"But there's no need for me to preach to you about the transcendent,"
Patron went on. "You've gotten close to us through Ikuo. And I suspect you'll continue working for his sake. That being the case, I don't need to be too concerned about this. To tell the truth, Ikuo's still something of a mys- tery to me. But I do know he's putting everything he has into our church, doing all he can to pave the way for the summer conference that will de- cide our future.
"And in your triptych, won't you be showing the relationship between Ikuo and myself, the antichrist of the Church of the New Man?"
29: LESSONS LEARNED
1
The Technicians' carpentry team was up on stepladders, pounding thick red concrete nails into the wall of the chapel. It was something any amateur could do, and Kizu found it amusing that they approached the task as some specialized, highly complicated assignment. No matter what was going on these days, you could count on a Technician to be there.
The completed triptych was being mounted on the narrow wall near the piano. There were two chairs beside the piano, one the performer's seat occupied by Ikuo, the other by Morio, as they sat there expectantly. At some distance away from them, in the front row of the chairs used for meetings, sat Gii and Isamu, as well as a third Firefly, who'd helped Ikuo transport the painting from the studio, all of them watching the Technicians go about their job.
For the time being bereft of work, Kizu sat there looking at the antique silver spirit level, decorated with line drawings of lilies, that Gii had brought over. Gii had casually mentioned that it had been handed down to him by his mother and was part of the legacy left behind by the diplomat who had lived in the house on the north shore, the one who'd designed the beds in the style of rustic Eastern European furniture.
The Fireflies were called over to carry the triptych to just below where the nails had been set. Gii leaped nimbly on a stepladder, set the level on the top of the painting to be sure it was hanging straight, and signaled to the Technicians. The way Gii maneuvered the little tool had all the winsome- ness that Kizu had sensed the first time he met the young man, and he could feel the pride Ikuo had as he looked on.
When they'd set the painting right where they wanted it, Ikuo returned to the piano. A sheaf of copies of Morio's compositions lay there. Ikuo chose one piece and began playing, freely changing the speed, emphasizing the lower register as he played it through twice. Instead of sitting beside Ikuo as one might expect, Morio was up and moving about, silent and agile despite his impaired legs. Absorbed in the music, he moved in diagonal lines, tracing a pentagon in the circle of the chapel walls, as if stepping on the shadows cast by the aerial dome of the ceiling.
Since the chapel was built as a perfect circle with a radius of fifty feet, ordinary sounds would focus on one point and a flattering echo would be produced, which originally made it impossible to hold concerts. All sorts of changes had been made to modify this since the building was first built- porous boards placed to absorb sound on the ceiling and up to about twelve feet above the floor; the walls all redone to diffuse sound evenly. Even the windows and the entrance door were set slightly out of alignment with one another to improve the acoustics. But now in the midst of this carefully de- signed space they were about to hang a six-by-sixteen-foot painting, plus two side panels each half again as large. So the first thing they wanted to do after hanging the painting was to have Ikuo play the piano while Morio, with his sensitive ears, checked for a flattering echo.
Soon Morio, his whole body showing a sense of relief, went back and sat beside Ikuo. He tucked his legs up under him like a monkey settling in and listened to the rest of his composition. He couldn't have been happier.
The rest of the people standing about here and there in the chapel also turned their attention to the music, all the while gazing up at the triptych.
Gii came over next to Kizu and said, "Morio doesn't hear any echoes."
One of three Technicians sitting nearby said to his companions, "If they put it in a heavy frame with glass it might have a different effect altogether."
"We won't be using a frame," Gii said, speaking as an equal to the older Technicians, "so go ahead and attach it permanently."
The three of them watched as the painting was being moved, and every- one could hear Gii express his unease to Isamu and his other companion.
"Why do they have to say such pointless things?"
"It's not pointless, is it?" Isamu was concerned that Gii's voice might carry to those in front.
"It is too pointless," Gii insisted. "We know that sound isn't reverberat- ing. What's the point of suggesting we put it in a frame and glass and see if we can make it echo? Let's go," he said decisively.
As Gii, Isamu, and the other Firefly got up to leave, Ikuo, who was straightening up the copies of Morio's music, called out to them. "Would you please go over and tell Dancer to come and take a look at where they've hung the painting?"
"Will do," Gii replied. He'd been twirling the silver spirit level in front of him, between his thumb and middle finger, but stopped as he answered.
The Technicians' body language, too, showed how close they felt to Ikuo, and they politely acknowledged Kizu as they departed. Thanking them, Kizu could tell-compared to before he'd gone into the hospital-that Ikuo had come to play a much more vital role in running the church.
Dancer appeared, accompanied by Ogi and Ms. Tachibana. The people already there, and these newcomers, all gathered in front of the turpentine- redolent triptych. Kizu was worried about how people would react to the first work he'd done after being discharged from the hospital, the two portraits in the foreground of the central panel. The screech of cicadas, which he'd for- gotten about while Ikuo played the piano, now came back in full force.
Dancer gazed up at the painting. "If you look carefully you'll see that Jonah and Patron are not really facing each other directly. I was expecting them to be questioning each other, trying to persuade each other."
"Maybe they've been debating but haven't arrived at a resolution, so they're looking off to one side and thinking things over," Ms. Tachibana commented.
Kizu had been waiting for Dancer or Ms. Tachibana, who knew about Patron's side being healed, to say something about his portrayal of the wound. But neither one of them seemed about to touch on it. Before long Ms. Tachibana spoke up.
"The piano a while ago was simply lovely," she said to Morio.
"There weren't any echoes at all," Morio replied.
"At the summer conference we'll use a microphone and play it over speakers, but when we play it like this without any amplification, can people really hear it all over the Hollow?" Ikuo asked.
"We were in the office," Dancer said, "with the windows on the lake side open, and we could hear it echo off the north shore."
"At first we played with the windows shut," Morio said, "but then we opened them."
"So we must have heard the last half," Dancer said.
"The Quiet Women requested that at the morning meetings we just let the piano sound all over the Hollow, without using any speakers," Ikuo said.
"Morio, why don't you go back to Patron's place with your sister and tell him the acoustics in the chapel are fine. And then take a rest; you've worked hard today."
"Can I take back all the sheet music?" Morio asked.
"Of course. And thank you."
2
After Ms. Tachibana and her brother left, the others all sat down around Kizu, who'd stayed rooted to his chair, and gazed up again at the triptych.
Kizu could feel them holding back any comments on the painting. A faint whiff of turpentine wafted toward them.