The secretary general lifted a hand to stop him. “The UN can have none of classical music’s arrogance. You’ve erected a bridge from classical music to the masses, and so must we bring humanity’s highest ideals directly to the common people. That’s why you were invited here tonight. Believe me, when I first heard your music under the sweltering sun in Africa, I had the feeling of standing in a ditch looking up at the stars. It was intoxicating.”

Clayderman gestured toward the leaders on the lawn. “It feels more like a family gathering than a UN event.”

The secretary general looked over the crowd. “On this lawn, for tonight at least, we have realized a utopia.”

She crossed the lawn and reached the front row. It was a glorious evening. She had planned on switching off her political sixth sense and just relaxing for once, taking her place as an ordinary member of the audience, but this proved impossible. That sense had picked up a situation: The president of China, engaged in conversation with the president of the United States, looked up at the sky for a moment. The act itself was utterly unremarkable, but the secretary general noticed that it was a little on the long side, perhaps just an extra second or two, but she’d noticed it. When the secretary general sat down after shaking hands with the other world leaders in the front row, the Chinese president looked up at the sky again, confirming his perception. Where national leaders are concerned, apparently random actions are in fact highly precise, and under normal circumstances, this act would not have been repeated. The US president also noticed it.

“The lights of New York wash out the stars. The sky’s far brighter than this over DC,” he said.

The Chinese president nodded but said nothing.

The US president went on, “I like looking at the stars, too. In the ever-changing course of history, our profession needs an immovable reference object.”

“That object is an illusion,” the Chinese president said.

“Why do you say that?”

Instead of responding directly, the Chinese president pointed at a cluster of stars that had just come out. “Look, that’s the Southern Cross, and that’s Canis Major.”

The US president smiled. “You’ve proven they’re immovable enough. Ten thousand years ago, primitive man would have seen the same Southern Cross and Canis Major as we do today. They may have even come up with those names.”

“No, Mr. President. In fact, the sky might even have been different just yesterday.” The Chinese president looked up for a third time. He remained calm, but the steel in his eyes made the other two nervous. They looked at the same placid sky they had seen so many times before; nothing seemed wrong. They looked questioningly at the Chinese president.

“The two constellations I just noted should only be visible from the southern hemisphere,” he said without pointing them out or looking upward. He turned thoughtfully toward the horizon.