Fuga Page #4

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This is the musician.

Ah, Eliseo, you're named after a

racing driver, boy (laughter).

Easy does it.

I brought you the cheese you asked

for.

It wasn't me.

What d'you mean?

You asked me to bring you two kilos

on Friday and I brought them.

That must have been Doctor

Zaartu,

who pines for your cheeses, nurse.

I hates your cheeses, nurse.

Let's see, open your mouth.

19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26

Pass me the coffee, next please!

He who endures, lasts.

The doorbell.

I'll go...

Carlitos!

Hi, gorgeous.

You'll come one at a time.

No point fooling around with other

people's anxieties.

It's too dangerous... and it's been

done to me too many times.

What did you bring us?

The whole dispensary.

F (sharp),

B(flat),

F, A. Easy

Musical ear.

Absolutely. Every sound has a

note...

ahh that's a line major with an

augmented sixth.

It's all music, man.

Even the most absolute silence

is capable of containing a perfect

note.

What do you know of Pacian,

Carlitos?

Vctor Pacian?

Yes

I haven't seen him for some time.

The last I knew he was working

in a store selling instruments. Why?

Curiosity.

What's that?

Something we've been working with

the guys.

That's strange.

Why?

I've heard that before.

Well, all music sounds similar, right?

So where did you buy it?

What?

Talent;

the last time I saw you, it was

conspicuous by its absence.

Were you there that night?

No...

I heard several rehearsals;

it's a beautiful, disturbing piece.

I advise you to forget it.

Why?

Because it's not yours, because

those scores no longer exist.

Carlitos, I need you to

help me finish it.

No, sir!

I will not help you do that and nor will

Vctor Pacian.

Not in your wildest dreams!

It's research work.

Pathetic musician!

You can't hear anything here;

I always found silence unbearable;

it seems that...

now I'm fine,

now that I can't hear anything...

listen.

In time, I got used to feeling trapped

inside something that I don't know,

and it's not bad...

it's slow...

and that has nothing to do with love,

it has to do with music,

with a bunch of disorderly notes that

give meaning to all I know.

Shall we wipe it, doctor?

No,

leave it like that;

he's recovering. We'll continue with

the therapy.

Yes, doctor.

The third octave is a little out of tune.

This is a marvelous piano.

Sir?

Play, play, I'll be right back.

Thank you.

I want a guitar for my daughter;

maybe you could recommend one.

Sir?

Do you recognize this?

No, whose is it?

A Chilean composer's.

Mmm, doesn't sound like it.

It doesn't, does it?

It sounds good, though.

You play very well.

You're seeing him, aren't you?

Who?

Montalbn.

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