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SUPPERBURGER
379
it is a lovely night and to come up on the roof and watch the stars.
Being kids we do not need our coats, because it is really not that cool
yet. Fall is just beginning. The stairs are in the hall closet and twist
around
till
you come out on a big flat roof. It is higher than the others
on the block, and there are two chairs and some flower pots. I am
scared of heights, and there is not much of a rail around the edge.
But the sky is beautiful, absolutely black with every star showing. And
you can see all the roof tops on this side of the hill and look down
the street to the river which is gray and flat in the distance. The gas
lamps and the lights in rooms and houses are shining. Most windows
are open, and I can hear rock and roll coming from every direction,
up the hill and down it. Someone is playing "Good Lovin' " by the
Young Rascals, which is my favorite song. I wish I was wearing my
hat and my boots right now. I feel a little like the king of the hill.
There is Louie, shivering a little. Even now he has not said much.
I wonder what he will be like. This may be one of the last party
nights before it gets cold. Charles is probably looking for someone
to take her to one. It is only ten
0'
clock. I do not
think
Louie is
much of a party-goer. Maybe that is better. Parties get boring.
I wonder what he does at college.
MRS. S. The sky is lovely late at night.
P. It's only ten.
MRS. S. It's almost the time of year for Orion. I wish he was
out on a night like this. That would be a glorious sight.
S. Stars ... Stella. Do you know
The Tales of Hoffman,
Louis?
L.
Yes. I love
it.
S. Stella ... his one perfect love, told through his stories.
MRS. S. What are you talking about, Arthur?
S. Patrick knows. The stories I have told myself in my nine
symphonies! And told no one else. Nine symphonies.
If
I could have
written one great fugue, one tiny two-part invention even, worthy of
a great composer, but ... nine symphonies. I pore over the scores
in the afternoons, and they eat me away. Nine manuscripts are out
in the world, two for this last one. The manuscript for the first went
down on a flaming battleship, in the war. I didn't even dare call that
one a Symphony. It was a Suite, something simple. But as music?
They were entirely in the fashion.
If
I could have written in the Nine–
teenth Century, I could have done
it
better. Today's styles don't suit
my feelings. But what can you do? Revamp Massenet? Raff? At least,
