“But—“ Stile protested, dumbfounded. Then he was drowned out by the tumultuous applause of the local audience, abruptly augmented by that of the speaker system as it carried the reaction of the larger, unseen audience. Clef took him firmly by the arm, leading him through the colossal din to the exit. Bemused, unbelieving. Stile suffered himself to be guided out.
A line of people had formed in the hall. At the head of it was the Rifleman. The Citizen grabbed Stile’s hand and pumped it. “Congratulations!” he cried. “Magnificent performance!” Then the others were congratulating him in turn, until Sheen got to him and began running interference.
Clef turned to leave. “Wait!” Stile cried. “You can’t go! This is all wrong! You won! Has the planet gone crazy?”
Clef smiled. “No, you won. I’m surprised you weren’t aware.”
“You should enter a protest!” Stile said. “You clearly outplayed me. I think you’re the finest musician on the planet!”
Sheen guided them to seats on the capsule home. “I may be so—now,” Clef said. “You showed me how to alleviate the major weakness in my skill. I owe it to you.”
“Then how—?”
Clef smiled. “It is a pleasure to have the privilege of educating you as you educated me. You recall how we played separately, to a split decision?”
“Indeed,” Stile said wryly.
“And how you then explained to me the manner music is a participatory endeavor? Not every man an island?”
“Yes, of course! You proved to be an apt student!”
“A duet is a joint endeavor. Each must help the other, or it fails.”
“Of course. But—“
“A man who plays well alone, can play better in company—if he has proper support. Harmony and counter-point enable a new dimension of effect.”
“Yes, I played better, because I knew you would make no error. Still—you played better yet. I think you improved more than I did.”
“I am sure this is the case. Because you provided more support to me than I provided to you,” Clef said. “I gave you merely good technical performance, at the outset; you gave me the essence of feeling. You showed me how. I was never able to accomplish it on my own, but in tandem with you I felt the living essence at last, the heart and spirit of music. I was infused by it, I merged with its potent pulse, and for the first time in my life—I flew.”
“And you won!” Stile cried. “I agree with everything you said. You and I both know you profited greatly, and played my way better than I ever played in my life. You went from student to master in one phenomenal leap! Surely the panel of judges saw that!”
“Of course they did. I have known all of the members of that panel for years, and they know me. We have played together often.”
And this panel of friends had given the match—to Stile?
Was it overcompensation?
The capsule stopped. Sheen took each man by the arm and guided him on toward the apartment. “Therefore you won,” Stile said. “That’s obvious.”
“Let me approach this from another angle, lest you be as obtuse as I was. If you play solo on one instrument and it is good, then play the same piece on another instrument of the same type and it is better, wherein lies the source of the improvement?”
“In the instrument,” Stile said. “My skill on similar instruments is presumed to be constant.”
“Precisely. Now if you play a duet with one person, then with another, and your performance stands improved on the second—?”
“Then probably the other player is superior, enabling me to—“ Stile paused. It was beginning to penetrate. “If I improve because of the other player, it’s him that really makes the difference!”
“When we played together, I improved more than you did,” Clef said. “Who, then, contributed more to the joint effort? The one who flew the heights—or the one who lifted him there?”
“That duet—it was not to show individual expertise,” Stile said, working it out. “It was to show cooperative expertise. How each person fit in as part of a team. Yet surely the Computer did not see it that way; the machine lacks the imagination. So it shouldn’t have—“
“The machine was not the final arbiter. The musicians saw it that way, and their vote was decisive.” The human mind remained more complex than the most sophisticated of machines! Of course the musicians had imposed their standard! “So I supported your effort—“
“More than I supported yours,” Clef finished. “You gave way to me; you made the sacrifice, for the benefit of the piece. You were the better team player. You contributed more significantly to the total production. Therefore you proved your overall participation to be better than mine. You would have made anyone shine. This is the subtle point the Computer and audience missed, but the musical experts understood. They knew it was from you I derived the ability that enabled me to make the best individual performance of my life. You are the sort of musician who belongs in a group; your talent facilitates that of others.”
