“I’ll be leaving your hotel soon and wanted to thank you for the music. And also ask a question.” Her voice grew thinner like wood whittled into a spear. “Do you know a man named Colton Parker?”
Mitko cracked his knuckles again; stubborn arthritis. “Can’t be sure. In my line of work, I meet a lot of people. Maybe one of them was this… Colton person.” Then without warning, his hands shot up and clasped her head. He didn’t squeeze or inflict pain, but cradled her sides like a father would when sending his daughter away on her wedding day.
She froze then pushed his wrists away with a swoop. A groan died in her throat then she stood still.
“It was you,” he said, “all along.” His fingers rested tranquil on the piano keys. “The person who attacked Colton in this hotel last week had a missing right ear and so do you. Who did this to you?” He tried to imagine how the two of them must look: a thankful Olympic customer chatting up the lobby pianist during his break.
“The better question is if you want to end the day in a body bag. Which is what I’ll do if you don’t tell me where Parker is.”
“As a younger man,” he said, “I lived in a far-away country, where I was involved with people who wanted better lives, for themselves and for their children. You may say I was their leader. We were optimistic and hopeful. We met and grumbled like young people do when you take away their freedom. In the beginning, we were about a dozen, then the squares couldn’t hold us, in time. The government sent soldiers with guns and live ammo. I remember how afraid I was the first time I heard them approach. I felt this fear, yellow in color, of what they were going to do to us. Being a blind man, you see, I think of emotions as colors.
“One evening, at nightfall, the soldiers attacked and beat us. They beat me too, but, a funny thing, the first blow of their batons on my body shattered my fear and it hasn’t come back since.” His tongue wet his lips. “Look at me again, Ma’am. Do you think your body bag scares me?” He turned away from her, starting a new Schumann. His break was over.
“Parker’s passport signature beams from inside your apartment. I know you’re helping him.”
“Then come over and put us both in body bags.”
“Do I look like I need a dinner invitation? Where…is…he?”
“Every few years, enough crazies believe Rapture is coming. This year’s flavor is Defiance Day. I see you as one of them, Ma’am. Make my day and become my personal Rapture. See how much it moves –”
Before he could finish, Mitko felt six of his fingers shatter like saltines. She had slammed the fallboard on top of his playing hands. Somehow, the next thought in his head was whether anyone would notice, in the loud lobby, that the music had stopped or he had doubled over his Grand Stein.
“Do you believe me now?” she said. “I will crush you… like a worm.”
“You couldn’t kill him… because I stopped you,” he said. “But if you dropped by the next couple of days, I’ll fix you a cake to celebrate you crushing me… like a worm.”
He smiled despite the pain then heard her footfalls depart toward the Olympic’s revolving doors, as if his smile was a powerful projectile that had driven her away.
seven days till defiance day (51
Natt pounded his desk with a fist, his fingers groaning and the wood underneath groaning louder. The son of a bitch had him beat, as much as Natt hated to admit it. The Police Chief had tagged the ULE Interpol wires with a screaming urgency uncustomary for your standard passport deserter. He had turned Parker into an AMBER-Alert pariah, incapable of buying groceries or eating at a restaurant for the rest of his life. Parker’s biotelemetry was plastered all over the apartment of the blind pianist, with the lab concluding the man’s right hand had to be stashed inside. But that was that. Two of Natt’s squads had kept the apartment under surveillance and had discovered no leads.
Natt slammed the desk again, this time with the other fist. With every passing hour, Parker made him look like a bigger idiot. None of his staff cared for passport deserters – “Defiance Day junkies,” as cops called them – but the damn Chinese woman did. He had to do something. The Police Chief stormed out of the makeshift City Hall lobby. Covert surveillance had exhausted its course; it was time to pay Mr. Benjamin a visit.
The old man’s apartment looked dark from the outside. Natt knocked heavy on the door, his fist still hurting.
“Who’s there?”
“Police Chief Gurloskey from the Seattle PD. Open up, please.”
The door squeaked ajar and Mitko’s unwashed head filled the crack.
“How may I help you?”
Natt flashed his badge by habit, as if the pianist could see. “I need to ask you a few questions about a certain Colton Parker, Mr. Benjamin.”
“Come in, please.” The pianist disappeared inside. Natt stopped to let his eyes adjust. All the lights were off and for some reason he thought he’d love to have this place’s electric bill. He found Mitko waiting in a kitchen with blue walls, where, judging by the number and variety of items, the pianist spent a lot of his time when home.
“Apologies for the darkness, Officer. I don’t have much use for the light and have shut off my electric service. It makes me feel good knowing I’m helping Puget Sound Energy.”
“I appreciate your social sacrifice given your limited condition, sir,” Natt said. “Time is of the essence here, so I should jump straight to it. Do you know Colton Parker?”
“Never heard of him, I’m afraid.”
“How about anything unusual happen to you the last few days? You’ll be surprised how telling even small details could be.” Natt’s eyes narrowed then relaxed. He wouldn’t need his poker face today. He was interrogating a blind man.
Mitko shook head from side to side. “Nothing unusual, Officer. Just surviving like everyone else.”
“Nothing at all?” Natt’s smile remained stitched to his face. Behind it, he wondered where Parker’s passport was hidden. Anywhere in this apartment would be madness, of course. He dared the blind fool to keep lying in the face of an evidentiary DNA lab report. “You bumped into no one and no one bumped into you?”
“Remember the good old days, Officer? Before the waters took over our lives? People were different then.” Mitko sighed. “Now that you mention it… say an unusual fellow did contact me. What is it you want from him?”
“He’s an illegal combatant.”
“Terrible.”
“And a Defiance Day passport deserter–”
“What is our world coming to?”
“–who’ll face the full extent of the law. We may live in a flooded city, Mr. Benjamin, but not in a lawless one. Say, you've seen…” Natt started then stopped… that was the wrong question. “Sorry… Say, Mr. Parker has contacted you. Would you happen to know where he went?”
Mitko took a step toward the Police Chief, the men’s faces no more than inches apart. “Come to think of it, I do remember this boy.”
“If you helped him by as much as an ounce, I’ll make your life hell, sir.”
“He robbed me at gun point and left. I would never help such a senseless brigand, Chief Gurloskey.”
“Listen well, old man. You two could be butt buddies for all I care. Unless you start telling me where he went, I’ll deport you back to whatever overseas armpit village you call home.” Natt's perma-smile made him sound like a background vocal to a love-song. “And I’ll see you go there a broken man, the way we found you when you crawled onto these sacred shores.”
“You listen, too,” Mitko’s voice carried despite the sirens outside announcing the start of curfew. “You'll never catch him. He wants what he’s after too much to let himself be caught.” The pianist stepped back, as if sizing up Gurloskey, who shivered at the thought of a blind man scanning him like a page. “I wish you could see yourself like I can…” The sirens stopped, followed by the lapping sounds of water in the streets. “It's time you left now.”
“Insult me one more time and I will brea
k your blind face in the middle of your mole rat apartment.” Natt’s upper lip was sweating. “Do we understand each other?”
Mitko raised both hands to his face. Six of his fingers were in splints. “More than the person who did this? She was asking about Parker too. Or will you break my toes next, because I refuse to be bullied?”
Natt’s neck vein stood out like a swollen leech on his skin. “You are a dead man. A blind and useless dead man.”
“Don’t threaten me in my own home. And don’t you dare come back without a warrant.”
“You should have lived the life of a blind dog overseas. It beats being blind, dead meat.”
The Police Chief left Mitko’s apartment. After him the sounds of lapping water in the streets grew louder with the oncoming night wind.
seven days till defiance day (52
Mitko entered the lobby of the Seattle ULE embassy. His hands swam through traffic like live dolphins and his head, cocked at an angle, seemed to examine something peculiar on the ceiling that no one else could see.
Sarah met him at security and escorted him to a private conference room. “Take a seat, Mr. Benjamin,” she said.
“I imagine the table is a foot ahead, Dr. Perkins.” Without her confirmation, he swiped at the space in front, his palm grabbing the empty chair and sat, facing her, as confident as a seeing person.
“You’re quite the pianist, I hear,” she said.
“I’ve played some in my past.”
“Forty-four years behind the piano qualifies as more than some, in my book.”
“You flatter me, Doctor. How may I help?”
“My good manners compel me to ask if you’d like a drink, first.”
“A glass of water, please.”
Sarah walked away to a room corner then returned. “The paper cup is a few inches away from your left hand,” she said. “Straight ahead.”
“You’re a fast learner.”
“Speaking of your hands, who did this to you?”
“I had a minor accident at work. I’d rather we focus about why you called me here.”
“OK… My eight-year-old will compete in the ULE Classical Prodigy next month.”
He puckered his lips, inhaling a whistle. “The Prodigy. You must be proud.”
“I am and I’d like you to train her.”
“A month is not enough to prepare.”
“She’s played since four and a half –”
“You realize they’ll blow her away,” he said. “No disrespect.”
“—under the supervision of a certified Prodigy tutor in DC.”
“You two have travelled a long way from DC. And I’m sure you realized, your move would disrupt your daughter’s preparations.”
“Us moving to Seattle couldn’t be helped,” she said, “and isn’t as fatal as you make it sound. Yana is a gifted young pianist in need of a replacement tutor.”
“Did you move here because of Defiance Day?”
“Are you in, or are you out?”
“Sorry. I was trying to get context.”
“You and sixteen other applicants we’re interviewing…”
“Where will I tutor her?”
“In this embassy... every single day. A car will shuttle you from here to downtown and back.”
“Will my condition impact your final decision?”
“Your condition?”
“I’m blind and six of my fingers are broken.”
“No. But your fee will. How much are you charging per hour?”
“If I do this, Dr. Perkins, I’ll do it for your daughter, not for money. May I meet her, please?”
“I’ll get her from the other room and have you two meet one-on-one,” she said. “You should start getting used to each other’s company.” Sarah left and in a minute a little voice flew to Mitko like a verse from a lullaby. “Good afternoon, Mr. Benjamin.”
He waved without standing up. “Don’t be frightened, dear, but you should know that my eyes can’t see.”
“That must be difficult.”
“It’s not so bad. I can see with my heart, instead.”
“You can? Will you teach me how?”
“Only if you promise you’ll keep it a secret. Then I’ll teach you the piano too.”
The girl sounded like a pout on a face. “I already know how to play the piano.”
“You’re right, I misspoke.” He smiled. “I can help you prepare for your piano competition while I teach you to see with your heart.”
“And I promise I won’t tell anyone. Deal?”
“Eight years old and already a negotiator. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess you didn’t like playing much.”
“I like playing for fun; I don’t like competitions.”
“Your preparation will be fun, I promise. Please, go get your Mom, now.”
Yana skipped toward the door. It closed and when it opened again, Mitko heard Sarah standing in it. “Do we have a deal?” she said.
“We can start with an assessment of how she’ll do at the event. A couple of favorite pieces, followed by her competitive composition.”
“We’re beyond assessments, Mr. Benjamin. I want her to win the Prodigy.”
“I’ll give your daughter my best, Doctor.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Benjamin. We’ll see you tomorrow for your initial class with her.”
For the first time in a long while, Mitko meant it when he replied, “The pleasure was mine.”
six days till defiance day (53
“Not bad,” Mitko whispered after a moment of contemplation. Yana had just finished Nocturne.
“It’s the first one I ever learned.” She clapped hands. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“I did. And you? Why do you like the Nocturne?”
“I imagine spending time with my family when I play it.”
“Tell me about it, please.”
“Mom and Dad are together and I have a brother, too. Dad’s teaching us to ski and Mom’s fixing dinner in a lodge at the base of the hill. A foot of snow covers the ground. I walk in the middle. My brother pokes me with a stick and asks me to pass it forward, but I don’t poke Dad because I love him. It gets dark by the time we get back to the lodge. Before we enter, Mom gives us each a cup of hot chocolate to warm our hands.” Yana sounded like she was smiling. “Then we go inside and throw our frozen clothes in the laundry and bundle up in thick blankets in our jammies. Mom has started a fire. I sit close, my head on her lap, because I’ve missed her during the day. Dad plays Nocturne on his guitar. Then we eat and Dad stops playing from time to time to take a bite. We’re all safe and we talk and we’re together.”
“Have you seen snow before?”
“I haven’t,” she said. “I imagine it’s beautiful.”
“I don’t remember how it looked anymore, but it felt warm to the tongue. When you see snow for the first time you should try to catch a snowflake with your tongue. I’ll be with you then.”
“Deal,” she sounded like a cat about to pounce on a sparrow. “But how do you mean you’ll be with me? Will we catch the snowflakes together?”
Mitko pinched Yana’s nose as if he could see it where it was, all along. “You’re a natural at seeing with the heart, kid. Tell your Mom I want you to play Nocturne at The Prodigy.”
“You’re the best teacher I’ve ever had,” she said then, as loud as a fireworks show, she left to give her mother the news.
Alone, Mitko walked to the water fountain in the corner of the room and drank. For some reason, Yana’s company had prompted him to think of Colton. The eight-year-old student’s joy next to the agony of Colton’s severed sacrifice – two polar opposites that emerged side by side in his mind. Colton’s daughter was called Yana, too. Could the two girls be the same person? Mitko would never forget touching Colton’s tears, warm and vast and born by despair so unbeatable, it forced self-mutilation, when nothing else would do.
Then the girl... hidden behind a guarded gate. He had me
t her protective mother, but never the Dad. Wasn’t it in the job description of fathers to look after their daughters? And if Colton were linked to the girl, as crazy as it sounded, why wasn’t he with them? Why cripple himself and play hide-and-seek with a one-eared assassin, rather than hide in the ULE safe haven? What kind of man gave his hand for his daughter but refused basic help?
Mitko took a drink from the paper cup, his forehead coated with sweat. A connection between Colton and his student bordered on lunacy, but as much as logic mocked at his speculation, the inkling refused to go away. Who else could know? No one, that much was certain. Not that he’d share his intuition with either of the two or anyone else. He just wanted to help soothe their anguish, if he could.
The table shook and his paper cup fell over. The water inside spilled on the lacquered surface, Sarah had walked in. “Chopin?” she said. “Do you know how many contestants do Chopin each year? Every kid not inflicted by cerebral palsy will play the Nocturne.”
“That’s where her heart is,” he said. Under his fingers, the spilled puddles merged in a larger one.
“Then teach her heart to be in Boulez’s Second Sonata. She’s practiced it for eight months.”
“Yana’s Nocturne technique is peculiar in ways I haven’t heard in other pianists. And I mean peculiar in a good way.”
“Look, Boulez is a whale to play and my daughter’s performance is imperfect, I get it. But changing the piece is… unthinkable.”
“I agree that if she does a half-decent job on Boulez at her age, she’ll impress the judges. She might even win the Prodigy. But –”
“What else is there?”
“If you love a flower, Sarah, you don't pick it up. It will die and cease to be what you love. If you love a flower, you let it be. Love is not about possession.”
She applauded, one palm clapping the other. “Spare me the poetry. I’m a bit tied up fighting off Armageddon.”
“What I’m saying is –“
“If you won’t teach her Boulez, we will find someone else who will, Mr. Benjamin.”
“Ask her what she –“
The Refugee Sentinel Page 16
