Esste heard you try to sing.
I can't sing. I don't sing.
But you do. Unwittingly, perhaps, but you do. Just speaking, the melodies of your voice are more eloquent than many of us can manage when we're trying to perform.
Ansset looked away.
You haven't heard your own songs, Ansset. You've been through too much in the last years. In your first years, for that matter. Your voice is full of the worlds outside. Full of too much remembered pain and heavy responsibility. Who could hear you and not be affected?
You're afraid I'd pollute the children?
And the teachers. And me.
Ansset thought for a moment, I've been silent so far. I can keep being silent. I'll be mute here in the Songhouse.
How long could you keep that up?
Aren't there retreats? Let me come and go as I like, let me wander around Tew when I feel the need to speak, and then come back home.
This isn't your home anymore.
And then Control slipped away from Ansset and his face and his voice pled with her. Rruk, this is my home. For sixty-five years this has been my home, though I was barred from ever returning. I tried to stay away. I ruled in that palace for too many years, I lived among people I loved, but Rruk, how long could you survive being cut off from this stone?
And Rruk remembered her own time as a singer, the years on Umusuwee where they loved her and treated her well, and she called her patrons Father and Mother; and yet when she turned fifteen she fairly flew all the way home because the jangle could be beautiful and sweet, but cold stone had formed everything inside her and she could not bear to be away from it longer than she must.
What do they put in these walls, Ansset, that makes them have such a hold on us?
Ansset looked at her questioningly.
Ansset, I can't decide fairly. I understand what you feel, I think I understand, but the Songmaster in the High Room can't act for pity.
Pity, he said, his Control again in force.
I have to act for the good of the Songhouse. And your presence here would introduce too many things that we couldn't control. The consequences might be felt for centuries.
Pity, Ansset said again. I misunderstood. I thought I was asking you to act for love.
It was Rruk's turn to be silent, watching him. Love. That's right, she thought, that's what we exist for here. Love and peace and beauty, that's what the Songhouse is for. And one of our best children, one of the finest-no, the finest Songbird the house has ever produced-asks for love and out of fear I can't give it to him.
It did not feel right to Rruk. Making Ansset leave did not sound right in her mind, no matter what logic might demand. And Rruk was not Esste; she was not governed by logic and good sense.
If it were right for the decision in this case to be a sensible one, there would be a sensible Songmaster in the High Room, she said to him. But I don't make my decisions that way. I don't feel good about letting you stay, but I feel much worse about making you go.
Thank you, he said softly.
Silence within these walls. No child is to hear your voice, not even a grunt; You serve here as a Deaf. And when you can't bear the silence anymore, you may leave and go where you like. Take what money you need-you could spend forever and not use up what the Songhouse was paid for your services when you went to Earth.
And I can come back?
As often as you still want to. Provided you keep your silence here. And you'll forgive me if I forbid the Blinds and Deafs to tell any of the singers who you are.
He cast aside Control and smiled at her, and embraced her, and then sang to her:
I wil never hurt you.
I will always help you,
If you are hungry
I'll give you my food.
If you are frightened
I am your friend.
I love you now
And love does not end,
The song broke Rruk's heart, just for a moment. Because it was terrible. The voice was not even as good as that of a child. It was the voice of an old man who had talked too much and sung not at all for too many years. It was not controlled, it was not shaped, the melody was not even perfectly true. What he has lost! she cried out inside herself. Is this all that's left?
And yet the power was still there. The power had not been given to Ansset by the Songhouse, it had been born in him and magnified in him by his own suffering, and so when he sang the love song to her, it touched her deeply. She remembered her own weak voice singing those words to him what seemed a million years before, and yesterday.
She remembered his loyalty to her when he had not needed to be loyal. And her last misgivings about letting him stay disappeared.
You may talk to me, she said. To none of the others, but you cannot be a mute to me.
I'll pollute your voice as surely as the others.
She shook her head. Nothing that comes from you can do any harm to me. When I hear your voice I'll remember Ansset's Farewell. There are still quite a few of us who remember, you know. It keeps us humble, because we know what a voice can do. And it will keep me clean.
Thank you, he said again, and then left her, going down the stairs into the parts of the Songhouse where he had just promised that his voice would never be heard again.
5
After a few days' hiatus, the old man returned again to Rainbow Kitchen. The children were excited. They had been afraid this man of mystery would be gone forever. They watched carefully for some clue as to the reason for his disappearance. But he behaved as if nothing unusual had happened. And helped the cook afterward just as he had before.
Now, however, the old man did not disappear after meals. He began to appear in the corridors, in the Stalls, in the Common Room. He was doing jobs usually performed by young Deafs-sweeping, cleaning, changing bedding, washing clothing. He would appear silently, without knocking, as Deafs were allowed to do, but unlike Deafs he was not ignored. No one spoke to him, of course, but eyes followed him around the rooms, surreptitiously watching him, though he did nothing particularly unusual. It was himself that was unusual-for either the Songhouse had broken a thousand-year rule and let someone work inside the Songhouse who had never sung there as a child, or the old man had once been a singer, and there was a story behind his late appearance and his degradation.
There were speculations among the teachers, too, of course. They were not immune, and they soon learned that the Deafs and Blinds would not, under any amount of persuasion and wheedling, discuss the old man. Rruk quickly made it clear that she would not tolerate inquiry. And so they speculated. Of course, the name of Ansset came up with all the other names they knew of singers who had failed to return or who had not found a place within the Songhouse, but none of the names was agreed on as even probable, and Ansset's was far from being the most common suggested. When a man had been emperor, they could not imagine him sweeping floors.
Only two people were sure, besides Rruk and the Deafs and Blinds.
One was a new songmaster named Ller, who had been away as a seeker for many years and returned to find the old man wandering through the Songhouse, ubiquitous and silent as a ghost He had recognized him instantly- years could not conceal from Ller the features of a face he had memorized in childhood. He toyed with the idea of finding Ansset alone sometime, approaching him, and greeting him with the love and honor he felt toward the man. But then he thought better of the idea. If Ansset was silent and unknown in the Songhouse, it was because of a good reason, and until Ller was given permission to violate that silence and anonymity, he would keep his peace. However, whenever he saw the old man he could not help feeling a rush of childhood sweeping over him, and a sadness to see the greatest of all the singers brought so low.