The Piano Tuner (17 page)

They followed
a fence that enclosed a broad lawn surrounding a stately mansion. At the
entrance to the driveway an Indian in a police uniform stood guard. Captain
Nash-Burnham nodded at him and he opened the gate. They walked up a long path
where several horses stood harnessed to carriages.

“Welcome, Mr.
Drake,” said Nash-Burnham. “It should be a bearable afternoon if we
survive lunch and the requisite poetry reading. We will be able to play some
cards once the ladies retire. We are a bit jaundiced with one another, but we
do manage to get along. Just pretend that you are back in England.” He
paused. “But first some advice: don’t talk to Mrs. Hemmington about
anything Burmese. She has some unpleasant views on what she calls ‘the
Nature of Brown Races,’ which are embarrassing to many of us. Seems as if
only mentioning a temple or Burmese food gets her talking and she won’t
stop. Talk to her about London gossip, or crochet, but nothing
Burmese.”

“But I know nothing about crochet.”

“Don’t worry. She does.”

They were near the top
of the stairs. “And be careful if Colonel Simmons drinks too much. And
don’t ask military questions—remember you are a civilian. And one
last thing … perhaps I should have told you this first: most of them
know why you are here, and they will extend the hospitality due a fellow
countryman. But you are not among friends. Please try not to talk about Anthony
Carroll.”

They were met at the door by a tall
Sikh butler. The Captain greeted him. “Pavninder Singh, my good man, how
are you today?”

“Fine, sahib, fine,” he smiled.

Nash-Burnham handed him his sword. “Pavninder, this is Mr.
Drake.” He motioned to Edgar.

“The piano
tuner?”

The Captain laughed, his hand on his belly.
“Pavninder is an accomplished musician himself. He is a wonderful tabla
player.”

“Oh, sahib, you are too generous!”

“Quiet, and stop calling me sahib, you know I hate that. I know
music. There are thousands of Indians in Her Majesty’s service in Upper
Burma, and you play the finest tabla of any of them. You should see the local
girls swoon over him, Mr. Drake. Perhaps the two of you can play a duet if Mr.
Drake is in town long enough.”

Now it was Edgar’s turn to
protest. “Actually, Captain, I am quite unskilled on the piano—at
playing, that is. I only tune and repair.”

“Nonsense, you
both are too modest. Regardless, pianos seem to be quite a sore subject at the
present time, so you have been spared. Pavninder, have they started lunch
yet?”

“Soon, sir. You are just in time.”

He
led them into a room crowded with officers and their wives, gin and gossip. He
was right, I am back in London, thought Edgar, They have even imported the
Atmosphere.

Nash-Burnham was forging a path between two rather large
and tipsy women in flowing muslin, each decorated with a cascade of sashes that
perched like butterflies on the slopes of their dresses. He placed his hand on
a large and dimpled elbow, Mrs. Winterbottom, how are you? Introductions, Mr.
Drake?

They moved slowly about the party, the Captain leading Edgar
through the eddies of chatter with the intensity of a boatman, his face
shifting rapidly between a look of caution as he scanned the room and a wide
engaging grin when he pulled one powdered matron or another from their circles
to introduce the tuner with a soliloquy, Lady Aston, My Dear, I haven’t
seen you since the Commissioner’s Party in March, My Dear you do look so
Lovely tonight, Was it the month in Maymyo, Yes? See I knew! Well, I must bring
myself to travel there again soon, Not much fun for a bachelor, though, Too
peaceful! But soon, soon, I must visit, Wait, let me introduce you to a
visitor, Mr. Drake from London. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Aston. And you
too, I
do
miss London dreadfully. Myself as well, madam, and I have
only been away one month. Really? You have just arrived, well welcome, I must
introduce you to my husband, Alistair? Alistair, meet Mr. Drick, recently
arrived from London. A tall man with Dundreary whiskers held out his hand, My
pleasure, Mr. Drick … Mr. Drake, actually, Lord Aston, It is a pleasure.
Even I know Dundreary whiskers are long out of fashion in London, he
thought.

Moving. I would like you to meet Mr. Edgar Drake, recently
arrived from London. Mr. Drake, this is Miss Hoffnung, perhaps one of the
craftiest whist hands in Upper Burma. Oh, Major, you flatter me, Don’t
believe anything he tells you, Mr. Drake. Mrs. Sandilands, Mr. Drake. Mrs.
Partridge, this is Edgar Drake from London. Mr. Drake, this is Mrs. Partridge,
this is Mrs. Pepper.

“What part of London are you from, Mr.
Drake?”

“Do you play lawn tennis?”

“What is your business in London, Mr. Drake?”

“Franklin Mews, near Fitzroy Square. And, no, I don’t know how
to play lawn tennis, Mrs. Partridge.”

“Pepper.”

“My dearest apologies, I
still
don’t know how to play
lawn tennis, Mrs. Pepper.”

Laughing. “Fitzroy Square, that
is near the Oxford Music Hall, right, Mr. Drake?”

“Indeed,
it is.”

“You sound as if you know it. You’re not a
musician, are you, Mr. Drake?”

“No, not really,
peripherally associated, you might say …”

“Ladies,
enough questions for Mr. Drake. I think he is quite tired.”

They
stopped in a corner of the room, sheltered from the crowd by the broad back of
a tall officer dressed in tartan. The Captain took a swift sip of gin.

“I hope you are not exhausted by the conversation.”

“No, I will manage. I am amazed, though, it is all so …
reproduced.
”

“Well, I hope you enjoy it. It
should be a fine afternoon. The cook is a chap from Calcutta, they say one of
the finest in India. I don’t come to these functions regularly, but it is
a special day. I expect you will feel right at home.”

“At
home …” and Edgar almost added, As much as I feel at home, at
home. But a gong sounded in the hall, and the crowd moved into the dining
room.

After grace, lunch began. Edgar was seated
across from Major Dougherty, an obese man who laughed and wheezed and asked
Edgar about his journey, and made jokes about the state of river steamships. At
his left, Mrs. Dougherty, powdered and spindly, asked him if he followed
British politics, and Edgar answered obliquely by recounting some news about
ongoing preparations for the Queen’s Jubilee. When she persisted, the
Major interrupted her after several minutes, chuckling, “Oh, my dear, I
imagine one reason Mr. Drake came to Burma was to escape British politics!
Right, Mr. Drake?” Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Dougherty, who settled
back into her soup, content with what little she had pried from the visitor,
and Edgar tensed briefly because the question, like a tightrope dancer, had
tottered somewhat close to the real reason he had come to Burma. On his right,
Mrs. Remington jumped in to scold the Major for laughing about such matters,
“It
wasn’t
idle talk, no, as British subjects, we must
know such things, for the mail here comes so late, and how is the Queen now,
and I heard that Lady Hutchings had contracted consumption; was that before or
after the London Fancy Dress Ball?” “After.” “Well that
is fortunate, not for Lady Hutchings, but for the Ball, after all it is so
lovely, and how I wish I had been there,” and some of the other ladies
twittered and then began a conversation about the last society ball each had
attended, and Edgar sat back and began to eat.

They are polite, he
thought, To think that in England I would never have been invited to such an
affair. Yet he was rather comforted by the direction of the
conversation—for what could be further from potentially flammable
subjects such as pianos and unusual doctors than the Fancy Dress
Ball—when Mrs. Remington asked, innocuously enough, “Did you attend
the Ball, Mr. Drake,” and he answered, “No, I didn’t,”
and she, “You know so much about it, you must have gone,” and he,
“No,” and politely, “I only tuned the Erard grand that was
played at the event,” and he realized right away that he shouldn’t
have said this, and she, “Pardon, the what-ard grand?” and he
couldn’t help himself, “Erard, it’s a type of piano, one of
the finest in London, they had an 1854 Erard, quite a beautiful instrument, I
had done the voicing on it myself a year before, they just needed tuning for
the ball,” and she seemed quite content with this, and was silent, one of
those silences that played prelude to a change in topic, except Mrs. Remington
said innocently, “Erard … why that’s the piano Doctor
Carroll plays.”

Even then the conversation could have been
salvaged, for example, had Mrs. Dougherty spoken quickly enough, for she had
wanted to ask the visitor what he thought of the Burmese weather and hear him
say how horrid it was, or had Major Dougherty spoken about a recent attack by
dacoits
outside of Taunggyi, or had Mrs. Remington pursued the subject
of the Ball, which was far from being exhausted as she still wanted to know if
her friend Mrs. Bissy had attended. But Colonel West, sitting to Major
Dougherty’s left, who had been silent throughout the meal, muttered
suddenly and quite audibly, “We should have dumped that piece of rubbish
in the water.”

Edgar turned from Mrs. Remington. “I am
sorry, Colonel. What did you say?”

“Only that I wish that,
for the benefit of Her Majesty, that infernal instrument had been dumped into
the Irrawaddy or used for firewood.” There was silence around the table
and Captain Nash-Burnham, who had been engaged in another conversation, said,
“Please, Colonel, we have been through this before.”

“Don’t tell me what to talk about, Captain, I lost five men to
dacoits
because of that piano.”

The Captain put down his
silverware. “Colonel, with all due respect, we are all very sorry about
the attack. I knew one of the men. But I think the issue of the piano is
separate, and Mr. Drake here is our guest.”

“Are you
telling
me
what happened, Captain?”

“Of course
not, sir. I was only hoping that there was another time when we could discuss
this.”

The Colonel turned to Edgar. “Reinforcements to my
post were delayed two days because they had to escort the piano. Did the War
Office tell you that story, Mr. Drake?”

“No.”
Edgar’s pulse raced; he felt dizzy. In his mind flashed images of the
hunt in Rangoon, They didn’t tell me about that either.

“Please, Colonel, Mr. Drake has been briefed adequately.”

“He shouldn’t even be in Burma. It is all nonsense.”

Silence had spread down the table. Faces turned toward the men. Captain
Nash-Burnham clenched his jaw, his face reddening. He pulled his napkin from
his lap and set it gently on the table.

“Thank you, Colonel, for
the lunch,” he said, standing. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Drake,
I think we’d best be going. We have … business to attend
to.”

Edgar looked at the staring faces. “Yes, yes, of
course, Captain.” He pushed himself away from the table. There were
whispers of disappointment. There are questions to ask about the Ball, murmur
the ladies, He really was a pleasant fellow, Trust the men to bring war and
politics to these functions. Nash-Burnham walked the length of the table and
put his hand on the tuner’s shoulder. “Mr. Drake.”

“Thank … thank you for the lunch, everyone,” he stood
and held his hand in the air in an awkward good-bye.

At the door the
finest tabla player in Upper Burma handed a sword to Captain Nash-Burnham, who
scowled.

Outside a woman walked past with a large
basket balanced on her head. Captain Nash-Burnham dug his toe angrily into the
ground. “Mr. Drake, I am sorry for that. I knew he would be here. I
should not have brought you. It was a mistake.”

“Please,
Captain, it was nothing of the sort.” They began to walk. “I
didn’t know about his men.”

“I know you didn’t
know. It has nothing to do with this.”

“But, he
said—”

“I know what he said, but the reinforcements
weren’t due to travel to the Ruby Mines, to join his patrol, for a week.
It had nothing to do with the piano. Doctor Carroll brought it to Mae Lwin
himself. But I couldn’t argue with him. He is my superior. Leaving early
was insubordination enough.”

Edgar was silent.

“I
am sorry I am angry, Mr. Drake,” said the Captain. “I often take
remarks about Doctor Carroll quite personally. By now, I should have grown used
to such comments from some of the officers. They are jealous, or they want war.
A balanced peace is a poor fertilizer for promotion. The Doctor—”
He turned and looked steadily at Edgar. “Might I say, the Doctor and his
music keep them from invading. Nevertheless, I shouldn’t have brought you
into this.”

It seems I already am, thought the piano tuner, but
he was silent. They began to walk again, and said nothing until they reached
his lodgings.

10

C
aptain Nash-Burnham returned that evening, whistling as Khin
Myo led him through the house. He found Edgar in the small yard, eating a
bitter salad of crushed tea leaves and dried pulses that Khin Myo had made
him.

“Aha, Mr. Drake! Discovering the local cuisine, I
see.” He held his hands over his belly, which strained at a white
waistcoat.

“Indeed, Captain. I am glad to see you again. I must
apologize. I have been regretting all afternoon what happened at the reception
today. I think I should—”

“Think nothing of the sort,
Mr. Drake,” the Captain interrupted. He had removed his sword and now
carried a cane, which he stamped on the ground. His face fell easily into a
smile. “I already told you this afternoon. It was my responsibility. The
others will soon forget this. Please, you should too.” His smile was
reassuring.