He could tell him this, and he would, eventually, but he reminded himself there was no need to rush things either.

Besides, he thought, I have only just arrived.

15

Doctor Carroll didn’t return the next day as planned, nor the day after that. The camp seemed empty and Edgar saw neither Nok Lek nor Khin Myo. He was surprised that he thought of her only now, that he been so absorbed in the excitement surrounding the piano. He had seen her only once in the few days since their arrival. Then she had passed him while he was with the Doctor, had nodded politely and stopped to whisper something to Carroll in Burmese. She stood close to the Doctor when she spoke and looked past him to Edgar, who quickly shifted his gaze out to the river. He had tried to see if there was something in their interaction, a touch or shared smile. But she only bowed slightly, and moved off gracefully down the trail.

He spent the morning making minor adjustments to the Erard, fine-tuning some of the strings, touching up areas on the soundboard that had not been covered with enough resin. But he soon tired of the work. The piano was well tuned—perhaps not his finest job, he conceded, as he didn’t have all the tools he needed—but there were few other improvements that could further help the piano, given the circumstances.

It was noon when he left the Erard and walked down to the Salween. By the river, several men stood out on jagged rocks that jutted into the water, casting fishing nets, crouching, waiting. He laid out a blanket and sat in the shade of a willow and watched two women beating clothes against a rock, naked save for their hta mains that had been pulled up and tied around their chests in modesty. He wondered if this was a Shan custom or merely an English import.

His mind wandered, aimlessly, from the river, over the mountains, to Mandalay, farther. He wondered what the army thought of his absence. Perhaps it hasn’t even been noticed, he thought, for Khin Myo has also gone, and Captain Nash-Burnham is in Rangoon, and he wondered, How many days have I been away? He hoped they had not contacted Katherine, for certainly she would worry, and he could comfort himself only with the thought that she was far away, and that news traveled slowly. He tried to calculate how long he had been away from home, but was surprised when he realized that he wasn’t even certain how long he had been in Mae Lwin. The trip across the Shan Plateau seemed without time, a moment, a kaleidoscope of silver temples and deep jungle, muddied rivers and swiftly riding ponies.

Without time, Edgar thought, and he thought of the world outside suspended, It is as if I have left London only this morning. He liked the idea, Perhaps this is so, Indeed my watch stopped in Rangoon, In England Katherine is only now returning home from the docks, Our bed still holds the fading warmth of two bodies, Perhaps it will still be warm when I return. And his thoughts pushed forward, One day I will climb out of the valley of the Salween and walk back across the hills to Mandalay, and I will sit one more night and watch the yôkthe pwè, and this time the story will be different, a story of return, and I will take the steamer back down the river, and there I will meet soldiers and over gin I will add my tales to theirs. Forward, The trip will be faster now, for we will travel with the current, and in Rangoon I will return to the Shwedagon and I will see how the turmeric-painted woman’s baby has grown, I will board another steamer, and my bags will be heavier for I will carry gifts of silver necklaces and embroidered cloth, and musical instruments for a new collection. On the steamer I will spend my days staring at the same mountains I saw when I arrived, only this time I will stand on the starboard side, The train will speed across India as before, it will climb away from the Ganges like a prayer, the sun will rise behind us and set before us, and we will chase it, Perhaps somewhere, at some lonely station, I will hear the end of the Poet-Wallah’s story. In the Red Sea I will meet a man, and I will tell him I have heard songs, but not his. In the Red Sea, it will be dry, and the humidity will be drawn from my watch in invisible vapors, it will begin to work again, ticking, The time is no later than the day I departed.

He heard the sound of footsteps enter his daydream, and turned. Khin Myo stood in the shade of the willow. “May I join you?”

“Ma Khin Myo. What a pleasant surprise,” he said, pulled from his reverie. “Please, please sit down.” He made a space for her on the blanket. When she had sat and smoothed her hta main over her legs, he said, “I was just thinking about you earlier today. You vanished. I have hardly seen you since we arrived.”

“I left you and the Doctor alone. I know you have work to do.”

“I have been busy, I know. I regretted not seeing you, though.” His words felt somehow stilted, and he added, “I enjoyed our conversations in Mandalay, on the way here.” He wanted to say something else, but felt a sudden awkwardness about her being there. He had almost forgotten how attractive she was. Her hair was brushed back and fastened with a needle of ivory. Her blouse rustled lightly in the breeze that slipped through the willow branches. Below the damascene border of the sleeves, her arms were bare, and she held her hands folded together on her hta main.

“Nok Lek told me that you had finished,” she said.

“This morning, I think, although there is still some work remaining. The piano was in serious disrepair.”

“Doctor Carroll told me so. I think he feels it was his fault.” He noticed that she tilted her head slightly from side to side when she joked, a habit he had seen in many of the Indians. He had seen her do it before, but was particularly struck by it now. It was quite subtle, as if she was enjoying an inner joke that was much funnier, and much more profound, than her words suggested.

“I know. He shouldn’t, though. I am quite pleased. The piano will sound wonderful.”

“He did say that you seemed happy.” She smiled, and turned to him. “Do you know what you will do, now?”

“Now?”

“Now that you have finished. Will you return to Mandalay?” she asked.

He laughed. “Will I? Why of course—I must eventually. Perhaps not right away. I want to wait to be certain the piano has no other problems. And after that, it is only fair that after this long trip, I will get to hear it in a performance. But then—I don’t know.”

They both were silent and turned to look toward the river. Out of the corner of his eye, Edgar saw her look down suddenly, as if embarrassed by a thought, and run her finger along the iridescent silk of her skirt. He turned to her. “Is everything all right?”

She blushed. “Of course, I was just thinking of something else.” Silence again, and then suddenly she added, “You are different.”

Edgar swallowed, startled. She had spoken so softly that he had to ask himself if it was her voice or but the rustling of the branches. “I’m sorry?”

She said, “I have been with you for many hours, in Mandalay, traveling. Most other visitors would have told me about themselves within minutes. And yet I only know that you are from England, and that you have come to tune the piano.” She played with the edge of her hta main. Edgar wondered if it was a sign of nervousness, as an Englishman would finger his hat in his hands.

“I am sorry if I am too direct, Mr. Drake,” she added when he didn’t answer. “Please don’t be offended.”

“No, I don’t mind,” he said. But he wasn’t certain how to respond. He found himself surprised at the question, but even more that she, who had been so reserved before, had asked it. “I am not used to being asked about myself. Especially not by…” he paused.

“Not by a woman?”