Janice Lee - The Piano Teacher

“People have always expected me to be bad and thoughtless and shallow, and I do my best to accommodate their expectations. I sink to their expectations, one might say. I think it’s the ultimate suggestibility of most of us. We are social beings. We live in a social world with other people and so we wish to be as they see us, even if it is detrimental to ourselves.” She laughs, lifting her face toward his. Her eyes, her skin, they glow, distracting him. “What do you think?”

HE WOKE with a startle, then exhaled heavily in the hot air, slowly noticed the fan moving sluggishly overhead as consciousness surfaced. Perspiration covered his body and the bed linens were soaked. Her voice was as clear as a bell in his head, her sharp, vivid outline moving against a dark background. He had forgotten how much she loved her own pronouncements, how she would philosophize over a cold drink, how she was startlingly insightful at the oddest times.

She was waiting for him, expecting him to save her.

What would become his story now? he wondered. And there was Claire, who had grown important to him despite himself, in whom he saw his undeveloped self, nascent, with her silly prejudices, her cherished ignorance, and, surprisingly, her moments of clarity. Her naïveté was a salve to his battered expectations. Wasn’t love always some form of narcissism after all? She came unbidden to his dreams too, battling with the other woman, the one who haunted him day and night. Claire, with her blond and familiar femininity, English rose to Trudy’s exotic scorpion.

The black night beyond the window was velvet and welcome in its anonymity. He got up and opened the windows. Hong Kong ’s warm, intimate smell came into the room, redolent of human bodies and the ever-present sea, even at this elevation. It was never crisp here, just moist and close, though not always unpleasant. The darkness enveloped him. A lone light winked in the distance-a boat? A fellow insomniac?

He heard her voice again. It sounded more desperate now, more shrill.

He knew it was time to act.

CORONATION FEVER had hit Hong Kong. The imperially slim Princess Elizabeth and her handsome prince had seized the imagination of expatriates and locals alike, and all through town there were placards declaring coronation sales, tailors advertised coronation gown specials, and special coins and stamps were being processed to mark the occasion. Society matrons were planning their coronation parties and teas and all the hotels were booked up for balls. Claire found herself waiting for the newspaper delivery every morning so she could read about all the details and preparations.

She had always been fascinated with the princesses, had read the scandalous book by their nanny, Marion Crawford, and devoured the details of their private lives. And now the princess was becoming the queen!

In Hong Kong itself there would be grand parades and decorations. Both the South China Morning Post and the Standard devoted much of their front pages to the impending event. There was to be an illuminated fountain in Statue Square with a royal blue Maypole topped by a crown, and four lions to symbolize the United Kingdom and four braziers to represent the flame of Commonwealth unity. It was to be guarded day and night by Her Majesty’s personal representatives. There was also a Coronation Garden in Kowloon planted with blue hydrangeas and red and white water lilies, in the pattern of the English flag. The newspapers also dealt with the mundane. The Building Authority had warned that verandas and balconies should be sufficiently buttressed if property owners felt that they might be filled to capacity with revelers.

Claire read carefully about the arrangements the post office was making so that the high demand for commemorative coronation stamps would be adequately handled. There would be dedicated counters for selling the stamps, and more counters would be added. She planned to go to the Des Voeux Road branch to get hers. She had also put aside money for commemorative plates with the image of Princess Elizabeth stamped on them.

Will laughed at her when she told him of her excitement.

“Why on earth do you care about a silly woman getting a crown because she happened to be born into a certain family? And also because her uncle fell in love with someone that others find objectionable?”

Claire was shocked.

“You sound Communist, Will,” she warned. “I wouldn’t go around town airing those kinds of views.”

“Sometimes you are such a ninny,” he said, but his voice was kind. “You are the silliest woman I care to know.” And he kissed her forehead gently.

They had been together for some eight months. Long enough to have a rhythm, but new enough that her palms still tingled, new enough to still check her reflection in any available surface before she was to meet him. Martin’s steady hours gave them time together, but it was Will’s work that confounded Claire.

“They never use you,” she said. “They have two others, local Chinese. Why did they hire you?”

“I’m useful in my own way,” he said. And refused to elaborate further.

But his lack of work meant they could spend afternoons together, in his small flat, having sent Ah Yik on one of many endless errands. How to deal with the small woman was one of Claire’s regular ordeals. Her illicit status ate at her, making it difficult to look Ah Yik in the eye. She worried unceasingly about what to say, or what not to say, or whether to even acknowledge her presence. When asked his opinion, Will claimed not to care, even more maddening than usual.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “She is the soul of discretion and loyal to a fault.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Claire said.

“You’re worried about her opinion?” he needled.

“I find it uncomfortable, Will,” she said. “That is all.”

“I understand. But she doesn’t care at all what we do. She’s seen much worse.”

“And how is that?”

“She’s been with me for years.”

“Are you saying…” She stopped. “Never mind.” She didn’t want to know what he meant.

“Why do you care about the queen?” he asked suddenly.

“She is our queen,” she said. “What do you mean, why do I care? Why would I not care?”

“You believe in empire?”

“Of course,” she said, although she didn’t know exactly what he was talking about.

He propped himself up on an elbow, interested now.

“Now, what about this. Do you think the queen cares for you?”

“What? You are asking such queer questions, Will. Sometimes I don’t understand you at all.”

“I just want to know if you think the queen, or rather, the queen to be, takes an interest in your well-being.”

“She has many subjects but I’m sure she wishes the best for all of us.”

“And you owe her your loyalty, and regard yourself as her subject.”

“I do, yes.” She shook her head. “Why are you being so obstinate? These are the things that we hold dear as British subjects, and it is not so uncommon to think this way.”

Will smiled, a lazy smile.

“I just think that lovely little Lizzie doesn’t care for you as much as you seem to think she does.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she said. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. It’s putting me in a bad mood. You’re a terrible person and you make me angry.”

He laughed. He liked it when she scolded him.

But Will was erratic. His temper flared at the oddest things.

She had locked the door after them once, and having heard the click, he had turned around with real anger in his face.

“I told you,” he said. “I never lock my door. Please unlock it.”