Janice Lee - The Piano Teacher

“Fine, yes, fine,” Melody said, not meeting her eye. “I must take better care of myself. Victor says I run around too much.”

Claire didn’t move although she was blocking the way to the door.

“Are you having a good time?” The Chinese woman stepped around her. “Victor and I were so glad you could join us on such short notice. We’re delighted with Locket’s progress-you’ve been a real boon to her musical education.” She held the door open for a moment. “It’s a nice evening, isn’t it?” The door closed behind her.

Claire took one of the cloths carefully folded on the restroom shelf and wiped all the moisture off the basin. It looked pristine again.

When she returned to the table, people were reminiscing about the war and the aftermath.

“What I found extraordinary,” Melody was saying, “was how, after the war, Hong Kong was so friendly then, and there was so much good feeling toward all and sundry, and then when everyone starting coming across the border, that lasted awhile. But now, of course, if someone manages to come over, they’re no longer greeted with such enthusiasm. There are just too many of them, and too many sad stories. Our sympathy has a time limit. You know Betty Liu had some six relatives staying with her for a year. She finally managed to pack them off to Canada but it took some doing. She had to hire three more maids!”

“That must have made for a busy ‘Arrivals and Departures’ column,” Belle said, speaking of the much-read column in the Post that marked those leaving Hong Kong by aircraft, and those who had arrived and were staying at the Gloucester.

“It’s like the tide, the Chinese come and go from China to Hong Kong depending on what turns history takes,” said Victor. “But nothing ever changes too much.”

“Where were you?” Belle asked Melody. “Were you here when the Japanese were?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Victor saw what was coming far before it did, and he packed me off to California to stay with my college room-mate, who lives in Bel Air. I was pregnant at the time.”

“Very clever of him,” Belle said. “But he’s always been clever.”

Everyone seemed to have history, as if they had all grown up together, although they hailed from all corners of the world. Their language was the same.

“Yes, I’m very lucky,” Melody said. “Victor has always thought ahead.” Her face was still as she said it. There was a slight pause.

“Well!” said Victor. “My prescient self thinks we should play games. Isn’t that what you English love to do at dinner parties?”He directed this question to Claire. “I’m always being forced to play charades and act like a horse. For some reason, that’s viewed as entertainment by your countrymen.”

Claire opened her mouth but nothing came out. Everyone waited for her rejoinder. All she could think of, absurdly, was the phrase “The Communists are coming, the Communists are coming.” It ran through her mind like a jaunty little ditty.

“You should be one to talk, Victor,” Belle said finally, rescuing her. “I’ve seen you crack a monkey’s head open and eat the brains, and think that’s a fine way to spend the evening.”

“Well said!” said a Frenchman. “Good defense is always a good offense!”

As the conversation drifted on, successfully defused by the others, Claire sat quietly, trying to tamp down the flush of pure panic that had enveloped her when everyone’s attention had been mercilessly focused on her for that brief moment. She wished desperately for the evening to be over, even as she felt Melody Chen’s eyes, not unsympathetic, on her, and managed a wan smile.

When she and Martin returned home, he garrulous with wine, she silent, they went to bed upon washing up and changing into their nightclothes.

“Did you find there were a lot of awkward moments tonight?” she asked.

“I didn’t notice, no,” he said.

She wanted to beat him then, for his dumb, unknowing nature, beat him with her fists against his stolid, ignorant chest.

He laid a questioning hand on her shoulder. She turned away and he fell quiet.

“Claire,” he started.

“Martin, I’m exhausted.” She cut him off. “Please.”

He was silent. Then he settled into the sheets and pulled up the blanket. After a pause, a gentle “Good night, dear.”

She didn’t know whom she hated more at that instant: Martin or herself.

The next day she told Will about the ring, how beautiful it was. A strange look came over his face. “It is unforgettable,” he said. “I’ve seen it before.”

“Are emeralds very costly?”

“Some might say that one is without price,” he said.

“You know that particular ring? Has she had it long?”

He laughed, a short, violent laugh.

“You women and your baubles. All the same.”

And he refused to be drawn out further.

“I was at Edwina Storch’s for lunch the other day,” she told him finally. “Do you know her?”

A shadow passed over his face. They were lying in bed together.

“I’ve known her for a while. She’s been in the colony just about longer than anybody else. She’s pleasant enough, I suppose, although she managed to keep herself out of Stanley during the war under very murky circumstances. A survivor, to be sure.” He paused.

“Did you enjoy yourself? The din at these hen parties must be as loud as blazes what with everyone chattering away about their latest frock.”

“Is that what you think we do? Talk about dresses and how to make preserves?”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’ll have you know,” she said, “we have very serious discussions about politics and reparations for war.”

“And amahs,” he said, biting her shoulder. “And where to find the best leg of lamb, and how to entertain your…”

She covered his mouth with hers.

“Do shut up, darling,” she said, thrilling to the notion of being a woman who would say such a thing.

Afterward, she turned to him.

“There was something interesting. Someone said they were going to be digging up all the people who had collaborated with the Japanese during the war and prosecuting them. Do you know anyone who did such a thing?”

“What is it with you today?” he asked. “I feel like I’m being interrogated. Where does this sudden curiosity about everything come from?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I just want to know. They say war does awful things to people, and I wanted to know if you knew anyone who had really done terrible things and got away with it.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t, and I’m glad of it.”

“Must be awful to live with secrets like that.”

“It must be,” he said. “I imagine you’d want to die sometimes.” He paused. “I say, I don’t know if you would agree but I need to go to Macau to take care of a few matters. Would you think about going with me? Do you think you could make up an excuse to get out for a night?”

This Will, suddenly shy, touched her. It was so rare he asked something of her. He was usually not very kind to her.

Claire couldn’t rest the night before the trip to Macau. She had coasted on the edge of sleep for most of the night, and when she finally got out of bed, she felt light-headed and silvery with exhaustion. She had told Martin the Ladies’ Auxiliary was going bird-watching in the New Territories and making a trip out of it at a member’s weekend house out in Sai Kung.

When she met Will at the terminus, she felt him look at her and imagined he found her sallow. When he wasn’t looking, she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to bring the color back.

They walked to the pier where the ferry would take them to Macau. There was a crowd forming around the entrance. Policemen were standing around, preventing people from entering. Will went to ask what was going on. He came back while Claire waited by the ticket office, nervous that she would see someone she knew.