The problem was finding time to be alone. As an undergraduate, Mackenzie was required to live in one of the twelve dormitories located on campus. Unlike the private suite of rooms she and Dara and Jennifer had shared at Wood Rose, the single room she had been assigned in Next House dormitory, a red brick multi-storied building located on the banks of the Charles River, was co-ed and housed 347 residents. The room was extremely spartan— even for a dormitory— and other residents, as well as their friends, were constantly popping in. Even if she locked her door, the noise in the hallways made it difficult to study. Fortunately, Next House was located near a library. The MIT library system consisted of five subject libraries and various specialized libraries and archives. It was one of the specialized libraries that kept its doors unlocked all night where Mackenzie knew she would be spending most of her time when not in class.
Just before reaching her next class, Mackenzie checked her phone. She had three messages—Carolina, Dara, and Jennifer.
Chapter Seven
Two frat boys from Sigma Chi, the largest and most visible fraternity on campus, sat on the steps in the center of Yale’s Old Campus Courtyard. This was their favorite time of year—when all of the new freshmen arrived, or, more precisely, the new female students. Tim and Jason were “spotters;” they checked out the females, picked out the best-looking ones, and then alerted the “baiters” who would issue the invitation to the biggest Sigma Chi party of the year. Because Yale’s central campus covered two hundred fifty acres with its Gothic and iconic modern buildings and other miscellaneous structures, spotters and baiters were positioned all over campus to perform what had become an annual ritual the second Wednesday of each new school year. Over the years other fraternities had set up their own spotters and baiters, thus making the whole thing a gigantic competition as to which fraternity would wind up with the biggest party with the most attractive females in attendance.
Tim nudged his Sigma Chi brother: “Check out the tall black babe, three o’clock south.”
Jason obliged, ogled. “Not too bad.” He quickly texted a message to the nearest baiter. “Heading your way – tall, black chick, short curly hair – wearing jeans and white shirt.”
Michael Nottingham, III, better known around campus as “Nott,” saw Dara walking toward him. She was checking her phone and had a load of books. Definitely a freshman.
“Hey, you look like you might be lost. Can I help you find your next class?”
Dara looked up from her phone, then glanced around to see who the guy in khakis and a blue button-down Polo shirt was talking to. “No thanks,” she said once she realized he was talking to her.
Nott wasn’t anything if he wasn’t one of the best looking guys not only within Greek fraternity life but on campus, which was why he was such a good baiter. The female students just couldn’t seem to turn him down. So when Dara walked right past him with barely a notice, it caught him flat-footed. He rushed to catch up with her while at the same time trying to look nonchalant.
“Listen, there is going to be a big party at the Sigma Chi house on Saturday. It’s the biggest event of the year. Sort of a welcome to in-coming freshmen. Lots of fun, lots to drink—lots of whatever, if you know what I mean,” he said smiling broadly. “I would like to invite you.”
Dara noticed his chest puff out slightly when he said, “I would like to invite you.” Like he owned the fraternity or something. “No thanks,” she said and kept walking, wondering what “lots of whatever” meant.
Nott couldn’t believe it. He had never been turned down; but he wasn’t about to give up. He tried another tactic, one that usually worked on the shy types. “Look, you really would be doing me a favor. I don’t have a girlfriend, and all the other guys—my frat brothers—will just make fun of me if I don’t bring someone. I would like for that someone to be you.” He pushed his blond hair back from his forehead and smiled again, this time going for the disarming, innocent look. “My name is Michael Nottingham III, by the way,” giving her all the killer charm he had.
Dara checked out his perfect white teeth, his dark blue eyes, his styled haircut, his preppy clothes down to his expensive Italian leather loafers, and his Rolex watch. Obviously some rich guy’s spoiled son. “Look, Michael Nottingham III, I’m just not interested, so you’ll have to find someone else.” When she turned away, he took her by the arm. “Hey, wait, what is your name?” And when he did, she cocked her right eyebrow and punched him in the nose. When she walked away this time, he didn’t try to stop her.
“Shekoo, baboo!” Dara’s profanity of choice was from the language of some little-known Italian dialect. Then, for emphasis, “What a jerk!” she muttered under her breath. Carolina had warned the three of them before they left Wood Rose about guys on campus with ulterior motives.
Nott immediately felt his nose to see what damage had been caused. There was no blood and it didn’t seem to be broken, but it sure hurt—although not as much as the sharp sting of rejection he had just received. He understood the word “jerk,” but wondered what else she had said. He watched Dara head toward the Center for Language Studies wondering who this tall, nice looking, confident girl was. “Good gosh,” he muttered, afraid he had somehow lost his touch with the female species. His phone buzzed, alerting him to another text. It was from Tim and Jason. “Is she coming?” Nott turned off his phone without answering. Somehow he wasn’t in the mood to be a baiter any more.
As far as Dara was concerned, the past several days had been a total waste of time and she didn’t see it getting better. All of the language courses being offered, fifty-three of them—she already knew. The other thing she had signed up for was a program on China’s position in global affairs, which she was interested in, but she had hoped it would focus on the past and not just China’s rise to prominence and its foreign relations from 1949 to the present. Instead, much to her disappointment, the courses seemed to mainly cover the post-Mao period. Her faculty adviser who was also the Dean of Language Studies, Dr. Chu, had been scrambling to come up with some different options to present to her. That morning he had sent word for her to come to his office at ten o’clock; he wanted her to meet someone. Dara glanced again at the text message Mackenzie had sent moments earlier and sighed. She really missed them—Carolina, Jennifer, and Mackenzie. At least it sounded like Mackenzie had something interesting happening.
Dara arrived at the Center for Language Studies a few minutes ahead of the scheduled meeting and sat in a chair outside her adviser’s office, feet planted firmly, staring at the opposite wall. The voices coming from inside were speaking Cantonese, but the accent was distinctive. From the northeastern region of China, probably the Shandong Province, Dara determined. After a few minutes the door opened, and Dr. Chu asked her to join him and a dear friend who had just arrived from China, Dr. Len Wu.
Dara recognized the name immediately. Dr. Len Wu was an expert in prehistoric, early historic, and medieval culture and cultural development in Old and New China. His work in the iconography of ancient Chinese cultures, the relationship between art and society, ancient writing systems, and Chinese historical archaeology was well known throughout the world—and to Dara. Of course, the studies he had conducted on ancient writing systems were of particular interest to her, being a Female of Intellectual Genius with a special talent in foreign, obscure, and obsolete languages.
For the next hour and a half Dara conversed with Dr. Len Wu in the obscure dialect of Liangchengzhen, the regional center from the ancient Longshan period in the Shandong Province. It was the most excitement she had felt since arriving in New Haven, Connecticut. When she left Dr. Chu’s office, she knew exactly what direction she would follow while at Yale, and if things went as she hoped, Carolina, Mackenzie, and Jennifer would also be involved.
Dara returned to the Hall of Graduate Studies, a Gothic-style residence built in 1932 that housed 168 students and was located near the center of campus and Sterling Library. In addition to the graduate student reside
ntial section, it was also used for classrooms and faculty and staff offices. Unsure how she got so lucky, especially since it was open only to graduate and post-graduate students and there was a waiting list to get in, Dara had been given one of the single rooms with a private bath.
She would have a lot of research to do over the next several weeks, but at least it would be something she would enjoy. Dr. Len Wu had explained to her that in collaboration with colleagues all across China, he was undertaking investigations into early complex societies around the Neolithic site of the Longshan period dating 2500-1900 BC. His research involved work on early writing, language, and human sacrifice at the Shang Dynasty capital of Anyang and investigations of craft production and social organization during the late Neolithic and early Bronze Age in Gansu Province. It was his desire that these varied investigations would allow for new views on a wide variety of topics relevant to the understanding of the trajectory of Chinese civilization and where it is today. And, because of her unique understanding of languages, he was inviting Dara to be a part of his very elite research team of archeologists—twenty-two in all. She was thrilled.
“This won’t excuse you from your undergraduate curriculum,” explained Dr. Chu. “But I am sure you won’t have any problem completing the requirements.” Dr. Chu and Dr. Wu looked at each other as an unspoken understanding passed between them. “And, of course, you will receive upper-level credit for the work you do with Dr. Wu.”
Dara knew she was being offered an opportunity no other student at Yale had ever been given. She would be doing the work of a post-graduate student on a project that was for all intents and purposes closed to any outside involvement. As the three of them discussed Dara’s participation, a tentative plan was sketched out. Dr. Chu suggested that she work on her undergraduate studies between now and the end of her freshman year. And, in order to catch up with what had been discovered at the archeological site, she would also do comprehensive research into what Dr. Len Wu and his team had accomplished to date, “perhaps even going to China over winter break,” Dr. Wu mentioned, which might pose a problem because she didn’t want anything to interfere with spending time with Carolina, Mackenzie, and Jennifer. But she was already working on a plan. Then, during the summer between her freshman and sophomore years, she would return to China in order to spend time at the archeological site in the Shandong Province. “It is there where you will be of most value,” Dr. Wu told her. She couldn’t wait to share her news with Mackenzie, Jennifer, and Carolina—as well as the idea she had, once she put things in place and got approval. It was perfect! They would be Carolina and the FIGs once again.
Chapter Eight
On arriving in New York, Jennifer had been met at LaGuardia by one of the assistant faculty members and taken to the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts on the upper west side of Manhattan where Juilliard School was located. After getting her room assignment and a quick tour of the facilities, she met with her faculty adviser, Dr. Richards. Fortunately, he had an open mind when she told him about her rehearsals at Carnegie. He was also understanding about the fact that she was working on another musical composition, and would need time to complete it before starting any classes. She hadn’t left her room since, other than to eat her meals.
Her bedroom was the largest and most private of six in a suite located on the thirteenth floor of the Meredith Willson Residence Hall which was located in the Samuel B. and David Rose Building. Designated “all female, substance free, and quiet,” there were five other girls in her suite, but she barely knew their names or anything else about them. She simply hadn’t bothered. A “community assistant,” or CA, had been assigned to make sure she went to the dining hall, located on the plaza level of the Rose building, three times a day.
Liz, the CA, learned early on not to try to make small talk with Jennifer. She was obviously one of those weird artsy types who had no social skills. What in the world she did all day long in her room was a mystery and a constant source of speculation among the other students and some faculty. The only thing Liz had noticed was the growing stack of paper—some musical score she assumed that this strange new girl was creating.
“Hey, Jennifer, it’s time for dinner.” Liz spoke just barely above a whisper, lightly knocked on the door, then slowly opened it. She had made the mistake of knocking too loudly the first morning that Jennifer was there, and she got a book thrown at her as a result. On other occasions when she had startled Jennifer by opening the door too suddenly, Jennifer had simply screamed at her to “get out!” Liz learned. Now she always tapped lightly, spoke softly, and made sure there weren’t any air-born projectiles headed her way when she opened the door.
As usual, Jennifer was sitting at her desk working; the only thing changed was Jennifer’s clothes, and the stack of paper that had gotten taller since lunch earlier that day. Jennifer looked toward the voice, eventually realized it was her CA, then walked to the dining hall with Liz following behind. Liz didn’t say anything to Jennifer, but she did sit with her while she ate. Those had been the instructions given to her by Juilliard’s President: “Don’t try to engage Jennifer in conversation unless she initiates it, but do stay with her in case she needs anything.”
Even though Jennifer had only been at Juilliard for a couple of weeks, everyone had noticed the petite new girl, so withdrawn and seemingly full of anger, with brilliant blue eyes who wore her long blond hair tied back in a ponytail and never spoke. “She is a genius—a musical prodigy—” some had said. Others who were more mean-spirited just called her “nuts” or “weird Jen.” Still others said she was the descendant of one of the great Classical composers—Beethoven, Brahms, or Mozart—they weren’t sure which. Of course, no one really knew, but it made for an interesting topic of conversation.
Jennifer was oblivious to all of it, only aware of the music that was revealing itself note by note, measure by measure in her mind. There was one other thing that she was aware of—at eight o’clock every evening, no matter the day, Carolina would call the three FIGs to find out how their day went. Using the app for conference calls, for that brief, special time, they were Carolina and the three FIGs again, even if only by the sound of their voices. No matter how engrossed Jennifer was, something triggered her consciousness as the eight o’clock hour drew near, and she was always ready for Carolina’s call.
It was no different this night having returned to her room after eating dinner and immediately resuming her work. A few minutes before eight, Jennifer put down her black pen, got up from her desk, and moved to the large over-stuffed chair that had been provided with the other furnishings in her room so she would be comfortable. At exactly eight o’clock, her phone rang. Dara and Mackenzie were already on the line. “Hey, Jennifer!” Everyone spoke at once, making Jennifer smile. “Hey right back,” she said, feeling like they were still at Wood Rose—almost.
“So how was everyone’s day?” Carolina asked. “Dara, did your faculty adviser come up with a better study program for you?”
Dara couldn’t wait to tell them her news about being selected to join the eclectic archeological team of the world-renowned Dr. Lin Wu in Shandong Province. “Of course, I have to satisfy my undergraduate course requirements—which is just busy work anyway, but most of my time will be spent on researching ancient writing systems around the Neolithic site of the Longshan period dating 2500-1900 BC.”
“Wow,” said Mackenzie.
“That is absolutely perfect for you, Dara,” Carolina added.
Jennifer didn’t say anything—she couldn’t. As soon as she heard Dara say “Shandong Province” the rock suddenly crashed into her chest taking her breath away, making the pain almost unbearable. Then, just as suddenly, it lifted. When it did, the black and white images she had been seeing—only swirls and lines—now became more defined and exploded into brilliant colors of yellow and red. Jennifer immediately thought of flowers. And like the shy banhu, there was a hint of blue—hidden, secreted behind the yellow and red.
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Now, she knew the origin of the music and why it had been so difficult to write. That was made evident by the colorful images she saw: yellow and red flowers—perhaps chrysanthemums but smaller and somehow different, and a single blue lotus blossom. These were symbolic flowers in the Chinese culture representing nobility, elegance, and purity.
The music was ceremonial music from the Zhou Dynasty called yayue. It was the classical music that Confucius considered good and beneficial. The notes of each individual instrument—conceived to manifest the sounds of nature—now became whole, blending into one masterful music composition that filled her very soul. The woodwinds, drums, bells, strings: she heard them all except for one—the soft mournful notes of the banhu. But she knew its silk-stringed notes were there, just under the surface—like the delicate, shy lotus. It was only a matter of time when it, too, would reveal its notes. Then she would know what the meaning of the music was that she had been maniacally trying to capture ever since leaving Wood Rose. Once the banhu revealed itself, she would hear all of the instruments and all of the notes as a finished musical composition. It would be complete. And it would be the answer to a question that had not yet presented itself, but she knew in time it would.
Tears of relief and happiness spilled from her eyes. This musical composition had been more demanding of her and more difficult to write because of the ancient instruments. It would be different from anything she had written so far.
Dara, concerned that Jennifer hadn’t said anything, asked, “What do you think Jennifer? Because along with this I have come up with a plan that involves all of us.” But Jennifer already knew, because her music was part of that plan.
The Clock Flower (THE FIG MYSTERIES Book 3) Page 4
