Cloud Atlas Page #2

as his amanuensis

and aid him in the creation of a masterpiece,

that goes shooting up through the musical firmament,

eventually obliging Pater to admit that yes,

the son he disinherited is none other than Robert Frobisher,

the greatest British composer of his time.

I know, Sixsmith, you groan and shake your head,

but you smile too,

which is why I love you.

P.S.

Thanks for the waistcoat.

I needed something of yours to keep me company.

St. George and the Dragon.

Reminds me that composing is a crusade.

Sometimes you slay the dragon;

sometimes the dragon slays you.

All right, then.

A Frobisher, is it?

I trust Mackerras taught you enough to be useful.

I've had this little melody for viola rattling

about my head for months.

Let's see if you can get it down.

[Hums melody]

Subtle grace note before the third.

[Humming continues]

Soft and simple. Got it? Now, it gets interesting.

[Hums next phrase]

Good.

Play that back.

Would love to, sir.

Um... what key are we in?

What key? G minor, of course.

And the time signature?

For Christ's sake, did you hear it or not?

- Just... just need a little more time.

- You need?

My dear boy, who is working for whom here?

- I apologize, sir...

- Are you an amanuensis or an apologist?

Now pay attention.

Three-four changes to four-four on the fourth bar

and back to three-four on bar five,

if you can count that high.

Crotchet G, pause for a quaver, repeat G quaver,

then E-flat on the down beat.

[Hums last phrase]

And so on.

All right. Let me hear it.

[Plays single note melody]

[Continues playing with discordant harmony]

Stop! Please! You're hurting me!

You must have misheard me, I said

I had a melody not a malady!

Vyvyan?

Jocasta, deliver me!

- What's going on in here?

- An exercise in futility.

Should I be introduced?

There's really no point, the boy is as useful as the clap.

Fortunately, he'll be much easier to get rid of.

Would you be a dear and get Henry to show the boy out?

Yes, of course, darling.

[Begins playing accurately]

It's beautiful.

Yes...

That's it. That's my melody!

[San Francisco, the year 1973]

C'mon, Luisa,

[San Francisco, the year 1973]

we're made to be together!

Luisa, wa-wait, c'mon, c'mon, I'm telling you,

I'm telling ya baby; you can't leave me. It's a...

you know, it's a past life thing or a future life thing,

but ya know, it's you and me...

Look. For the last hour, all I could think about was

throwing you off your balcony.

I mean, who the hell do you think you are?

You write a bullshit column for a f***in' rag.

Elevator!

Thank you.

Nice to know the age of chivalry isn't dead.

You okay?

No bones broken, I think.

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