to know—and then you can do what you please. Louisa always did. I’ll be calling back to hear the happy—”
Elizabeth listened for a few moments to the dead line, not wanting to hang up. After putting the phone down, she walked over to the closet. She hesitated before opening it and again as she stared at the black case. At last she pulled out the delicate violin with its dark brown belly and long black neck. She cradled it in her arms as she adjusted the tension on the bow and placed it under her chin. She drew the bow across and then stopped to tune each of the four strings.
The feeling of the instrument came back to her as she began to play Professor Maddings’s favorite piece, “Adagio for Strings” by Samuel Barber. He had said it intensified all emotion—joy or sadness, grief or exultation. Often she and three other graduate students had played it with Professor Maddings in the middle of a particularly thorny bit of analysis. He would tell them to rest the left hemisphere of their brain and relax into their right, to go beyond reason, beyond thought and into feeling and understanding. These were rehearsals of what he called his “research quartet.”
As she played, tears began to fall down her cheeks. She recalled a story Professor Maddings had told her about a pilot whale who had grieved the death of a dolphin that was his companion for many years. The whale had fought the trainers when they tried to take the body away. Elizabeth was not willing to give up yet, either.
SEVENTEEN
2:00 P.M.
Eight days later
Sunday, February 25
La Pompe, Bequia
T OKUJIRO K AZUMI approached the small blue house with Nilsen. He had told the Norwegian just to smile and leave the conversation to him. Nilsen could sometimes be a bit trigger-happy. Kazumi knew there would be no need for guns or threats.
He pushed back his receding gray hair and then wiped the perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief. His full eyebrows were still black, not gray, and peaked like an owl’s. Kazumi thought about what he needed to do and felt a pang of shame. As a boy at boarding school he had dreamed of becoming so much more, of showing his English schoolmates that he was their equal. But it hadn’t quite worked out. He had encountered prejudice throughout the Japanese government bureaucracy toward a “haafu”—a half-Japanese. He had taken the job in the Resource Management Department without conviction, but now he saw the righteousness of their cause, fighting against the cultural imperialists. Did they tell Americans not to eat hamburgers?
As he walked down the dirt path, he looked over to the small structure that the American researcher had rented from this family. He had always known that she was going to be a problem. Fortunately, their man at the university had been responsive to his concerns. But now they had an even bigger problem.
At the house, Kazumi waved away the cigarette smoke that hung around Nilsen like a perpetual gray cloud. A dog barked, and the door opened almost before he knocked. Standing in it was Milton Mulraine, a local fisherman and Elizabeth’s research assistant.
The brown-haired dog wagged its tail and jumped on Kazumi’s leg, licking his hand. Tears sprang to Kazumi’s eyes as he remembered Kioko, who had died just the year before. He choked back his feelings and tried to smile. “You must be…Mr. Mulraine?” he said.
“Who want to know?”
“My name is Tokujiro Kazumi, and I am the executive director of the Japanese Fisheries Development Department. We are also the main sponsor of your new school.” He gestured to the construction site across the street and the sign that proudly announced its donor country with a bright red circle. “I believe your own children are some of the top pupils. Am I correct?”
“You got that right,” Milton said, standing taller.
“This is my colleague Halvard Nilsen.” Nilsen, who as always looked like he needed a shave, nodded inscrutably. “May
Elizabeth listened for a few moments to the dead line, not wanting to hang up. After putting the phone down, she walked over to the closet. She hesitated before opening it and again as she stared at the black case. At last she pulled out the delicate violin with its dark brown belly and long black neck. She cradled it in her arms as she adjusted the tension on the bow and placed it under her chin. She drew the bow across and then stopped to tune each of the four strings.
The feeling of the instrument came back to her as she began to play Professor Maddings’s favorite piece, “Adagio for Strings” by Samuel Barber. He had said it intensified all emotion—joy or sadness, grief or exultation. Often she and three other graduate students had played it with Professor Maddings in the middle of a particularly thorny bit of analysis. He would tell them to rest the left hemisphere of their brain and relax into their right, to go beyond reason, beyond thought and into feeling and understanding. These were rehearsals of what he called his “research quartet.”
As she played, tears began to fall down her cheeks. She recalled a story Professor Maddings had told her about a pilot whale who had grieved the death of a dolphin that was his companion for many years. The whale had fought the trainers when they tried to take the body away. Elizabeth was not willing to give up yet, either.
SEVENTEEN
2:00 P.M.
Eight days later
Sunday, February 25
La Pompe, Bequia
T OKUJIRO K AZUMI approached the small blue house with Nilsen. He had told the Norwegian just to smile and leave the conversation to him. Nilsen could sometimes be a bit trigger-happy. Kazumi knew there would be no need for guns or threats.
He pushed back his receding gray hair and then wiped the perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief. His full eyebrows were still black, not gray, and peaked like an owl’s. Kazumi thought about what he needed to do and felt a pang of shame. As a boy at boarding school he had dreamed of becoming so much more, of showing his English schoolmates that he was their equal. But it hadn’t quite worked out. He had encountered prejudice throughout the Japanese government bureaucracy toward a “haafu”—a half-Japanese. He had taken the job in the Resource Management Department without conviction, but now he saw the righteousness of their cause, fighting against the cultural imperialists. Did they tell Americans not to eat hamburgers?
As he walked down the dirt path, he looked over to the small structure that the American researcher had rented from this family. He had always known that she was going to be a problem. Fortunately, their man at the university had been responsive to his concerns. But now they had an even bigger problem.
At the house, Kazumi waved away the cigarette smoke that hung around Nilsen like a perpetual gray cloud. A dog barked, and the door opened almost before he knocked. Standing in it was Milton Mulraine, a local fisherman and Elizabeth’s research assistant.
The brown-haired dog wagged its tail and jumped on Kazumi’s leg, licking his hand. Tears sprang to Kazumi’s eyes as he remembered Kioko, who had died just the year before. He choked back his feelings and tried to smile. “You must be…Mr. Mulraine?” he said.
“Who want to know?”
“My name is Tokujiro Kazumi, and I am the executive director of the Japanese Fisheries Development Department. We are also the main sponsor of your new school.” He gestured to the construction site across the street and the sign that proudly announced its donor country with a bright red circle. “I believe your own children are some of the top pupils. Am I correct?”
“You got that right,” Milton said, standing taller.
“This is my colleague Halvard Nilsen.” Nilsen, who as always looked like he needed a shave, nodded inscrutably. “May
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