Light From Uncommon Stars(103)

And even after this universe ends, and the next—begins?

The duck was crunchy and soft, juicy and salty, and oh so very sweet.





* * *



Once home, Lan rushed downstairs to the lab. She had to find more of Shizuka’s music. Exhausting Shirley’s downloaded files, she reexamined the ship’s database. Exhausting that, she opened Shirley’s account and perused her search history regarding the Queen of Hell.

What she saw wasn’t pleasant, but, well, she knew all of that. Claim souls, send them to a horrible death … yes, yes, yes.

But something was missing.

Why?

The message boards assumed the Queen of Hell was just being the Queen of Hell. But everything about Shizuka, her music, her appearance—even her love for ducks—had a meaning.

The Shizuka she knew would not take souls without a reason.

It took Lan only a few minutes to locate every scrap of information about Shizuka that Shirley had found. And it took Lan only an hour longer to find information about Shizuka that Shirley had not.

Lan turned the computer off. For a long time, she sat there staring at the dead blank screen.

Once, Shizuka had said, “For music to happen, every note must sing, then end.”

And once, Shizuka had said, “Each fragment, passing eternity onward, holds on to that music forever.”

All well and good. All beautiful and wise.

But never once had Shizuka Satomi said she had only three months to live.



* * *



“Again.”

With Bartók, there were no shortcuts to practice. The piece was so difficult that Menuhin himself asked for simplification.

Of course, how one practiced depended on the player. Claire or Kiana would be focusing on technical perfection. Lilia or Yifeng would be reviewing emotion and phrasing. Morihei or Sabrina would be studying history, the biography of the composer, trying to glean clues to proper interpretation.

But with Katrina, Shizuka used what had always worked: let her listen, let her follow. Don’t mention the multiple stops by name. Don’t call them artificial harmonics. Don’t pause to discuss simultaneous left-hand pizzicato and right-hand melody.

Just play and trust her to follow.

Initially, Shizuka had assumed this process was to compensate for a lack of training. Yet Shizuka quickly realized that, although it differed from her previous students, Katrina was far from untrained.

Her tonality had been honed by a lifetime of being concerned with her voice. Her fingerings were liquid, born of years of not wanting her hands to make ugly motions. And her ability to play to a crowd, project emotion, follow physical cues?

Katrina had trained in that most of all.

“Let’s start movement three and work our way around.”

“Yes, Miss Satomi.”

Katrina might do this. She might really be able to do this.

Shizuka would guide her, let her feel human, no matter how she might doubt. Let her feel old and broken. Let her feel childish and na?ve. There was no need to be perfectly beautiful, nor immortal, nor untouchable.

After all, none of that was needed to write a poem or to sing a song.

“Okay, let’s try that again.”

Katrina had been exhausted. Frustrated. This piece was far too difficult. All that brave talk earlier … What was she thinking?

Who was she, trying to play something her own teacher could not complete?

But then, Miss Satomi told Katrina about being in first grade, trying a new food called a burrito. About how throughout grade school, while she was practicing, other kids talked about Captain Kangaroo or the Mickey Mouse Club. In middle school, some of her classmates would go to the movies. She didn’t pay attention to the movies they saw, but she remembered hearing that they bought soda and popcorn. She imagined the movie theater like a big living room. Her parents had never let her eat in the living room.

She told Katrina how, one Halloween, people threw raw eggs at this very house. She said how her father screamed at her, because he found out that the eggs came from her school.

“He said I needed to make more friends. So I bought a parakeet named Pete. Pete couldn’t speak—but he sang a wonderful Magic Flute.”

Katrina had no idea why, but with Miss Satomi’s every word, Aubergine felt a little more agile, more certain, more alive.

“Maybe one day I might like a pet, too—I mean, if it’s okay with you.”

“As long as you take care of it,” Miss Satomi said. “This is your house, too.”

“Well, at least until your next student?” Katrina giggled.

Shizuka felt herself stutter. “W-well, I suppose.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Satomi. I’m not jealous. I know I’m yours for now.”

“Enough chitchat,” Shizuka said. “Let’s start again, from the third movement, all the way through and around again.”

“Yes, Miss Satomi.”

They played throughout the afternoon. After practice, Shizuka walked outside. Already, she could feel a chill.

Way to talk about eternity.

Hypocrite.



* * *



Since it was November, at the pond were not just the usual ducks, but also some Canada geese and even a heron. To her left, there was a golf course. Around her, people were playing basketball. The sun was setting, but of course it would rise again.