Lost Fic: Taking Requests
Title: Taking Requests
Author: sedauny
Fandom: Lost
Characters: Rose/Bernard, Charlie, Ana Lucia
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I'm playing in someone else's sandbox, and I promise to put all the toys back when I'm done
Summary: Stranded on an Island with no boombox, one is forced to improvise
Notes: None of the songs and dances are of my composing or naming. For any curious, samples of most of the country dance tunes named herein may be found at http://www.cds-boston.org/ecdc/
I haven't found samples of the Beggar's Opera online, but the text of the play is available through Wikipedia. The attentive will notice that Charlie has changed the pronouns in the finale.
**********
Late afternoon sunlight slanted over the beach as Rose sat gazing at the waves and thinking about the small stash of food she had gained from the food drop and how it would be used. She was proud of having scored some candy bars for Bernard, and had gained some canned potatoes that would be a welcome contrast to the fish, coconut, and fruit that were the Island staples. She hoped some of her other choices would be good bargaining chips. Most of the cans in the drop were too large for her and Bernard to finish before the contents spoiled, so she was planning to offer shares to other survivors in exchange for shares of their stashes. Communal cooking would probably make the best use of the provisions...her thoughts were interrupted when Bernard came over and caught her arm.
His eyes were bright with pleasure as he spoke. “Sweetheart, come on. Charlie’s back, he’s got his guitar, and it’s time for a belated birthday concert. I think he’ll take requests for a pretty lady’s smile, and yours is the prettiest around.”
“Bernard! That will be lovely; it reminds me of our night in Niagara.” Rose leaned into her husband’s side, smiling softly at the memory of soft music, a nervous date, and a ring. “Do you think we can get a waltz out of that rocker? I want a birthday dance with my man and I don’t mean one of those wild whatever-it-is they’re doing this year.”
“He’s not a musician if he can’t play a waltz.” Bernard wrapped his arm around her shoulders and they strolled over to where Charlie sat frowning at the sand and playing one of the fast, intricate little tunes Rose had heard him use for fingering practice. She noted he was not too far off to the side of the beach, which, she knew, meant he was not trying to concentrate exclusively on his practicing and would be willing to stop and chat-and take requests.
Charlie started when they sat down next to him. He had been deep enough in his work that he hadn’t heard them approach. “Rose, Bernard, was I bothering you? No, you look like you have ideas for me. Do I dare ask?”
“I want a love song, Charlie, for my lovely bride. An old love song, for my ancient years-the oldest you know.” Rose smiled at the look Bernard gave her. The smile changed to a grin when she saw the look change to one of playful challenge as he transferred it to Charlie, who returned it in kind. Charlie’s eyes lost focus for a moment, then his gaze sharpened and he struck a chord on the guitar, then stilled the strings and sang:
“Western wind, when wilt thou blow,
The small rain down can rain.
Christ, that my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again.”
“Watch out, Bernard, he knows medieval songs! And here I was afraid you wouldn’t know anything earlier than the ‘60s.” Rose laughed as Bernard bowed to Charlie, yielding him the point.
Charlie grinned back at her as he answered, “The ‘60s? You mean 1560s or 1660s? Or would you like something more modern?”
“I’m fond of love songs and love songs belong in musicals, which are a particular favorite of mine. What’s the point of living in New York if you don’t go to shows? Keeping to the category of old love songs, I want one that’s also a show tune.” Charlie accepted Rose’s challenge and his brow creased in concentration. Then he brightened with delight and started playing.
“Were I laid on Greenland’s coast,
Yet in my arms embraced my lass:
Warm amidst eternal frost,
Too soon the half year’s night would pass.
“Were I sold on Indian soil,
Soon as the burning day was clos’d,
I would mock the sultry toil,
When on my charmer’s breast reposed.”
Rose smiled, recognizing the tune, and Charlie grinned back as he sang the chorus:
“And I would love you all the day,
Every night would kiss and play,
If with me you’d fondly stray,
Over the hills and far away.”
“John Gay has not lived in vain, if even rock stars know the Beggar’s Opera.” Rose looked at Bernard. “We did that show when I was in college, dear.”
“Let me guess. You were Polly Peachum?” Rose waved away Bernard’s gallant suggestion.
“Never the lead, I was the stage manager, actually. I don’t remember who played Polly, but my best friend had the role of Lucy Lockit.” A commotion further back on the beach caught their attention, and all three looked to see what was happening.
“Here comes our own Lucia Lockit. Glad to see she’s back from the hatch in one piece.” Despite his bad joke, Charlie did look pleased to see Ana Lucia striding over to the knot of people clustered around Jack. Rose could see Kate and Nikki contending for his attention with Claire and Sun standing on the sidelines waiting their turns. Jack looked harried as he turned back and forth amidst all the women. Charlie, watching, suddenly spluttered with laughter. He started playing again, but was laughing so hard it took three tries to find his key. He caught Rose’s eye with a look of pure mischief as he sang:
“Thus he stands like the Turk, with his doxies around;
From all sides their glances his passion confound:
For black, brown, and fair, his inconstancy burns,
And the different beauties subdue him by turns:
Each calls forth her charms to provoke his desires-“
By a genius of timing, as Charlie sang, here Ana Lucia gave up and came down the beach towards them, while behind her, Jack took Kate’s arm and walked away.
“-Though willing to all, with but one he retires.
So think of this maxim, and put off your sorrow,
The wretch of today may be happy tomorrow!”
“Looks like this is the best place on the beach to be right now. No one else is having much fun,” Ana Lucia said as she stopped by Charlie. Rose didn’t think she could have heard any of the song beyond the final couplet and unless she was another secret fan of John Gay she wouldn’t know what it was. Rose didn’t know Ana as well as Bernard did-didn’t know her at all, really, and had no idea how she’d take the idea of being compared to an Ottoman concubine. Charlie didn’t seem fazed.
“Indeed it is. I have songs of all descriptions on offer: sentimental or lyrical, sad or satirical, what will you have? Will you sit and mock at fate, feelings or persons absent or present?” Rose hid a grin at Charlie’s patter. He sounded like a fairground barker.
Ana-Lucia offered him a slightly dangerous grin of her own. “Mockery, is it? Should I ask who you were making fun of? Isn’t that dangerous, to make yourself a target for revenge?”
Charlie gave her a bright, feral smile. “That’s been tried before, and I’m still here.” Rose found herself noticing how the angle of the sun illuminated white scars on Charlie’s tanned throat, and felt her smile falter. She remembered the scabs that had preceded those scars, and Charlie’s empty gaze, and the sound of gunshots carried on the wind. Bernard looked at her with concern, and she pushed the memory away and forced herself to smile reassuringly at him.
As she tuned back in to the conversation, Rose heard Charlie respond to some query of Ana’s: “Well, actually, a few days ago, I was doing some of that. I’d been talking to Sawyer about country dance-“
“To Sawyer?!?” Bernard interrupted.
“It was in some book he had and he couldn’t figure out what was going on, and he finally got desperate enough to ask the musician. It got me thinking about how many of the old dances had titles or tunes that could be paired up to people here. I had a bit of fun with it, for a while. Jack was easy since there are so many “Jack” tunes. I thought about Well Done, Jack, but then I remembered this one,” and here Charlie started playing a sprightly tune. As he ended, he looked up from the guitar with coy mischief and said, “Jack’s Maggot.”
They all laughed, and Ana Lucia gasped, “That’s what it’s called? For real? I can’t believe anyone would name a tune for a maggot.”
“It is claimed on good authority (though I’ve never checked it), that a ‘maggot’ is an old eighteenth-century term for a favorite, or a fancy, or a whim. I think it’s a bit of schoolboy slang that got fossilized unexpectedly, but it does tend to stick titles in the mind,” Charlie explained airily.
“Eighteenth-century, Charlie?” Rose put in. “Was that tune from that century, and if so, why were you learning it? What interest do you have in eighteenth-century dance music?”
“Early eighteenth-century, and I learned it because people are still dancing it. Not only do people get together to dance these things, they have a charming tradition of live music at their dances, and I have a strong interest in getting ensemble work and in getting paid. Both together is better still.”
“You play guitar for these dances?” Ana asked.
“No, piano, usually. They usually have piano, a fiddle, and some sort of woodwind at the dances. It varies according to who’s on the list, and sometimes musicians show up without being hired, just to get some ensemble practice in. It’s a great way to work and I’ve been out of the loop there for far too long. I should get back in. I miss ensemble work more than anything.” Charlie looked wistful, remembering.
“Is that why you chose the bass?” Rose asked. “I’ve thought, you never hear about bassists performing alone.”
“There’s some solos, but you’re right, you don’t play bass because you want to play alone. There’s an energy to playing with a band that I can’t really explain, but I love it.” Charlie looked away for a moment, then shook his head and said with determined energy, “anyway, Jack’s Maggot was easy. Then this one-Sun Assembly.” He played the tune, then switched to another as he continued speaking. “I thought about this one-The Female Sailor-for Kate, since she was so eager for a spot on the raft. Maybe Orleans Baffled for Sawyer, but I might think of a better one.”
“What about one for Claire?” Ana asked. Rose caught her glance up the beach, where the young mother stood, looking darkly at them. She was probably annoyed that Charlie’s presence kept her from joining the fun.
Charlie immediately started playing, then broke off, looking abashed. “No, maybe not-and please don’t tell her I thought that.”
“What was it? Give, Charlie,” Ana Lucia demanded with good humor. “It sounds lively enough, and I’m sure you have a worse one for me.”
“Well, no, I couldn’t think of anything good for you except maybe-but anyway, Claire’s was Jamaica-and don’t tell her that. She’s angry enough at me now.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It has words, and once I thought of it I couldn’t get it out of my head.” Charlie sighed. “It’s one of those ballads, you know, girl meets boy, girl gets pregnant, boy ships out for the West Indies-“ he stopped, blushing.
“It sounds too cheerful for that,” Rose objected.
“Well he comes back to marry her in time for the last verse. Of course, she’s a mum by then, but that’s how it goes.” Charlie strummed the tune again and sang,
“My belly is up, and my heart is down,
And my love is gone to Jamaica.”
“And what was mine?” Ana Lucia asked. “I’ll warn you, if it’s anything from Annie, Get Your Gun, you are going to die. Slowly.”
Charlie looked entranced at the idea. “The only thing saving you is I don’t know anything from that show. Until I’ve had time for parody, , study, try The Indian Queen, or maybe Spanish Jigg.” He played each of them.
“Take the jig,” was Bernard’s advice.
“I had Easter Morn picked out for Eko,” Charlie offered, switching tunes. The new one was low and deep, flowing into a lovely, longing second theme. Ana Lucia listened, and smiled with satisfaction.
“That’s Eko, all right,” she said. Finding suitable music for Eko seemed more important to her than her own tune. Charlie looked pleased at her approval and Rose found herself smiling at the connection between them. Ana could use a friend.
So could Charlie. Her eyes drifted back to where Claire had been standing. Maybe it was as well that was over. Charlie and Claire had made a very sweet couple, but Rose suspected it hadn’t been as fine between them as they had looked. The relationship had seemed to exaggerate Charlie’s already exaggerated eagerness to please and she couldn’t think of when she had seen him relaxed except when Claire had been off on her walks and he had been alone with the baby. Claire had seemed to enjoy having power over him and became puzzled and frustrated when her control over Charlie couldn’t force their relationship to be as she wanted. Rose shook her head. Claire might complain for lack of her bodyguard and babysitter, but Rose liked being entertained by this relaxed musician, his humor edged with a sparkle of sarcasm. She meant to be there when he came up with his parody for Ana Lucia so she could watch wit fly back and forth between them like a tennis ball at Wimbleton. Rose smiled at the thought, then her eye caught her husband’s and she felt her smile deepen with a bit of smug wickedness. Let Claire, and Ana too, look high and low for a good man, Rose had the best on the Island in her bed and no, she wasn’t going to share. She caught Bernard’s hand and turned to Charlie.
“Enough of dances for absent friends,” she said. “Present friends need a dance now. Maestro, a waltz, if you please.”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully for a moment, then he nodded and smiled. “Draper’s Gardens, or The Margravine’s Waltz, for the finest lady of our humble beach.” He and Bernard bowed to her as she raised an eyebrow at his flattery, but she didn’t have time to answer as her husband swept her down the beach far enough that they wouldn’t have to dodge stepping on the guitar case. They danced on the damp sand, with sweet music playing on one side and waves shushing on the other and every now and then, as they turned, Rose would catch a glimpse of Charlie bent over his guitar and Ana Lucia sitting beside him, watching them as if she were surprised to feel herself at home.
Author: sedauny
Fandom: Lost
Characters: Rose/Bernard, Charlie, Ana Lucia
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I'm playing in someone else's sandbox, and I promise to put all the toys back when I'm done
Summary: Stranded on an Island with no boombox, one is forced to improvise
Notes: None of the songs and dances are of my composing or naming. For any curious, samples of most of the country dance tunes named herein may be found at http://www.cds-boston.org/ecdc/
I haven't found samples of the Beggar's Opera online, but the text of the play is available through Wikipedia. The attentive will notice that Charlie has changed the pronouns in the finale.
**********
Late afternoon sunlight slanted over the beach as Rose sat gazing at the waves and thinking about the small stash of food she had gained from the food drop and how it would be used. She was proud of having scored some candy bars for Bernard, and had gained some canned potatoes that would be a welcome contrast to the fish, coconut, and fruit that were the Island staples. She hoped some of her other choices would be good bargaining chips. Most of the cans in the drop were too large for her and Bernard to finish before the contents spoiled, so she was planning to offer shares to other survivors in exchange for shares of their stashes. Communal cooking would probably make the best use of the provisions...her thoughts were interrupted when Bernard came over and caught her arm.
His eyes were bright with pleasure as he spoke. “Sweetheart, come on. Charlie’s back, he’s got his guitar, and it’s time for a belated birthday concert. I think he’ll take requests for a pretty lady’s smile, and yours is the prettiest around.”
“Bernard! That will be lovely; it reminds me of our night in Niagara.” Rose leaned into her husband’s side, smiling softly at the memory of soft music, a nervous date, and a ring. “Do you think we can get a waltz out of that rocker? I want a birthday dance with my man and I don’t mean one of those wild whatever-it-is they’re doing this year.”
“He’s not a musician if he can’t play a waltz.” Bernard wrapped his arm around her shoulders and they strolled over to where Charlie sat frowning at the sand and playing one of the fast, intricate little tunes Rose had heard him use for fingering practice. She noted he was not too far off to the side of the beach, which, she knew, meant he was not trying to concentrate exclusively on his practicing and would be willing to stop and chat-and take requests.
Charlie started when they sat down next to him. He had been deep enough in his work that he hadn’t heard them approach. “Rose, Bernard, was I bothering you? No, you look like you have ideas for me. Do I dare ask?”
“I want a love song, Charlie, for my lovely bride. An old love song, for my ancient years-the oldest you know.” Rose smiled at the look Bernard gave her. The smile changed to a grin when she saw the look change to one of playful challenge as he transferred it to Charlie, who returned it in kind. Charlie’s eyes lost focus for a moment, then his gaze sharpened and he struck a chord on the guitar, then stilled the strings and sang:
“Western wind, when wilt thou blow,
The small rain down can rain.
Christ, that my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again.”
“Watch out, Bernard, he knows medieval songs! And here I was afraid you wouldn’t know anything earlier than the ‘60s.” Rose laughed as Bernard bowed to Charlie, yielding him the point.
Charlie grinned back at her as he answered, “The ‘60s? You mean 1560s or 1660s? Or would you like something more modern?”
“I’m fond of love songs and love songs belong in musicals, which are a particular favorite of mine. What’s the point of living in New York if you don’t go to shows? Keeping to the category of old love songs, I want one that’s also a show tune.” Charlie accepted Rose’s challenge and his brow creased in concentration. Then he brightened with delight and started playing.
“Were I laid on Greenland’s coast,
Yet in my arms embraced my lass:
Warm amidst eternal frost,
Too soon the half year’s night would pass.
“Were I sold on Indian soil,
Soon as the burning day was clos’d,
I would mock the sultry toil,
When on my charmer’s breast reposed.”
Rose smiled, recognizing the tune, and Charlie grinned back as he sang the chorus:
“And I would love you all the day,
Every night would kiss and play,
If with me you’d fondly stray,
Over the hills and far away.”
“John Gay has not lived in vain, if even rock stars know the Beggar’s Opera.” Rose looked at Bernard. “We did that show when I was in college, dear.”
“Let me guess. You were Polly Peachum?” Rose waved away Bernard’s gallant suggestion.
“Never the lead, I was the stage manager, actually. I don’t remember who played Polly, but my best friend had the role of Lucy Lockit.” A commotion further back on the beach caught their attention, and all three looked to see what was happening.
“Here comes our own Lucia Lockit. Glad to see she’s back from the hatch in one piece.” Despite his bad joke, Charlie did look pleased to see Ana Lucia striding over to the knot of people clustered around Jack. Rose could see Kate and Nikki contending for his attention with Claire and Sun standing on the sidelines waiting their turns. Jack looked harried as he turned back and forth amidst all the women. Charlie, watching, suddenly spluttered with laughter. He started playing again, but was laughing so hard it took three tries to find his key. He caught Rose’s eye with a look of pure mischief as he sang:
“Thus he stands like the Turk, with his doxies around;
From all sides their glances his passion confound:
For black, brown, and fair, his inconstancy burns,
And the different beauties subdue him by turns:
Each calls forth her charms to provoke his desires-“
By a genius of timing, as Charlie sang, here Ana Lucia gave up and came down the beach towards them, while behind her, Jack took Kate’s arm and walked away.
“-Though willing to all, with but one he retires.
So think of this maxim, and put off your sorrow,
The wretch of today may be happy tomorrow!”
“Looks like this is the best place on the beach to be right now. No one else is having much fun,” Ana Lucia said as she stopped by Charlie. Rose didn’t think she could have heard any of the song beyond the final couplet and unless she was another secret fan of John Gay she wouldn’t know what it was. Rose didn’t know Ana as well as Bernard did-didn’t know her at all, really, and had no idea how she’d take the idea of being compared to an Ottoman concubine. Charlie didn’t seem fazed.
“Indeed it is. I have songs of all descriptions on offer: sentimental or lyrical, sad or satirical, what will you have? Will you sit and mock at fate, feelings or persons absent or present?” Rose hid a grin at Charlie’s patter. He sounded like a fairground barker.
Ana-Lucia offered him a slightly dangerous grin of her own. “Mockery, is it? Should I ask who you were making fun of? Isn’t that dangerous, to make yourself a target for revenge?”
Charlie gave her a bright, feral smile. “That’s been tried before, and I’m still here.” Rose found herself noticing how the angle of the sun illuminated white scars on Charlie’s tanned throat, and felt her smile falter. She remembered the scabs that had preceded those scars, and Charlie’s empty gaze, and the sound of gunshots carried on the wind. Bernard looked at her with concern, and she pushed the memory away and forced herself to smile reassuringly at him.
As she tuned back in to the conversation, Rose heard Charlie respond to some query of Ana’s: “Well, actually, a few days ago, I was doing some of that. I’d been talking to Sawyer about country dance-“
“To Sawyer?!?” Bernard interrupted.
“It was in some book he had and he couldn’t figure out what was going on, and he finally got desperate enough to ask the musician. It got me thinking about how many of the old dances had titles or tunes that could be paired up to people here. I had a bit of fun with it, for a while. Jack was easy since there are so many “Jack” tunes. I thought about Well Done, Jack, but then I remembered this one,” and here Charlie started playing a sprightly tune. As he ended, he looked up from the guitar with coy mischief and said, “Jack’s Maggot.”
They all laughed, and Ana Lucia gasped, “That’s what it’s called? For real? I can’t believe anyone would name a tune for a maggot.”
“It is claimed on good authority (though I’ve never checked it), that a ‘maggot’ is an old eighteenth-century term for a favorite, or a fancy, or a whim. I think it’s a bit of schoolboy slang that got fossilized unexpectedly, but it does tend to stick titles in the mind,” Charlie explained airily.
“Eighteenth-century, Charlie?” Rose put in. “Was that tune from that century, and if so, why were you learning it? What interest do you have in eighteenth-century dance music?”
“Early eighteenth-century, and I learned it because people are still dancing it. Not only do people get together to dance these things, they have a charming tradition of live music at their dances, and I have a strong interest in getting ensemble work and in getting paid. Both together is better still.”
“You play guitar for these dances?” Ana asked.
“No, piano, usually. They usually have piano, a fiddle, and some sort of woodwind at the dances. It varies according to who’s on the list, and sometimes musicians show up without being hired, just to get some ensemble practice in. It’s a great way to work and I’ve been out of the loop there for far too long. I should get back in. I miss ensemble work more than anything.” Charlie looked wistful, remembering.
“Is that why you chose the bass?” Rose asked. “I’ve thought, you never hear about bassists performing alone.”
“There’s some solos, but you’re right, you don’t play bass because you want to play alone. There’s an energy to playing with a band that I can’t really explain, but I love it.” Charlie looked away for a moment, then shook his head and said with determined energy, “anyway, Jack’s Maggot was easy. Then this one-Sun Assembly.” He played the tune, then switched to another as he continued speaking. “I thought about this one-The Female Sailor-for Kate, since she was so eager for a spot on the raft. Maybe Orleans Baffled for Sawyer, but I might think of a better one.”
“What about one for Claire?” Ana asked. Rose caught her glance up the beach, where the young mother stood, looking darkly at them. She was probably annoyed that Charlie’s presence kept her from joining the fun.
Charlie immediately started playing, then broke off, looking abashed. “No, maybe not-and please don’t tell her I thought that.”
“What was it? Give, Charlie,” Ana Lucia demanded with good humor. “It sounds lively enough, and I’m sure you have a worse one for me.”
“Well, no, I couldn’t think of anything good for you except maybe-but anyway, Claire’s was Jamaica-and don’t tell her that. She’s angry enough at me now.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It has words, and once I thought of it I couldn’t get it out of my head.” Charlie sighed. “It’s one of those ballads, you know, girl meets boy, girl gets pregnant, boy ships out for the West Indies-“ he stopped, blushing.
“It sounds too cheerful for that,” Rose objected.
“Well he comes back to marry her in time for the last verse. Of course, she’s a mum by then, but that’s how it goes.” Charlie strummed the tune again and sang,
“My belly is up, and my heart is down,
And my love is gone to Jamaica.”
“And what was mine?” Ana Lucia asked. “I’ll warn you, if it’s anything from Annie, Get Your Gun, you are going to die. Slowly.”
Charlie looked entranced at the idea. “The only thing saving you is I don’t know anything from that show. Until I’ve had time for parody, , study, try The Indian Queen, or maybe Spanish Jigg.” He played each of them.
“Take the jig,” was Bernard’s advice.
“I had Easter Morn picked out for Eko,” Charlie offered, switching tunes. The new one was low and deep, flowing into a lovely, longing second theme. Ana Lucia listened, and smiled with satisfaction.
“That’s Eko, all right,” she said. Finding suitable music for Eko seemed more important to her than her own tune. Charlie looked pleased at her approval and Rose found herself smiling at the connection between them. Ana could use a friend.
So could Charlie. Her eyes drifted back to where Claire had been standing. Maybe it was as well that was over. Charlie and Claire had made a very sweet couple, but Rose suspected it hadn’t been as fine between them as they had looked. The relationship had seemed to exaggerate Charlie’s already exaggerated eagerness to please and she couldn’t think of when she had seen him relaxed except when Claire had been off on her walks and he had been alone with the baby. Claire had seemed to enjoy having power over him and became puzzled and frustrated when her control over Charlie couldn’t force their relationship to be as she wanted. Rose shook her head. Claire might complain for lack of her bodyguard and babysitter, but Rose liked being entertained by this relaxed musician, his humor edged with a sparkle of sarcasm. She meant to be there when he came up with his parody for Ana Lucia so she could watch wit fly back and forth between them like a tennis ball at Wimbleton. Rose smiled at the thought, then her eye caught her husband’s and she felt her smile deepen with a bit of smug wickedness. Let Claire, and Ana too, look high and low for a good man, Rose had the best on the Island in her bed and no, she wasn’t going to share. She caught Bernard’s hand and turned to Charlie.
“Enough of dances for absent friends,” she said. “Present friends need a dance now. Maestro, a waltz, if you please.”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully for a moment, then he nodded and smiled. “Draper’s Gardens, or The Margravine’s Waltz, for the finest lady of our humble beach.” He and Bernard bowed to her as she raised an eyebrow at his flattery, but she didn’t have time to answer as her husband swept her down the beach far enough that they wouldn’t have to dodge stepping on the guitar case. They danced on the damp sand, with sweet music playing on one side and waves shushing on the other and every now and then, as they turned, Rose would catch a glimpse of Charlie bent over his guitar and Ana Lucia sitting beside him, watching them as if she were surprised to feel herself at home.