Veda smiled at the correctness of her guess and Darr Veter whispered to her that it would be hard to find a better model.
“If my Daughter of the Mediterranean turns out a success then I must go on to the third part of the plan — I must paint the golden- or flaxen-haired northern woman, with her calm and transparent eyes, tall, somewhat slow in her movements, her glance straightforward as she looks out at the world like one of the ancient Russian, Scandinavian or English women. Only when that is finished shall I be able to start on the synthesis, the image of the present-day woman in which I shall have to portray the best features of each of those ancestors.”
“Why do you only paint ‘daughters’ and no ‘sons’?” asked Veda, smiling mysteriously.
“Is there any need for me to explain that by the laws of physiology the beautiful is always more finished and more refined in woman?” frowned the artist.
“When you are ready to paint your third picture, your Daughter of the North, take a good look at Veda Kong,” began Evda Nahl, “you’ll hardly….”
The artist rose swiftly to his feet.
“D’you think I’m blind? I am struggling against myself to prevent that image becoming part of me at a time when I am full of another. But Veda….”
“Is dreaming of music,” continued Veda. “What a pity there is only a solar piano here and it’s silent at night.”
“Is that the piano with a system of semi-conductors that works from sunlight?” asked Renn Bose, leaning over the arm of his chair. “If it is, I can switch it over to use the, current of the receiver.”
“Will it take long?” asked Veda, pleased at the opportunity.
“It would take about an hour.”
“Then don’t bother. The news broadcast on the world circuit begins in an hour and we want to see and hear it. We’ve been busy the past two evenings and haven’t switched on the receiver.”
“Then sing us something, Veda,” asked Darr Veter. “Cart Sann has the eternal stringed instrument, the one that dates back to feudal society in the Dark Ages.”
“Guitar,” guessed Chara Nandi.
“Who’ll play? I’ll try myself, perhaps I can manage.”
“I’ll play.” Chara Nandi volunteered to go for the guitar.
“We’ll run together,” suggested Frith Don. Chara roguishly tossed back her mass of black hair. Sherliss pulled a lever moving back the side wall of the verandah giving them a view of the eastern corner of the bay. Frith Don ran with long strides. Chara ran with her head thrown back and soon fell behind but in the end they arrived at the studio together, plunged into the un-lighted entrance and a second later reappeared to skim along the edge of the sea, stubborn and swift-footed. Frith Don was the first to reach the verandah but Chara vaulted over the open side partition and was first in the room. Veda clapped her hands in admiration. “But Frith Don won last year’s decathlon!” “And Chara Nandi was graduated from the Higher School of Dance, both departments. Ancient and Modern,” retorted Cart Sann, in the same tone.
“Veda and I studied dancing too, but only in the lower grades,” sighed Evda Nahl.
“Everybody passes the lower grade nowadays,” said the artist teasingly.
Chara ran her fingers lightly over the strings, sticking out her small, firm chin. The guitar hummed low, pensive notes. The young woman’s high-pitched voice combined longing and challenge. She sang a new song, one that had just come from the southern zone, a song of an unfulfilled dream. Veda’s low contralto joined in and became the beam around which Chara’s voice coiled and quivered. It was a magnificent duet, the two singers were absolute opposites and yet they complemented each other perfectly. Darr Veter turned his gaze from one to the other unable to decide to whom the singing was most becoming — Veda, who stood leaning her elbows on the receiver and her head bowed under the weight of a mass of blonde hair that glittered silver in the moonlight, or Chara, leaning forward with the guitar on her round, bare knees, with a face tanned by the sun in which the white of her teeth and the bluish whites of her eyes stood out in sharp contrast.
The song finished, Chara picked idly at the strings. Darr Veter clenched his teeth — she was strumming the song that had once separated him from Veda, a song that was now painful to her, too.
She plucked at the strings spasmodically, the chords following each other and dying before they could merge. It was a jerky melody, like the splashes of waves falling on the beach, spreading over the sand for an instant and then rolling back, one after another, to the black depths of the sea. Chara was quite unaware of anything, her clear voice gave life to the words of love that flew out into the icy void of the Cosmos from star to star, trying to find, to understand, to feel where he was… he who had gone into the Cosmos for the great deed of discovery — he would never return — let it be so, if only for one moment.she could know what was happening to him, help him with a whispered word, a kind thought, a greeting!
Veda remained silent and Chara felt there was something wrong, she broke off the song, jumped up, tossed the guitar to the artist and went over to where the fair-haired woman was standing, her head bowed guiltily.
Veda smiled.
“Dance for me, Chara.”
The latter nodded obediently but Frith Don stopped her.
“The dances can wait, there’s a transmission beginning now.
On the roof of the building a telescopic pipe was put up on which there were two metal sheets at right angles to each other surmounted by a circular structure with eight hemispheres arranged around its circumference. The room was filled with the mighty sounds of the world information service.
“The discussion of the project introduced by the Academy of Directed Radiation continues,” said a man on the screen. “The project provides for the substitution of electronic recording for the linear alphabet. The project is not being universally supported. The chief objection is the intricacy of the reading apparatus. The book will cease to be a friend to accompany men everywhere. Despite all its apparent advantages the project will probably be rejected!”
“It’s been discussed for a long time,” said Renn Bose.
“A big contradiction,” answered Darr Veter, “on the one hand, there is the tempting simplicity of the writing and, on the other, the difficulty of reading.”
The man on the screen continued:
“Yesterday’s report is confirmed — Cosmic Expedition No. 37 has been heard from. They are returning….”
Darr Veter was staggered by the strength of his own contrasting emotions. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Veda Kong slowly rise to her feet, her eyes opening wider and wider. With the keen ears of a lover Darr Veter caught the sound of her spasmodic breathing.
“… from the direction of square four hundred and one the ship has just come out of the negative field at one-hundredth of a parsec from Neptune’s orbit. The expedition has been delayed through an encounter with a black sun. There have been no losses of life! The speed of the ship.’“ said the news reader in conclusion, “is about five-sixths of the absolute unit. The expedition is expected at Triton in eleven days!.. Listen for reports of their marvellous discoveries!”
The broadcast continued. There were other items of “news but nobody listened to them any more. They crowded round Veda, congratulating her. She smiled, her cheeks were burning but there was anxiety hidden deep down in her eyes. Darr Veter also approached. Veda felt the firm pressure of his hand and met his eyes, direct and sincere. Not for a long time had he looked at her like that and she understood the sadness of his former attitude towards her and she realized that at that moment he read something else in her face besides joy.
Darr Veter slowly released her hand, smiled in a way all his own, inimitably open and frank, and walked away. Her companions from the expedition were excitedly discussing the news. Veda remained inside the circle of people but watched Darr Veter out of the corner of her eye. She saw Evda Nahl go up to him and a moment later they were joined by Renn Bose.