The children were waiting by the door when he opened it. Seeing him, they fled down the walkway. In their hurry, one boy tripped and the others fell on top of him. Edgar reached down, picked up one of the boys, and, tickling him, threw him over his shoulder, now surprised by his sudden playfulness. The other children stayed at his side, emboldened by the realization that the tall foreigner had only enough arms for one package and one squirming child.
On the steps Edgar nearly collided with an older Shan boy. “Mr. Drake, Doctor Carroll want you. He eat breakfast.” He shifted his eyes to the child who stared at him upside down from Edgar’s shoulder. He scolded him in Shan. The children laughed.
“Don’t be angry,” said Edgar. “It is my fault entirely. We were wrestling…”
“Wrestling?”
“Never mind,” said Edgar, now slightly embarrassed. He put the boy down and the group scattered like birds released from a cage. Straightening his shirt and brushing his hair to the side with his fingers, he followed the boy down the stairs.
When they reached the clearing, he stopped. The dark blue shadows of last night’s memory had become blossoming flowers, hanging orchids, roses, hibiscus. Butterflies flew everywhere, flittering, tiny pieces of color that filled the air like parade confetti. In the open space, children played with a ball made of woven cane, shouting as it bounced whimsically over the rough ground.
They walked through the brush and onto the sandy bank, where Doctor Carroll sat at a small table set for two. He was dressed in a crisp white linen shirt, rolled up at the cuffs. His hair was combed neatly, and he smiled as the piano tuner approached. In the sunlight, Edgar was immediately reminded of the photo of the Doctor that he had seen back in London. It must have been taken twenty years earlier, but he instantly recognized the broad shoulders, the strong nose and jaw, the neatly combed hair and the dark mustache, now speckled with gray. Something else was familiar from the photo as well, a movement, an elusiveness, a sense of animation in the blue eyes. The Doctor held out his hand. “Good morning, Mr. Drake.” His grip was strong and his hands rough. “I trust you have slept well.”
“Like a baby, Doctor. Until some of the children found my room.”
The Doctor laughed. “Oh, you will get used to that.”
“I do hope so. It has been a long time since I woke to the sound of children.”
“Do you have children yourself?”
“No, sadly, never. I do have nieces and nephews.”
One of the boys pulled out a chair for him. The river flowed by swiftly, brown and spotted with foam. Edgar had expected to see Khin Myo, but the Doctor was alone. At first her absence struck him as somewhat odd, as she had also been summoned from Mandalay. He thought to ask the Doctor about this, but the question made him uncomfortable. She had said nothing to him on their journey about why she was coming, and she had disappeared so quickly when they arrived.
The Doctor motioned to the package in Edgar’s hands. “Have you brought something?”
“Of course. I am sorry. Music sheets. You have admirable taste.”
“You opened the package?” The Doctor arched an eyebrow.
Edgar blushed. “Yes, I’m sorry, I suppose I shouldn’t have. But…well, I admit I was curious what sort of music you had requested.” The Doctor said nothing, so Edgar added, “Impressive choices…but then some others, unlabeled, which I didn’t recognize, notes that didn’t seem to make much musical sense…”
The Doctor laughed. “It is Shan music. I am trying to put it to the piano. I transcribe it and send it home, where a friend, a composer, makes some adaptations and sends it back. I always wondered what someone who read them would think…Cheroot?” He unwrapped a sardine tin from a handkerchief to reveal a line of rolled cigars of the kind he was smoking the night before.
“No thank you. I don’t smoke.”
“Pity. There is nothing better. A woman in the village rolls these for me. She boils the tobacco in palm sugar and lines it with vanilla and cinnamon and Lord knows what other nepenthe. They dry in the sun. There is a Burmese story of a girl who dried the cheroots she made for her sweetheart by keeping them warm against her body…Alas, I am not so lucky.” He smiled. “Tea, perhaps?”
Edgar thanked him and Carroll nodded to one of the boys, who brought a silver teapot and filled his cup. Another boy set plates of food on the table: small cakes of rice, a bowl of crushed peppers, and an unopened jar of marmalade that Edgar suspected had been brought out only for him.
The Doctor took a cheroot from the tin and lit it. He took several puffs. Even outside, the incense was thick and pungent.
Edgar was tempted to ask the Doctor more about the music, but decorum told him it might be improper to discuss this before they became better acquainted. “Your fort is impressive,” he said.
“Thank you. We tried to build it in Shan style—it is more beautiful, and I could use local craftsmen. Some of it—the double stories, the bridges—are my own innovations, necessities of the site. I needed to stay close to the river, and hidden below the ridge.”
Edgar looked out over the water. “The river is much larger than I had thought.”
“It surprised me as well when I first came here. It is one of the largest rivers in Asia, fed by the Himalayas—but you must know this already.”
“I read your letter. I was curious what the name meant.”
“Salween? Actually, the Burmese pronounce the word ‘Thanlwin,’ whose meaning I have yet to ascertain. Than-lwin are small Burmese cymbals. Although my friends here insist that the river is not named for the instrument—perhaps the tone of the words is different—I think it is rather poetic. The cymbals make a light sound, like water over pebbles. ‘River of light sound’—a fitting name, even if it is incorrect.”
“And the village… Mae Lwin?”
“Mae is a Shan word for river. It is the same in Siamese.”
“Was that Shan that you spoke last night?” Edgar asked.
“You recognized it?”
“No…No, of course not. Only that it sounded different from Burmese.”
“I am impressed, Mr. Drake. Of course, I should have expected as much from a man who studies sound…Wait…quiet…” The Doctor stared at the opposite bank.
“What is it?”
“Shhh!” The Doctor raised his hand. He furrowed his brow in concentration.
There was a faint rustling in the bushes. Edgar sat up straight in his chair. “Is someone there?” he whispered.
“Shhh. No sudden moves.” The Doctor spoke quietly to the boy, who brought him a small telescope.
“Doctor, is something wrong?”
Peering through the telescope, Carroll lifted his hand to ask for silence. “No…nothing…don’t worry, wait, there…Aha! Just as I thought!” He turned and looked at Edgar, the telescope still raised.
“What’s the matter?” Edgar whispered. “Are we…are we being attacked?”
“Attacked?” The Doctor handed him the telescope. “Hardly…this is even better, Mr. Drake. Only one day here, and already you get to see Upupa epops, the hoopoe. It is a lucky day indeed. I must record this—it is the first time I have ever seen one here at the river. We have them in Europe, but they usually prefer open, drier country. It must have come here because of the drought. Wonderful! Look at the beautiful crest on its head, it flies like a butterfly.”
“Yes.” Edgar tried to match the Doctor’s enthusiasm. He peered through the telescope at the bird across the river. It was small and gray, but otherwise unremarkable from this distance. It flew away.
“Lu!” Doctor Carroll called. “Bring me my journal!” The boy brought a brown book, bound with a string. Doctor Carroll untied it, put on a pair of pince-nez, and scribbled briefly. He handed the book back to the boy, and looked over his glasses at Edgar. “A lucky day , indeed,” he said again. “The Shan would say that your arrival is propitious.”
The sun finally broke over the trees that lined the bank. The Doctor looked up at the sky. “It’s so late already,” he said. “We must get going soon. We have quite a long way to go today.” “I didn’t know we were going anywhere.”