The Piano Tuner

by Daniel Mason

  Edgar rose to his feet. “Lieutenant, what is happening?”

  “Sit down, Mr. Drake.” The man’s voice was severe. He wore a freshly pressed uniform, its angles sharp and starched.

  “Lieutenant, those boys were shot. What—”

  “I said sit down, Mr. Drake.”

  “You don’t understand—there has been some dreadful error.”

  “This is the last time I will ask you.”

  “I—”

  “Mr. Drake.” The Lieutenant took a step forward.

  Edgar stared him in the eyes. “I demand to know what is going on.” He felt anger rising, replacing shock.

  “I am asking you to sit down.”

  “And I won’t. Until you tell me why I am here. You have no right to command me.”

  “Mr. Drake.”

  The blow was swift, and Edgar could hear the crack of the man’s hand as it crashed across his face. He fell back in his chair. His hands rose to his throbbing temple, sticky with blood.

  The Lieutenant said nothing, but only eyed Edgar warily. The tuner nursed his cheek and stared back. The Lieutenant pulled a chair out of the shadows. He sat facing Edgar and waited.

  Finally he spoke. “Edgar Drake, you are under military arrest by order of army headquarters in Mandalay. Within these papers are recorded the nature of your crimes.” He lifted a stack of folders from his lap. “You will be held here until an escort arrives from Yawnghwe. From there you will be taken to Mandalay, and then to Rangoon for trial.”

  Edgar shook his head. “This must be a mistake.”

  “Mr. Drake, I have not given you permission to speak.”

  “I need no permission.” He rose again from his chair, and the Lieutenant rose as well. They faced each other.

  “I—” Edgar was cut short by another blow. His glasses fell. He stumbled back, almost knocking over the chair. He held on to it for support.

  “Mr. Drake, this will be much easier if you cooperate.”

  Shaking, Edgar reached down and picked up his glasses and put them back on. He stared through them with incredulity. “You have just murdered my friends. You strike me, and you request cooperation? I am in the service of Her Majesty.”

  “No longer, Mr. Drake. Traitors are not accorded such respect.”

  “Traitor?” He felt his head spinning. Now he sat, still. “This is mad.”

  “Mr. Drake, these charades will get you nowhere.”

  “I know nothing. Traitor! On what charges?”

  “The charges? Aiding and abetting Surgeon-Major Anthony Carroll, a spy and himself a traitor to the Crown.”

  “Anthony Carroll?”

  The Lieutenant didn’t respond.

  Edgar thought he saw a faint sneer on the man’s face. “Doctor Anthony Carroll? Anthony Carroll is Britain’s finest soldier in Burma. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  They stared at each other.

  There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” said the Lieutenant.

  The door opened, and in walked Captain Nash-Burnham. At first Edgar barely recognized the stout, jovial man he had spent an evening with at the pwè in Mandalay. His uniform was dirty and rumpled. His cheeks were unshaved. Deep bags underlined his eyes.

  “Captain!” said Edgar, rising once again. “What is happening?”

  The Captain looked at Edgar and then back to the Lieutenant. “Lieutenant, have you informed Mr. Drake of the charges?”

  “Only briefly, sir.”

  “Captain, tell me what is going on?”

  Nash-Burnham turned to Edgar. “Sit down, Mr. Drake.”

  “Captain, I demand to know what is happening!”

  “Damn it, Mr. Drake! Sit down!”

  The Captain’s harsh words stung more than the Lieutenant’s hand. Edgar lowered himself into his chair.

  The Lieutenant rose and gave Nash-Burnham his seat. He stood behind him.

  The Captain spoke slowly. “Mr. Drake, there exist very serious charges against you and Surgeon-Major Carroll. I can advise you that it is in your best interest to cooperate. This is as difficult for me as it is for you.”

  The piano tuner said nothing.

  “Lieutenant.” The Captain turned to the man behind him, who began to speak.

  “We will make this brief, Mr. Drake. Three months ago, in a routine review of files at the Home Office in London, a short note written in Russian was found appended to the back of a classified document. The document was traced to Colonel Fitzgerald, the officer in England in charge of Carroll’s correspondence, and the same man who first contacted you. His desk was searched and other correspondences were found. He was arrested as a spy.”

  “Russian? I can’t see how this has to do with—”

  “Please, Mr. Drake. You are well aware that we have been involved in a fierce struggle with Russia for holdings in central Asia for decades. It has always seemed unlikely that Russia would be interested in a territory as distant from its borders as Burma. Yet in 1878, in Paris, there was a meeting between the honorary consul of Burma and a seemingly unlikely diplomat, the great Russian chemist Dmitri Mendeleev. The event was noted by British intelligence in Paris but its implications were poorly understood. The case was soon forgotten, one of many diplomatic courtships that failed to bear fruit.”

  “I can’t see how this has anything to do with Doctor Carroll, or me, or—”

  “Mr. Drake,” the Lieutenant growled.

  “This is nonsense. You just killed—”

  “Mr. Drake,” said Nash-Burnham. “We do not need to tell you any of this. If you don’t wish to cooperate, we can send you directly to Rangoon.”

  Edgar closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He sat back, his head pounding.

  The Lieutenant continued. “The arrest of the Colonel led us to investigate others associated with his command. Our results turned up little, except a letter dated 1879, from Surgeon-Major Carroll to Dmitri Mendeleev, entitled ‘On the astringent properties of the extract of Dendrobium of Upper Burma.’ Although there was nothing specific in the letter to suggest espionage, suspicions were raised, and the presence of copious chemical formulae in the letter suggested code, as of course did the numerous music sheets sent from our office to Surgeon-Major Carroll in Mae Lwin. The very same music sheets which you, Mr. Drake, carried there. When we reexamined the music sheets sent from Carroll, we found most of the notes unintelligible, suggesting that they contained not song but some covert communication.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Edgar protested. “I heard that music played. It is Shan music; the scale is completely different. Of course it sounds different on European instruments, but it isn’t any sort of code—”

  “Naturally, we were loath to level accusations at one of our most successful commanders in Burma. We needed more proof. Then, days ago, we received intelligence reports that Carroll and yourself had met at Mongpu with both representatives of the Limbin Confederacy as well as the Bandit Prince, Twet Nga Lu.”

  “This much is true. I was there. But—”

  “There, Mr. Drake, Carroll formed an alliance with the Limbin Confederacy to repel British forces from Yawnghwe and reestablish Shan autonomy.”

  “Nonsense!” Edgar sat forward in his chair. “I was there. Carroll acted without orders, but he had to. He convinced the Confederacy to submit to a peace treaty.”

  “Is this what he told you?” Nash-Burnham looked up at the Lieutenant.

  “Yes, but I was there. I saw it.”

  “Tell me, how much Shan do you speak, Mr. Drake?”

  For a moment Edgar was silent. Then he shook his head. “This is ludicrous. I have been in Mae Lwin for nearly three months, and not once has the Doctor shown any indication of insubordination to the Crown. He is a man of principle, a scholar, a lover of art and culture—”

  “Let’s talk about art and culture,” the Lieutenant sneered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you go to Mae Lwin, Mr. Drake?”

&
nbsp; “You know very well why I went to Mae Lwin. I was commissioned by the army to tune an Erard grand.”

  “The piano that now floats at the shore of our camp.”

  “That is right.”

  “And how did you get to Mae Lwin, Mr. Drake? Were you escorted there as outlined in your commission?”

  Edgar said nothing.

  “Mr. Drake, I will ask you again. How did you get to Mae Lwin?”

  “Doctor Carroll sent for me.”

  “So you went against orders?”

  “I had come to Burma to tune a piano. Those were my orders. I could not return to Rangoon. When I received Carroll’s letter I went. I am a civilian. It was not insubordination.”

  “So you went to Mae Lwin.”

  “Yes.”

  “What type of piano did you go to tune, Mr. Drake?”

  “An Erard grand. You know that. I don’t see what this has to do with this matter.”

  “Erard … that’s an unusual name. What kind of piano is that?”

  “It’s French. Sebastien Erard was actually German, but he moved to France. I—”

  “French? You mean the same French who are building forts in Indo-China?”

  “This is ridiculous … you are not suggesting that … ?”

  “Only a coincidence, or maybe a matter of taste? There are many fine British pianos.”

  Edgar looked at Nash-Burnham. “Captain, I can’t believe I am hearing this. Pianos don’t make alliances …”

  “Answer the questions,” said Nash-Burnham, flatly.

  “How long does it take to tune a piano, Mr. Drake?” asked the Lieutenant.

  “That depends.”

  “All right then, just give me an approximation. In England, what is the most time you have ever spent tuning a piano.”

  “Tuning only?”

  “Tuning only.”

  “Two days, but—”

  “Two days. Really? Yet you yourself said that you have been in Mae Lwin for nearly three months. If a piano can be tuned in two days, why have you not returned home?”

  Edgar was silent. He felt a spinning, a coming-apart.

  Minutes passed and still he said nothing.

  At last Captain Nash-Burnham cleared his throat. “Will you be able to answer the charges and testify against Surgeon-Major Carroll?”

  The piano tuner answered him slowly. “Captain, what you are saying cannot be true. I was at Mongpu, I saw them meet. I spoke to Twet Nga Lu. Doctor Carroll was negotiating peace. You will see. I believe him. He is eccentric, but he is a genius, a man who can win hearts with music and science. Only wait, and when the Limbin Confederacy presents its proposal to the Crown, you will believe me.”

  “Mr. Drake,” the Lieutenant said, “two days after the meeting in Mongpu, the Limbin forces, led by the sawbwa of Lawksawk, with the support of troops we believe were sent by Carroll, attacked our positions in one of the strongest offensives of their campaign yet. Only by the grace of God were we able to drive them back to Lawksawk, and there burned the city.”

  Edgar was stunned. “You destroyed Lawksawk?”

  “Mr. Drake, we destroyed Mae Lwin.”

  23

  It was dark. Since the Captain’s words, Edgar had not spoken. He sat in the chair in the center of the room, and the Lieutenant and Captain Nash-Burnham left, the door clattering shut behind them. He heard the hollow resonance of a chain being drawn over the bamboo frame and the scrapings of a key. He heard the men walk away, silent, and he watched the sunlight fade and listened to the sounds of the camp grow dim beneath a swell of insects singing. He touched the inside of his palm and ran his fingers over the calluses, They are from the tuning hammer itself, Katherine, This is what happens when we hold on to something too tightly.

  It was dark and the voices of insects rose up, and through the slats in the wall sifted a heavy air, laden with mist and murmurs of rain. His mind wandered. He thought of the movement of the river, of the shaded banks, and he followed them back, against the current, Thoughts do not obey the laws of falling water. He stood on the banks of Mae Lwin before the bamboo huts and they were burning, flames dancing over them, consuming, leaping to trees, branches dripping fire. He heard screaming, and looked up thinking, It is only the sound of the jungle, the cries of beetles. He heard the chain running over the bamboo.

  The door opened and a figure entered, floating, a shadow as dark as the lightless night, Edgar, hello.

  The piano tuner said nothing. May I come in, the shadow asked. The door swung softly. I am not supposed to be here, it said, and the tuner answered, Neither am I, Captain.

  For a long moment there was silence, before the voice floated once again out of the darkness, I need to talk to you.

  I think we have spoken enough.

  Please, I am already under suspicion myself, If they know I am here, they will arrest me as well, I have been interrogated. Is that meant to comfort me? This is not easy, Edgar, None of this is easy, I only want to talk. Talk then. Edgar, I want to speak as we spoke before today. As we spoke before you killed the boys. Edgar, I killed no one. Is that so, three of my companions are dead. I shot no one, I asked them not to kill anyone, but I have been suspended from my command. Nok Lek was fifteen, said Edgar, The others were only boys.

  They were silent, and the insects entered again in chorus. Edgar listened to the trill, The sound is so strong yet it comes only from the scraping of tiny wings.

  Edgar, I am risking everything to come here to talk to you.

  He heard a deeper rising falling from the insects’ call, Those are beats, sound built from the interaction of unequal tones, Sound made from discord, I am surprised I have not heard this before.

  I need you to talk to me, Think of your wife.

  Sound of discord, he thought, and he answered, You have not asked me a question.

  We need you to help us find him, said the shadow.

  The sound of the insects seemed to cease, the piano tuner lifted his head. I thought you said you captured Mae Lwin. We did, But not Carroll. And Khin Myo? Both escaped, we do not know where they are.

  Silence.

  Edgar, we only want to know the truth.

  It seems in short supply.

  Then perhaps you can talk to me, and this can end without more bloodshed, and you can go home. I have told you what I know, Doctor Carroll was a great man.

  Those are empty words at times like this. For you perhaps, Captain, perhaps that is the difference. I only want to know facts, After that we can decide what he was. You mean you can decide, It should be clear I have decided already. I don’t think that is true, There are many reasons to disappear into the mountains, to bring pianos into the jungle, to negotiate treaties, There are many possibilities.

  He loved music.

  That is one possibility, There are others, Is it too much to admit that? Admit, perhaps, but not doubt, I have not doubted him. That is not true, We have your letters, You shouldn’t lie, It helps no one.

  My letters?

  Anything you wrote since you left Mandalay.

  Those were for my wife, They are my thoughts, I didn’t …

  You didn’t think that we would wonder about a man who disappeared?

  She never read them.

  Tell me about Carroll, Edgar.

  Silence.

  Edgar.

  Captain, I have questioned intentions only, I have not doubted his loyalty. You admit this. Yes, I do, but intentions and loyalty are not the same, There is nothing wrong with questions, We mustn’t destroy everything we don’t understand. Tell me those questions then. My questions. Your questions, Edgar.

  Perhaps I wonder why he asked for a piano.

  You wonder. Of course, I have asked myself this every day since I left Britain. And have you answered it yet? No, Must I, What does it matter why he requested it, why he requested me, Perhaps it was central to his strategy, Perhaps he only missed music and was alone.

  And which do you believe?

  I
don’t think it matters, I have my own thoughts.

  As do I.

  Tell me your thoughts, Captain.

  The shadow shifted, Anthony Carroll is an agent working for Russia, He is a Shan nationalist, He is a French spy, Anthony Carroll wants to build his own kingdom in the jungles of Burma, Possibilities, Edgar, only admit that they are possibilities.

  We signed a treaty.

  You don’t speak Shan.

  I saw it, I saw dozens, no hundreds, of Shan warriors bow down before him. And you were not surprised? No. I don’t think that is true.

  I wondered, perhaps.

  And now?

  He gave me his word.

  And then the Limbin Confederacy attacked our troops.

  Perhaps they were traitors to him.

  The two were silent, and in the vacuum of their words once again came the sound of the forest.

  I believed in him once too, Edgar, Perhaps more than you. In this bloody war of dark intentions, I thought he stood for the best of England, He remained the reason I stayed here.

  I don’t know if I can believe you now.

  I am not asking you to, I am asking you only to dissociate what he was from what we wanted him to be, what she was from what you wanted her to be.

  You do not know about her.

  Nor do you, Edgar, Was that smile only the hospitality due a guest?

  I don’t believe that.

  Then do you believe her affections were his request, a seduction only to make you stay, Do you believe he didn’t know?

  There was nothing to know, there was no transgression.

  Or he had faith in her. Faith in what? Possibilities only, Think, Edgar, beyond your fleeting glances, you did not even know what she was to him.

  You know nothing about this.

  I warned you once, Do not fall in love.

  I did not.

  No, Perhaps not, Yet she remains entangled in everything.

  I don’t understand you.

  We come and go, armies and pianos and Grand Intentions, and she remains, and you think that if you can understand her, the rest will come, Think, Was she also your creation, Is the reason you couldn’t understand her because you couldn’t understand your own imaginings, what you wanted to be, It is not too much to suppose that even our own dreams elude us?