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?”
Edgar said nothing.
“It is fine if you were thinking that, I wouldn’t blame you. I know all that is written about women of the East. I can read your magazines and I understand your conversations, remember. I know what they say, I have seen the way the sketch artists draw us in your newspapers.”
Edgar felt himself blushing, “They are terrible.”
“Not all. Many of them are right. Besides, to be painted as a beautiful dancing young girl is better than being painted as a savage—as your newspapers show our men.”
“Rubbish, mainly,” insisted Edgar. “I wouldn’t pay much attention…”
“No, I don’t mind, I only wonder, or worry, about those who come here expecting their own imaginings.”
Edgar shifted uneasily. “I am sure once they arrive they see it isn’t so,” he said.
“Or they simply change us to fit that image.”
“I…” Edgar paused, caught by her words. He stared at her, thinking.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to speak so strongly, Mr. Drake.”
“No…no, not at all.” He nodded now with the resonance of a thought. “No, I do want to talk to you, but I am somewhat shy. It is my character, really. At home in London, too.”
“I don’t care. I don’t mind talking. I get lonely here sometimes. I speak some Shan, and many of the villagers speak some Burmese, but we are very different, most have never left their village.”
“You have the Doctor—” Immediately he regretted saying this.
“That is something I wish I had told you in Mandalay. If only to save you from having to ask.”
He felt the sudden and unique relief that comes when a suspicion is answered. “He is away often,” he said.
Khin Myo looked up at him, as if surprised by his words. “He is an important man,” she said.
“Do you know where he goes?”
“Where? No.” She tilted her head. “Away, only. It is not my concern.”
“I might think that it is. You said you get lonely.”
She stared at him longer this time. “It is different,” she said simply.
There was a sadness in her voice, and Edgar waited for her to speak again. She was silent now. He said, “I am sorry. I didn’t intend to be inconsiderate.”
“No.” She looked down. “You ask me many questions. That is also different.” A tremor of wind ran through the trees. “You have someone, Mr. Drake.”
“I do,” said Edgar slowly, relieved now that the conversation had moved away from the Doctor. “Her name is Katherine.”
“It is a nice name,” said Khin Myo.
“Yes…yes, I suppose so. I am so used to it that I hardly think of it as a name anymore. When you know someone so well, it is as if they lose their names.”
She smiled at him. “May I ask how long you have been married?”
“Eighteen years. We met when I was an apprentice tuner. I tuned her family’s piano.”
“She must be beautiful,” Khin Myo said.
“Beautiful…” Edgar was struck by the innocence with which she had asked the question. “She is…although we are not young.” He continued, awkwardly, if only to fill the silence. “She was very beautiful, at least in my eyes…talking about her makes me miss her dearly.”
“I am sorry—”
“No, not at all. It is wonderful, in its way. Many men who have been married eighteen years have fallen out of love with their wives…” He stopped and looked out at the river. “I suppose I am different, maybe you are right, although I don’t know if I mean the same thing when I say this as you mean when you say it—I love music and pianos and the mechanics of sound, perhaps that is different. And I am quiet. I daydream too much…But, I shouldn’t bother you with this.”
“You don’t have to. We can talk of something else.”
“Actually, I don’t mind. I am surprised only that you asked, that you noticed something, about me. Many women don’t like the things I just told you about; English women like men who join armies or compose poetry. Who become doctors. Who can aim pistols.” He smiled. “I don’t know if this makes sense. I have never done any of these. In England we live in a time of such accomplishment, of culture, conquest. And I tune pianos so that others may make music. I think many women would think that I am dull. But Katherine is different. Once I asked her why she chose me, if I was so quiet, and she said that when she listened to music she could hear in it my work…Silly and romantic, maybe, and we were so young…”
“No, not silly.”
They were quiet. Edgar said, “It is strange, I have just met you and yet I am telling you stories I have never told friends.”