It crept in after the others had already established their themes, beginning on a low and ominous note that slowly melted into an invisible harmony with the others, eventually slinking up into the highest range and hovering there, dissonant, like a predator preparing to swoop. The cycle repeated, with variations, creating the feeling that the cello was stalking the other instruments. The music was clever, and it demanded a listener’s complete attention, but Gordon wouldn’t have said this version was better than the previous one—only different. He studied Michael, who wore a halfsmile he couldn’t interpret. “So,” Michael said when it was over, “the cello is you, I suppose.” Pru pressed some keys on her computer and stared down at it. “It’s not a character, Michael. It’s not anyone.” “It’s wonderful,” Gordon said. “But so is the first version. Isn’t there a way they can coexist?” Michael gave him a pitying look. “The first version was a mistake. It was too happy. Pru doesn’t do happy.” It was clear that he was no longer talking about music. Time for Gordon to go. He looked at Pru, who had wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “Happy can be a hard thing to learn,” he said quietly, as he stood up from the couch. Pru fixed her eyes on him then, as if she’d just noticed that he was a real person. She seemed like someone who always said what she really thought, yet he wondered what she would say to him if she ever decided he rated a place in her personal universe. He skirted the laundry basket on his way to the door. “Come talk to me some time,” he told her before he let himself out, trying not to hear the fraught conversation that began as the latch closed behind him.
46 The Cello Part