It is still light. There are other things that remain unsaid—he knows this, but his pen trembles when he brings them close to the page.

Khin Myo stood at the edge of the willow tree. Her face was drawn. “Mr. Drake,” she said. He looked up. “Doctor Carroll sent me to find you. Please, come. And hurry. He says it’s important.”

19

Edgar folded the letter and followed Khin Myo up from the river. She said nothing, but left him at the door of the headquarters and walked quickly back down the trail.

Inside, he found the Doctor at the window, staring out over the camp. He turned. “Mr. Drake, please, sit down.” He motioned to a chair, and sat on the other side of the broad desk he had used for the amputation. “Sorry to disturb you, you seemed so peaceful by the river. You more than anyone deserve a moment of repose. You played beautifully.”

“It was a technical piece.”

“That was far more than a technical piece.”

“And the sawbwa?” Edgar asked. “One can only hope that he felt the same.” The Prince had left that morning on a throne mounted to an elephant’s back, the flash of his sequins disappearing into the greenery of the jungle. He was flanked on either side by horsemen, their ponies’ tails dyed red.

“Charmed. He wanted to hear you play again. But I insisted that there would be better times for that.”

“Did you get the treaty you were asking for?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked for it yet. Directness rarely works with the princes. I merely told him of our position and asked nothing, we shared a meal, and you played. The, let us say, ‘consummation’ of our courtship will have to await approval of the other princes. But with the sawbwa’s support, our chances of a treaty are better.” He leaned forward. “I brought you to my office to ask your further assistance.”

“Doctor, I can’t play again.”

“No, Mr. Drake, this time it has nothing to do with pianos, and all to do with war, regardless of my poetics on the meeting of the two. Tomorrow night there will be a meeting of Shan princes in Mongpu, north of here. I want you to accompany me there.”

“Accompany you? In what capacity?”

“Company, only. It is half a day’s journey, and the meeting should only last a day or a night, depending on when they begin. We will travel by horseback. You should at least join us for the journey—it is one of the most scenic in the Shan States.”

Edgar began to speak, but the Doctor gave him no time to refuse. “We will leave tomorrow.” It was only when he was outside that he realized Carroll hadn’t invited him out of camp since their trip to the ravine that sang.

He spent the remainder of the evening by the river thinking, bothered by the suddenness of the trip, by the urgency he sensed in the Doctor’s voice. He thought of Khin Myo and their walk in the rain, Perhaps he doesn’t want us together. But he dismissed this, There is something else, I have done nothing wrong, nothing improper.

Clouds came. In the Salween, women beat the clothes against the rocks.

They left the following afternoon. For the first time since Edgar arrived, the Doctor wore his officer’s uniform: a scarlet jacket with black braids and his gold rank badge. It gave him a regal and imposing air; his hair was combed, dark and oiled. Khin Myo came out to say good-bye, and Edgar watched her closely as she stood and spoke to the Doctor in a mixture of Burmese and English. Carroll listened, and took the sardine tin from his breast pocket and selected a cheroot. When Khin Myo turned at last to Edgar, she didn’t smile, but only stared as if she seemed not to see him. The ponies were washed and groomed, but the flowers had been taken from their manes.

They rode out of camp, accompanied by Nok Lek and four other Shan on ponies, all holding rifles. They followed the main trail up the ridge, and turned north. It was a beautiful day, cool with echoes of the rain. The Doctor carried his helmet on the saddle and smoked pensively as he rode.

Edgar said nothing, but thought of the letter he had written to Katherine, folded in the confines of his bag.

“You are unusually quiet today, Mr. Drake,” said the Doctor.

“Only daydreaming. I wrote to my wife for the first time since I arrived in Mae Lwin. About the performance, the piano…”

They rode. “It’s strange,” the Doctor said at last.

“What’s strange.”

“Your love of the Erard. You are the first Englishman who has not asked me why I want a piano in Mae Lwin.”

Edgar turned. “Why? Oh, it has never been a mystery to me. I have never seen a place more worthy.” He drifted into silence again. “No,” he said. “I wonder more why Jam here.”

The Doctor looked at him askance. “And I thought you and that piano were inseparable.” He laughed.

Edgar joined him. “No, no…It must seem that way at times. But I am serious now. It must have been weeks since I completed my commission. Shouldn’t I have left long ago?”

“I think that is a question for you to answer.” The Doctor tapped dark ashes from the end of the cheroot. “I have not held you here.”

“No,” Edgar persisted. “But you haven’t encouraged me to leave, either. I expected to be asked to go, as soon as the piano was tuned. Remember, I am ‘quite a risk’—those were your words, I believe.”

“I enjoy your company, our conversations. It is well worth the risk.”

“To talk about music? I am flattered, but really, there must be more than that. Besides, there are those who know music much better than I, men in India, in Calcutta, in Burma even. Or if you merely wanted conversation, naturalists, anthropologists. Why would you make such an effort for me to stay? There could be others.”

“There have been others.”

Edgar turned to face the Doctor. “Visitors, you mean?”

“I have been here for twelve years. Others have come, naturalists, anthropologists, as you say. They came and stayed, never for a long time, only long enough to collect samples, or make sketches, and expostulate on some theory or another on how the biology, the culture, the history of the Shan States fit into their opinions. Then they returned home.”

“I find that hard to believe. It is so enchanting here…”

“I think you are answering your own question, Mr. Drake.”

They stopped at the top of a rise to watch a flock of birds take flight.

“There is a piano tuner in Rangoon,” said Carroll when they began to move again. “I knew that long before I sent for you. He is a missionary, the army doesn’t know he tunes pianos, but I met him once long ago. He would have come, had I asked.”

“I imagine that would have saved everyone a lot of effort.”

“It would have. And he would have come and stayed briefly. And left. I wanted someone for whom this would be new. I don’t mean to mislead you, of course: that was not my primary intention in bringing you here.” He waved the cigar. “No, I wanted to have my piano tuned by the best tuner of Erard pianos in London, and I knew this request would force the army to acknowledge how much they depend on me, that they know my methods work, that music, like force, can bring peace. But I also knew that if someone did make the journey all the way here to answer my request, it would be someone who believed in music as I did.”

“And if I hadn’t come?” asked Edgar. “You didn’t know me, you couldn’t have been certain.”

“Someone else, more visitors, perhaps the missionary from Rangoon. And they would have gone home after several days.”

Edgar saw the Doctor stare into the distance. “Have you ever thought of returning home?” he asked.

“Of course. I remember England very fondly.”

“You do?”

“It’s my home.”