As he sat in a coffee shop in a nearby town to stay out of the rain, he heard four teenagers who played the guitar very badly singing a song that he knew. It was a song he had invented while the asphalt poured on a hot summer day. The teenagers were not musicians and certainly were not Makers. But they sang the song from their hearts, and even though the words were happy, the song made everyone who heard it cry.

  Christian wrote on the pad he always carried, and showed his question to the boys. "Where did that song come from?"

  "It's a Sugar song," the leader of the group answered. "It's a song by Sugar."

  Christian raised an eyebrow, making a shrugging motion.

  "Sugar was a guy who worked on a road crew and made up songs. He's dead now, though," the boy answered.

  Christian smiled. Then he wrote (and the boys waited

  impatiently for this speechless old man to go away): "Aren't you happy? Why sing sad songs?"

  The boys were at a loss for an answer. The leader spoke up, though, and said,

  "Sure, I'm happy. I've got a good job, a girl I like, and man, I couldn't ask for more. I got my guitar. I got my songs. And my friends."

  And another boy said, "These songs aren't sad, mister. Sure, they make people cry, but they aren't sad."

  "Yeah," said another. "It's just that they were written by a man who knows."

  Christian scribbled on his paper. "Knows what?"

  "He just knows. Just knows, that's all:'

  And then the teenagers turned back to their clumsy guitars and their young untrained voices, and Christian walked to the door to leave because the rain had stopped and because he knew when to leave the stage. He turned and bowed just a little toward the singers. They didn't notice him, but their voices were all the applause he needed. He left the ovation and went outside where the leaves were just turning color and would soon, with a slight inaudible sound, break free and fall to the earth.

  For a moment he thought he heard himself singing. But it was just the last of the wind, coasting madly through the wires over the street. It was a frenzied song, and Christian thought he had recognized his voice.

  Document Outline

  A Sepulchre of Songs

  America

  Atlantis

  But We Try Not to Act Like It

  Clap Hands and Sing

  Closing The Timelid

  Deep Breathing Excercises

  Dogwalker

  Eumenides in the Fourth Floor Lavatory

  Eye for Eye

  Fat Farm

  Freeway Games

  Heal Thyself

  Holy

  I Put My Blue Genes On

  In The Doghouse

  Kingsmeat

  Memories of My Head

  Missed

  Mortal Gods

  Prior Restraint

  Quietus

  Saving Grace

  St. Amy's Tale

  The Changed Man and the King of Words

  The Originist

  Unaccompanied Sonata

 

 

  Orson Scott Card, A SEPULCHRE OF SONGS

 

 

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