Cloud Atlas

by David Mitchell

The well-dressed man on the telephone, pallid for this tanned city, repeats the inquiry: “Cloud Atlas Sextet…Robert Frobisher…As a matter of fact I have heard of it, though I’ve never laid my sticky paws on an actual pressing.… Frobisher was a wunderkind, he died just as he got going.… Let me see here, I’ve got a list from a dealer in San Fran who specializes in rarities.… Franck, Fitzroy, Frobisher…Here we go, even a little footnote.… Only five hundred recordings pressed…in Holland, before the war, my, no wonder it’s rare.… The dealer has a copy of an acetate, made in the fifties…by a liquidated French outfit. Cloud Atlas Sextet must bring the kiss of death to all who take it on.… I’ll try, he had one as of a month ago, but no promises on the sound quality, and I must warn you, cheap it ain’t.… It’s quoted here at…one hundred twenty dollars…plus our commission at ten percent, that makes…It is? Okay, I’ll take your name down.… Ray who? Oh, Miss R-E-Y, so sorry. Normally we ask for a deposit, but you’ve got an honest voice. A few days. You’re welcome now.”