity to expand your musical horizons."
"Think of it as a challenge to find two people who can play the harp." Amisha whispered as he walked up to Daria. "I doubt I can find eighty who can read music."
"I used to play the flute." Daria smiled sarcastically. "I might remember 'Pop Goes The Weasel'".
"Did John Williams die in here?" Daria peered into Amisha's room because she heard a loud brass fanfare playing through his large speakers and she could see Amisha working at his computer.
Amisha stood up and walked toward Daria smiling slyly.
"You have that grin." Daria had found Amisha's wore that smile when he had made one of his subtle jokes as he waited for her to 'get it'.
"You had a good idea." Amisha told Daria and wagged his finger. "The song 'Pop Goes the Weasel' has modal implications that can impart to music a kind of medieval feel in keeping with the Canterbury Tales although in this case; F Sharp Minor may not imply this."
The music modulated from key to key and gave Daria the impression of music meant for drama and intended to sound like 'serious' film music but also uniquely styled. Daria heard in the passages a ravishing kind of 'film music' sound but also a kind of misty harmony found in folk songs.
"Does this have any symbolism?" Daria could began to here that dreaded tune in various guises on the rich assortment of instruments Amisha had selected. Daria found Amisha had a real knack for orchestrating music as the glockenspiel played fragments – rich and warm and full of jazzy rhythm and humor. Daria knew enough about music to find this surprising in the staid theorist.
"I don't think so." Amisha gave his best answer as the fragment cut out. "I struggle enough bringing order to music; I have no time for symbolism or allegory."
"English class must drive you crazy because Mr. O'Neill is all about symbolism and allegory." Daria walked into Amisha's room and took a long look at the music score he had open in a window. She had a rudimentary understanding of musical notation for the transverse flute but had never seen the wildly complex scoring of an orchestral score up close. Whatever musical training Amisha had taken; it had given him complete musical literacy.
"I find that a problem." Amisha admitted as he looked through Daria's eyes. "I tend to favor a concrete mode of thinking. "He explained in his formal but friendly manner. "I've read the Canterbury Tales but now have to set the thing to music appropriate to the occasion and I'm a fussy person. I lack the self confidence in my own work to plunge ahead like Trent and just create." He jiggled his little finger at the screen. "Not one of those notes came to be without my own doubts forcing constant revision. I'm talented but not inspired."
"Would a course in self esteem help?" Daria asked Amisha coyly.
"If I didn't have doubts; the art would become mere mediocrity because I'd suffer from the delusion that anything I wrote was well crafted." Amisha replied sarcastically. "As such my work would suffer."
Quinn hated the process of Amisha's musical composition. Some of his musical ideas played on the oboe or flute could hold her attention but the lack of continuity kept interrupting her concentration.
After forty times, a single horn call began to sound repetitive even if kept at a polite volume. A brief passage using all the resources of the orchestra at first jolted her out of her skin and then annoyed.
La lalala lala lala la la
And then again, this passage which sounded bittersweet on a bass clarinet began to make her skin crawl after the hundredth time. Amisha had found fault with something in his musical thought or couldn't quite decide between some subtle difference in otherwise identical musical phrases.
She found Daria's door open and she lay on her bed and was reading a book.
"Daria...I thought musicians were creatively inspired." Quinn set the framework of her complaint in place. "Amisha has been working for weeks and I keep hearing the same stuff over and over."
"I never learned to juggle." Daria set her book down beside her. "He gave me this book called 'Orchestration' by Walter Piston and I can't even begin to understand any of it. I gave up on it because orchestrating music amount to juggling not one, not two but maybe thirty chainsaws. If you want to help, get him a set of high end headphones – you can set aside a thousand bucks from your monthly jeans budget – can't you?"
"Why can't he buy a cheap set for forty bucks?" Quinn complained.
"He has the same attitude to his music as you do to your clothes. He's fussy, immensely concerned with having everything fit perfectly and never satisfied." Daria explained as she sat on the edge of her bed. "Anything but audio perfect just won't do."
"I discovered that when I went shopping for clothes with him." Quinn sighed softly.
A slurred set of Finnish curse words echoed down the hall. Amisha had lost his patience with his ideas and so had decided to take a break and the girls hear him walk downstairs.
"You can listen to your boy bands now. All you have to do is wait for one of his creative meltdowns." Daria told Quinn dismissively. "Amisha won't return to his work today."
"You have no mind for practical difficulties," Daria told Amisha as he plugged in his laptop into the lecture hall projector, "you need a full orchestra of eighty musicians to perform this eight minute piece in front of a live audience."
Daria looked out over the empty hall.
"Lawndale has about eight." Daria reminded Amisha as he fused over cables. "Seven of those only qualify to play the wood block or triangle and given your sense of musical tempo; they won't hit the thing at the right time and you'll have a meltdown."
"Modern software can emulate the skills of modest musicians with the right samples so I have tried my best to render the work on the computer as I would wish to hear it." Amisha took hold of the computer mouse as Jane walked in from the side entrance.
"I liked what I heard." She smiled and walked up to Amisha. "You remind me of Korngold who wrote great film scores. Ever seen Robin Hood with Eryl Flynn?"
Jane loved Amisha's music not least for its sense of humor and its fine orchestral coloring and wanted to hear the whole overture as Amisha intended.
Mr. O'Neill walked in the same entrance followed by Ms. Lee.
"I'm a reluctant composer, not a compulsive one." Amisha cleared his throat as they sat down in the front row. "I have prepared a piece that, I hope, captures the spirit of The Canterbury Tales."
Amisha stood next to Jane and clicked the mouse a few times.
Mr. O'Neill was blown away. Amisha had done something impossibly well. He had a fine sense of orchestration an as he watched the score scroll past as the music played; he realize Amisha was a unique genius. Amisha had taken the challenge and met it with the finest music any composer could achieve.
Daria smiled because Lawdale didn't encourage enthusiastic self expression or individuality and yet the green haired weirdo had done the social equivalent of a Social Moon Shot and showed naked genius before others.
The music subsided.
Mr. O'Neill gasped.
"Wow!" He stuttered. Amisha had captured the spirit of the Canterbury Tales with the in the composition and hints at folk and medieval tunes which made him wish to hear the music once more.
Ms. Li was not so impressed.
"What does that say about Lawndale High?" She asked as she stood up and politely clapped. She couldn't read music and this hit her like a ton of musical bricks. She missed out on the subtle modal transitions or the use of orchestration to convey the idea of a medieval play.
"It is about The Canterbury Tales." Amisha sounded offended but Jane patted his shoulder. "If you want music for Lawndale High then sample bullets ricocheting off bulletproof windows."
"Wow." Jane had expected Amisha to quietly take such criticism but he didn't.
"Nicely done." Daria patted his back. "You offended Ms. Li and that makes you truly special."
"Now that you're a musician, women may find you attractive." Jane stood next to Amisha as he fetched books out of his locker. "Now you have the mystique of the mad composer who has bouts of moodiness. None of us have told off Ms. Li without getting detention and yet you got away with it."
Jane waved her hands to emphasize the point.
"Will the Fashion Club stalk me?" Amisha closed the locker door with a flip of his hand. "I might be moody but that could send me into madness."
"They already are…" Jane pointed down the hall.
"Can we speak with him?" Sandy demanded.
"Him – who?" Jane replied with sarcasm. "I get mistaken for a guy all the time."
"Really?" Amisha queried.
"We have something to discuss with your French friend Amisha." Sandy said defiantly.
"Uh...yes." Amisha stuttered. "Now lock the stock in place so people can pelt me with rotten fruit."
"I thought you went for the athletic cute blond guys with lots of money but no thoughts of their own." Daria half asked and half told Sandy.
"Yes but Amisha is really artistic." Jane replied and made her voice sound ghostlike. "He is magic."
"Oh man..." Amisha pushed past Sandy and Stacy. "Can you boil down what you want to discuss with me?"
"Do you write songs? I can pay you for your work." Sandy boiled everything down to what she wanted Amisha to do. "We have an upcoming bridal show and need a few piano pieces to create an atmosphere of taste and refinement."
"After the atmosphere of the steamy backseat and drunkenness and failed birth control that led to a teenage wedding?" Jane tapped her lip.
"I don't write mood music." Amisha snapped back. "Look in the phone book and hire any one of a half dozen pianists familiar with the work of John Tesh."
Amisha glared at the four girls.
"Forget it; now be gone!" Amisha stomped off down the hall.
Quinn had the look of someone who had told Sandy that this would never happen. Stacy looked terrified while Tiffany had not yet realized an argument took place.
"He must have learned his social skills from you." Sandy faced Jane and Daria accusingly.
"I grew up in a house smaller than this car." Amisha could see what Daria saw as she drove and he shared his her nervousness as he squirmed in the back seat. "An apartment in Paris has less room and probably costs less."
"Quinn has a dentist appointment right after school." Daria told her sister in the front seat as a reminder. "Mom wanted me to drive her because the bus won't do for Princess Grace."
"Why invite me along?" Amisha asked softly. "I can fly."
"But you can't see and it's been raining all morning." Daria slowed down for an amber light. "Ms. Li would flip if you broke one of the bullet proof skylights."
"Do you still have those Duck and Cover drills?"
Daria pulled up to the parking lot of the school and pulled out the requisite five dollar bill from her jacket pocket to pay for parking.
Amisha pulled out a five Euro coin.
"Let me get this." Amisha leaned forward and with a well executed toss hit the coin slot with a loud ring and the machine spit out the receipt with the injunction to leave it face up on the dash. The yellow and black diagonally striped safety gate lifted up and then the hydraulic pump at the base caught fire.
"It's only supposed to do that on the Fourth of July." Daria mused.
"Park at the end of the lot." Quinn instructed. "The popular kids park near the school."
"Variations on the theme of Duck and Cover." Amisha waited for the car to stop. "Maybe I'll write an opera on the life of President Eisenhower."
"I didn't know you had your license." Charles Rutheimer waved to Daria. "Well that just makes you more mysterious."
"Daria!" Ms. Li barked. "Do you know anything about why the gate to the parking lot is on fire?"
Quinn rushed out from the other side of the car and quietly closed the door.
"Isn't that more of the kind of question you ask the manufacturer?" Amisha said ponderously. "While I have no trouble using parking lots; I have no idea how they work."
"I parked crooked." Daria said. "If I scratch dad's SUV, or someone else does; I'll have to answer many questions."
The large red SUV made a grinding noise and then emitted a loud bang.
"Dammit." Daria said.
"Do you know anything about cars?" Daria asked Amisha desperately as a fire truck pulled into the parking lot.
"While I enjoy using cars..." Amisha threw up his hand in complete helpless desperation.
"Shut up." Daria stepped out of the car.
"This day has a Matryoshka theme to it." Amisha looked down at the tray with his generously named egg salad sandwich. "Our bad luck, like the nested Russian dolls seems to keep leading to more bad luck. The car sits in the rain in the parking lot until Triple A sends a tow truck to fetch it and take it to the shop. Mr. DeMartino, like nested Russian dolls, keeps revealing new neuroses and Kevin keeps revealing new methods to really piss him off. Your dad lost the English version of the manual for the car and so I had to translate some stuff from French while Daria talked to the mechanic."
"The Trentmobile remains at Quinn's service." Jane said as she lifted her burger to her mouth.
"Sandy will take her." Daria told Jane. "I told Quinn she could ride with us in the Trentmobile and she said 'ew'."
"My grandfather had a Russian car – a 1951 Pobeda he 'inherited' after Khrushchev had his former employer Beria retired with multiple gunshot wounds. He used it to drive across to Finland because he had lost his job and thought Khrushchev might retire him in a similar manner to save the pension." Amisha added as an aside to keep his mind off the godawful sandwich and the possibly illegal in Europe Ultra Cola. "I wonder if I could have it shipped here – kind of cool driving the car Stalin or Beria might have driven. Made by prison labor, my dad has it in a shed on the family farm. I bet it still runs. If not, I can threaten to send it back to the labor camp where it was made."
"Daria?" Quinn walked toward the trio. "Sandy and I are going to Cashman's after my checkup and I need to borrow money."
"I don't have any money." Daria said dismissively.
"Can I borrow some cash from you Misha." Quinn asked timidly. "Cashman's having a sale on shoes."
Amisha pulled out his wallet from his front pocket.
"I have exactly three and a half bucks in American money, a one Euro coin, fifty bucks worth of Canadian Tire money and lint." Amisha placed his wallet on the table. "In my other pant pocket I have last week's Powerball ticket and a roll of breath mints and a paper clip. The lotto ticket kind of says this guy has no cash and wants some – sorry."
"Why not take the three and a half bucks and hit up Value Village?" Daria suggested dryly. "You could get used shoes for that and the money goes to local charities."
"I have a coupon." Jane offered. "If I make ten purchases, I get my fifty percent discount on the eleventh. I buy some of my art supplies there."
"Maybe Cashman's accepts Canadian Tire money?" Amisha suggested but he knew better: he had spent a few weeks in Canada that summer and had discovered only the Canadian Tire stores and liquor stores accepted it. An American retailer would likely refuse it and report the unlucky Canuck for counterfeiting.
"I have some exciting news." Mr O'Neill leaned on his desk. "We are looking to stage the classic Canterbury Tales and will be having rehearsals for the next week. Our French friend will add a little French polish to the play with the music he wrote for us."
"Gratsitiy kapitaliskiy triskiy truk." Jane whispered sarcastically.
"I hardly think I am a capitalist stooge." Amisha gave a soft smile. "I haven't even cashed my first royalty check."
Ms. Li had the idea of staging the play to raise money for the school and while she found the snooty Amisha disagreeable; he added music and fine music at that and this only helped the play make money. For Mr. O'Neill, The Canterbury Tales were among his favorite works of literature and so he wished to have a decent performance not an utter disaster.
A quiet knock at the door briefly derailed O'Neill's train of thought and he answered it.
"I'm Josh from Triple A." The slightly overweight bald man in blue overalls handed out his card. "Sorry for the interruption but I need to speak with Daria Morganfoffer?"
"That would be me." Daria raised her hand.
"I'll be brief." The man handed her the card. "Please lets go in the hall so we can discuss the matter without interrupting your class.."
"Sure." Daria nodded. "Take notes – Misha and not in your native language."
"Looks like the starter died." He said as the door closed. "Not an expensive repair but a common one. Your mechanic can tell you more once he has had a chance to look at the vehicle close up."
"Alright." Daria agreed.
"I'll have you sign the receipt for towing and take the car to the mechanic." He held out a clipboard. "Press hard, you're making three copies. I'll also take the key fob because the mechanic may need it – and I'll mark that on the receipt."
"Your mechanic will give your family a call tomorrow." He tore off Daria's receipt. "The owner is Jake Morgandorfer?"
"Yes – correct. Thanks." Daria and Amisha read the receipt.
Daria took her seat and folded up the receipt and put in her jacket pocket.
"If it keeps raining, Trent will come and pick us up." Jane told Daria. "If he's awake."
"Oh goody." Daria said snidely. "Amisha can push if the car dies."
"I am doing work." Amisha held out his music notebook while Ms. Barch eyed him suspiciously. "I'm working on some incidental music for O'Neill's production of The Canterbury Tales."
She could not work out how to react to the colorful, quick witted, musical little dwarf of a person.
"I never pretended to have some channel to inspired musical thought and so I'm at a loss as to how some of this music ought to sound." Amisha restated his case and pleaded in his own way to be left along to work as he feared that any revisions he made might end up being forgotten if he didn't concentrate.
Jane had witnessed Amisha quietly fiddling with the oboe part and achieving one hard won new note. He didn't yet seem satisfied with that and one of the reasons he had attracted the ire of Ms. Barch came from her perception that the exchange student wasn't doing anything.
Daria didn't want Ms. Barch to ask too many questions about music because Amisha answered them in the hard, complex language of musical notation. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of musical theory but no one else in Lawnsdale had.
"The bell will ring soon." Daria reminded Jane. "It's raining out – will Trent pick us up or do we have to walk home."
Jane could see the minute hand of the clock closing in on three in the afternoon. Daria had said this to preclude any notion Amisha might entertain about explaining how Mahler worked.
Much to her relief the bell rang.
"Come on Misha." Jane picked up her sketchbook and pencils. "We'll see if Trent woke up and will pick us up."
"You don't sound optimistic about the odds." Amisha slid his notebook into his green backpack. "I imagine we have a wet, dreary walk home ahead of us."
"You went through worse growing up in Finland." Daria slipped her pack onto her back. "Isn't your hometown about as far north about Alaska?"
"We don't bitch about it as much as those people in those reality shows." Amisha reminded Daria of the various American shows he had seen where the homesteaders went to Alaska and bitched, moaned and complained about the hardships the whole damn time.
"So...uh...I believe in life after death." Amisha could see the Trentmobile. "I worry about the death part and the screaming, burning and painful yelping when I die after this car explodes."
"Get in...the heater doesn't work so I'm loosing all the warmth." Trent opened the passenger side door.
"Why don't you sit up front with Trent." Jane suggested to Daria. "I'll sit with Amisha in the back."
"Uh...Trent." Amisha waited as Daria took her seat in the back and helped Amisha clamber over the seat. "Was the first owner of this car trading it in on an ark – something about not needing to carry two of every animal?"
"With this rain we may need it." Daria answered as Amisha sat nervously beside her.
Amisha fumbled around the back seat.
"Okay I'll walk." Amisha could find no seatbelts.
"Dude – we don't have seatbelts." Trent assured Amisha.
"You'll have to excuse me while I do what our dog does when we take him to the vet." Amisha looked down at the floorboards. "I'll lay down and hide on the floor."
"We're perfectly safe as long as the car doesn't catch fire again." Trent comforted Amisha. "Then we walk."
"Did you know the Chernobyl Nuclear Reactor had a perfect safety record until it exploded during a badly botched safety test." Amisha murmured to Daria. "Did Trent know that and if so; is he subscribing to the doctrine that performing these safety checks is not advisable?"
Alright...here we – cough – go." Trent said in a way that sounded to Amisha as if Trent ought not to be behind the wheel.
"Control rods out of the reactor…steam boiling?" Amisha looked to Daria who wore a concerned look as the car lurched forward.
Daria slapped his arm and whispered: "Behave!"
The school auditorium television projection showed Amisha's Overture for The Canterbury Tales up on a screen.
Amisha sat in the first row middle seat, clutching the remote for the piece as his arrangement played using sounds sampled at high resolution from a variety of orchestras and mixed by him into one vast file in his music program.
He found the results barely tolerable. The school auditorium had an excellent sound system because Ms. Li wanted everyone to hear the security alarms in fine detail but Amisha was never satisfied with his music.
The loud and jaunty brass theme had enough punch to break Brittney and Kevin's concentration while they made out in the cloak room off the front entrance of the school auditorium. Amisha had heard them but hoped they'd leave if he jacked up the volume.
Ms. Li had heard that theme. She worried about the 'message in the music' because Amisha had an astringent melodic voice with the comedic aspect of Chaucer represented by those big, vast chromatic brass fanfares. She had worries about some of the incidental music. Amisha had a vast understanding of musical logic and she had heard some compulsively strange music coming out of the lecture hall. Amisha could write a piece where strings and harps meditated with muted winds on a chord in E and E Flat simultaneously and imbue it with a cold horror. Li worried about the audience finding such musical musings difficult.
Amisha saw through Ms. Li's eyes as Kevin and Brittney departed for a quieter place with no brass ensembles.
"Muddle not music?" Amisha asked amiably as she entered the auditorium. "You have need of more Country in the Canterbury Tales?"
Ms. Li found Amisha always sounded polite because he had the French talent for spewing out sarcasm and verbal poison in a delightful glaze. Daria spoke her mind with little or no attempt to appear polite. Amisha worked hard to sculpt his invective and toss it out like like a verbal curve ball.
"I have heard you working over the last few weeks." Ms. Li said. "You have already put in a good deal of hard work and we haven't even begun rehearsals."
"Chaucer and your students have the luxury of using an existing language – English. Composers must invent their own language and this I find most difficult." Amisha sat on the edge of the stage threw up his hands. "I have never written for a play and so I have to grasp my own musical language and balance my own self expression with the proper needs of the players and the audience."
Ms. Li didn't know from music.
"Mr. O'Neill likes the idea of having you compose music." Ms. Li stumbled for a few moments. She had seen Daria and Amisha had become good friends and hoped Amisha did not develop any of that girl's peculiar traits. "I trust you have consulted with him about the kind of music?"
"Do you know the firewall on the school network doesn't keep teenage boys from trolling porn?" Amisha told Ms. Li with concern. "I deeply disapprove of such impressionable youths learning about women in such an immoral forum. Shouldn't you deal with that rather than worry about my musical musings?"
"No wonder Daria and you get along." Ms. Li whispered. She decided to leave this matter rest with Amisha because each time she spoke with him; she came away with the impression she had just taken a verbal body check. Her principle weapon amounted to calling his parents but that cost a good deal of money and she'd have to figure out time zones. She could yell at him but she doubted that a young man afflicted with his disease cared about his limited future. She walked away.
Amisha had little problem doing 'mere jobbery' as Amisha called writing the music for the school play.
Ms. Defoe had asked that Jane help with the backdrops and Jane asked Daria. Amsiha didn't take art class but he hit Jane with the 'work ethic' line. He had this odd idea that one ought to be able to work with integrity but also should work in the service of others.
Jane relented because she enjoyed the work 'she had been called to' as Amisha put it.
Daria decided to help because the heir to the musical traditions of Elgar and Rachmaninoff made her look unmotivated in the eyes of her teachers who discovered a hard working and smart student could be happy to take part in extra curricular activities eagerly. She realized the demon could survive any attempt on his life and so she had to take part in the work for the play if she wanted credit.
Amisha worked hard on the computer connected to the lecture hall sound system he had requisitioned for his own use. Unlike Trent, Amisha worked from core ideas that he rendered into an organic whole. Amisha had a combination of a short temper and monumental patience. Daria watched him storm out in a huff because some part proved imperfect and then return and fix a note or remove an unwanted portion.
Jane noticed the end product when he played his revised version for the volunteers. She liked his musical language: he had a lean orchestral sound which had a hint of the melodic Russian vastness of Rachmaninoff, a keen awareness of the greatest film scores and yet he made the work sound 'English'. Most of his 'huffs' occurred because he couldn't make each part sound out clearly and he despised musical muddiness.
He plunged on.
Jane found he made her work easier. In his music, she could take inspiration and pick the colors for the sets.
Daria liked his music as it echoed through the lecture hall. She admired his sense of musical logic but wondered how he didn't earn a migraine from all his work. Amisha had used 'Pop Goes The Weasel' as a starting point but then derived a set of variations from it. The Overture consisted of a modified sonata form made of of the variations (she could hear the symphonic element) he wove into a coherent whole. The quiet passages hinted at a vast wasteland and she felt surrounded by the strings that had a cold, medieval modality.
Jane could hear the 'film score' in the manner he shaped sound. The quiet string passages had an effect like being sung to by a choir from all directions.
"I look out at the stage of the Lawndale High Auditorium." Daria sat next to Jane and looked at the stage and listened to Amisha's music as he went over yet another subtle revision.
"Yeah?" Jane felt a chill as a high trill on the strings played and sounded as if it surrounded her.
"When I imagine traveling a century into the future and I find it rather funny to think about what people then will remember of the past." Daria put her boots up on the top of the chair in front of her. "The high school will be long gone – most kids will be home schooled. No one will remember Tommy Sherman and his memorial tree will have ended up as planks for hardwood flooring. If medical science can keep us alive that long; we'll be going senile in a home. Amisha will have passed on to another incarnation to fight his boredom."
"What are you getting at?" Jane lay back and listened as Amisha let the music play and he watched the screen concentrating on his handiwork.
"People will remember two things: The Canterbury Tales and this music." Daria let out a sad sigh.
"You must spend lots of time talking with him." Jane grinned at Daria. "Some of his humanism has appeared in your words."
"What do you mean?" Daria said tensely.
"You have begun to think people might be around in a century; that they might not have become dolts and bimbos due to Kevin and Brittney's swims in the gene pool." Jane pointed at the stage. "The whole Amisha persona is all about optimism and faith in the future or in the next life or in the afterlife."
"Uh huh." Daria said doubtfully. "He isn't religious."
"He isn't crass about his spiritual ideals." Jane told Daria. "He would regard it as rude to tell others what to think – he's very cultured. He quotes the Bible and the Quran because he has read them both and studied them. He may not know what God is but he thinks God is real."
"Lets go." Daria stood up. "The show starts in an hour and I need pizza.
"Amisha!" Daria called out. "Want to go for pizza?"
Amisha's ears twitched and he turned around from his rack of computer equipment.
"I should finish this off." He said but he realized he had no one to help him see. "However, I should take a break."
"Maybe you're influencing him." Jane snickered.
"I'll have him sleep on the foot of your bed." Daria warned.