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BELCANTO.Copyright©2001byAnnPatchett.Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthisbookmaybeusedorreproducedinanymannerwhatsoeverwithoutwrittenpermissionexceptinthecaseofbriefquotationsembodiedincriticalarticlesandreviews.

FRIENDSHIPANDLOVE:ANINTERVIEWWITHANNPATCHETT©2001byAnnPratchett

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ForKarlVanDevenderSprecher:IhrFremdlinge!wassuchtoderfordertihnvonuns?

Tamino:FreundschaftundLiebe.

Sprecher:Bistdubereit,esmitdeinemLebenzuerkämpfen?

Tamino:Ja.

Speaker:Stranger,whatdoyouseekoraskfromus?

Tamino:Friendshipandlove.

Speaker:Andareyoupreparedevenifitcostsyouyourlife?

Tamino:Iam.

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FriendshipandLove:AnInterviewwithAnnPatchett

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whenthelightswentofftheaccompanistkissedher.Maybehehadbeenturningtowardsherjustbeforeitwascompletelydark,maybehewasliftinghishands.Theremusthavebeensomemovement,agesture,becauseeverypersoninthelivingroomwouldlaterrememberakiss.Theydidnotseeakiss,thatwouldhavebeenimpossible.Thedarknessthatcameonthemwasstartlingandcomplete.Notonlywaseveryonetherecertainofakiss,theyclaimedtheycouldidentifythetypeofkiss:itwasstrongandpassionate,andittookherbysurprise.Theywerealllookingrightatherwhenthelightswentout.Theywerestillapplauding,eachonhisorherfeet,stillinthefullestthroesofhandsslappingtogether,elbowsup.Notonepersonhadcomeanywhereclosetotiring.TheItaliansandtheFrenchwereyelling,“Brava!Brava!”andtheJapaneseturnedawayfromthem.Wouldhehavekissedherlikethathadtheroombeenlit?Washismindsofullofherthatintheveryinstantofdarknesshereachedforher,didhethinksoquickly?Orwasitthattheywantedhertoo,allofthemenandwomenintheroom,andsotheyimagineditcollectively.Theyweresotakenbythebeautyofhervoicethattheywantedtocoverhermouthwiththeirmouth,drinkin.Maybemusiccouldbe

transferred,devoured,owned.Whatwoulditmeantokissthelipsthathadheldsuchasound?

Someofthemhadlovedherforyears.Theyhadeveryrecordingshehadevermade.Theykeptanotebookandwrotedowneveryplacetheyhadseenher,listingthemusic,thenamesofthecast,theconductor.Therewereotherstherethatnightwhohadnotheardhername,whowouldhavesaid,ifasked,thatoperawasacollectionofnonsensicalcatscreechings,thattheywouldmuchratherpassthreehoursinadentist’schair.Theseweretheoneswhoweptopenlynow,theoneswhohadbeensomistaken.

Noonewasfrightenedofthedarkness.Theybarelynoticed.Theykeptapplauding.Thepeoplewholivedinothercountriesassumedthatthingslikethismusthappenhereallthetime.Lightsgoon,gooff.Peoplefromthehostcountryknewittobetrue.Besides,thetimingoftheelectricalfailureseemeddramaticandperfectlycorrect,asifthelightshadsaid,Youhavenoneedforsight.Listen.Whatnoonestoppedtothinkaboutwaswhythecandlesoneverytablewentoutaswell,perhapsatthatverymomentorthemomentbefore.Theroomwasfilledwiththepleasantsmellofcandlesjustsnuffed,asmokethatwassweetandwhollyunthreatening.Asmellthatmeantitwaslatenow,timetogotobed.

Theycontinuedtheapplause.Theyassumedshecontinuedherkiss.

RoxaneCoss,lyricsoprano,wastheonlyreasonMr.Hosokawahadcometothiscountry.Mr.Hosokawawasthereasoneveryoneelsehadcometotheparty.Itwasnotthekindofplaceonewaslikelytovisit.Thereasonthehostcountry(apoorcountry)wasthrowingabirthdaypartyofunreasonableexpenseforaforeignerwhohadtobeallbutbribedintoattendingwasthatthisforeignerwasthefounderandchairmanofNansei,thelargestelectronicscorporationinJapan.ItwasthefondestwishofthehostcountrythatMr.Hosokawawouldsmileonthem,helptheminsomeofthehundreddifferentwaystheyneededhelping.Thatcouldbeachievedthroughtrainingortrade.Afactory(andthiswasthedreamsodearitsnamecouldhardlybespoken)couldbebuilthere,wherecheaplaborcouldmeanaprofitforeveryoneinvolved.Industrycouldmovetheeconomyawayfromthefarmingofcocaleavesandblackheartedpoppies,creatingtheillusionofacountrymovingawayfromthebasematterofcocaineandheroin,soastopromoteforeignaidandmaketraffickingofthoseverydrugslessconspicuous.Buttheplanhadnevertakenrootinthepast,astheJapanese,bynature,erredonthesideofcaution.Theybelievedinthedangerandtherumorsofdangercountriessuchasthispresented,sotohaveMr.Hosokawahimself,notanexecutivevicepresident,notapolitician,comeandsitatthetablewasproofthatahandmightbeextended.Andmaybethathandwouldhavetobecoaxedandbegged.Maybeitwouldhavetobepulledfromitsowndeeppocket.Butthisvisit,withitsgloriousbirthdaydinnerrepletewithoperastar,withseveralmeetingsplannedandtripstopossiblefactorysitestomorrow,wasafullworldcloserthantheyhadevercomebeforeandtheairintheroomwassugaredwithpromise.RepresentativesfrommorethanadozencountrieswhohadbeenmisledastothenatureofMr.Hosokawa’sintentionswerepresentattheparty,investorsandambassadorswhomightnotencouragetheirgovernmentstoputadimeintothehostcountrybutwouldcertainlysupportNansei’severyendeavor,nowcircledtheroominblacktieandeveninggown,makingtoastsandlaughing.

AsfarasMr.Hosokawawasconcerned,histripwasnotforthepurposesofbusiness,

diplomacy,orafriendshipwiththePresident,aslaterwouldbereported.Mr.HosokawadislikedtravelanddidnotknowthePresident.Hehadmadehisintentions,orlackofintentions,abundantlyclear.Hedidnotplantobuildaplant.Hewouldneverhaveagreedtoatriptoastrangecountrytocelebratehisbirthdaywithpeoplehedidnotknow.Hewasnotmuchforcelebratinghisbirthdaywithpeoplehedidknow,andcertainlynothisfifty-third,whichheconsideredtobeanumberentirelywithoutnote.Hehadturneddownhalfadozenstrongrequestsfromtheseverypeople,forthisexactparty,untilthepromisedgiftwasthepresenceofRoxaneCoss.

Andifshewasthepresent,whowoulddecline?Nomatterhowfaraway,howinappropriate,howmisleadingitmightprovetobe,whowouldsayno?

Butfirstrememberanotherbirthday,hiseleventh,thebirthdayonwhichKatsumiHosokawafirstheardopera,Verdi’sRigoletto.HisfatherhadtakenhimtoTokyobytrainandtogethertheywalkedtothetheaterinasteadydownpour.ItwasOctober22andsoitwasacoldautumnrainandthestreetswerewaxedinapaper-thinlayerofwetredleaves.WhentheyarrivedattheTokyoMetropolitanFestivalHall,theirundershirtswerewetbeneathcoatsandsweaters.TheticketswaitinginsideKatsumiHosokawa’sfather ’sbillfoldwerewetanddiscolored.Theydidnothaveespeciallygoodseats,buttheirviewwasunobstructed.In1954,moneywasprecious;trainticketsandoperaswereunimaginablethings.Inadifferenttime,suchaproductionwouldhaveseemedtoocomplicatedforachild,butthiswasonlyahandfulofyearsafterthewarandchildrenthenweremuchmorelikelytounderstandawholehostofthingsthatmightseemimpossibleforchildrennow.Theyclimbedthelongsetofstairstotheirrow,carefulnottolookdownintothedizzyingvoidbeneaththem.Theybowedandbeggedtobeexcusedbyeverypersonwhostoodtoletthempassintotheirseats,andthentheyunfoldedtheirseatsandslippedinside.Theywereearly,butotherpeoplewereearlier,aspartoftheluxurythatcamewiththeticketpricewastherighttositquietlyinthisbeautifulplaceandwait.Theywaited,fatherandson,withoutspeaking,untilfinallythedarknessfellandthefirstbreathofmusicstirredfromsomeplacefarbelowthem.Tinypeople,insects,really,slippedoutfrombehindthecurtains,openedtheirmouths,andwiththeirvoicesgildedthewallswiththeiryearning,theirgrief,theirboundless,recklesslovethatwouldleadeachonetoseparateruin.

ItwasduringthatperformanceofRigolettothatoperaimprinteditselfonKatsumiHosokawa,amessagewrittenonthepinkundersidesofhiseyelidsthathereadtohimselfwhileheslept.Manyyearslater,wheneverythingwasbusiness,whenheworkedharderthananyoneinacountrywhosevaluesarestructuredonhardwork,hebelievedthatlife,truelife,wassomethingthatwasstoredinmusic.TruelifewaskeptsafeinthelinesofTchaikovsky’sEugeneOneginwhileyouwentoutintotheworldandmettheobligationsrequiredofyou.Certainlyheknew(thoughdidnotcompletelyunderstand)thatoperawasn’tforeveryone,butforeveryonehehopedtherewassomething.Therecordshecherished,therareopportunitiestoseealiveperformance,thosewerethemarksbywhichhegaugedhisabilitytolove.Nothiswife,hisdaughters,orhiswork.Heneverthoughtthathehadsomehowtransferredwhatshouldhavefilledhisdailylifeintoopera.Insteadheknewthatwithoutopera,thispartofhimselfwouldhavevanishedaltogether.Itwasearlyinthesecondact,whenRigolettoandGildasangtogether,theirvoicestwining,leaping,thathereachedoutfor

hisfather ’shand.Hehadnoideawhattheyweresaying,nordidheknowthattheyplayedthepartsoffatheranddaughter,heonlyknewthatheneededtoholdtosomething.Thepulltheyhadonhimwassostronghecouldfeelhimselffallingforwardoutofthehighanddistantseats.

Suchlovebreedsloyalty,andMr.Hosokawawasaloyalman.HeneverforgottheimportanceofVerdiinhislife.Hebecameattachedtocertainsingers,aseveryonedoes.HemadespecialcollectionsofSchwarzkopfandSutherland.HebelievedinthegeniusofCallasaboveallothers.Therewasneveragreatdealoftimeinhisdays,notthekindoftimesuchinterestclearlymerited.Customwasthatafterhavingdinnerwithclientsandcompletingpaperwork,hewouldspendthirtyminuteslisteningtomusicandreadinglibrettosbeforefallingasleep.Itwasimpossiblyrare,maybefiveSundaysayear,thathefoundthreeconsecutivehourstolistentooneoperastarttofinish.Once,inhislateforties,heateaspoiledoysterandsufferedaviciousboutoffoodpoisoningthatkepthimhomeforthreedays.HerememberedthistimeashappilyasanyvacationbecauseheplayedHandel’sAlcinacontinually,evenwhileheslept.

Itwashiseldestdaughter,Kiyomi,whoboughthimhisfirstrecordingofRoxaneCossforhisbirthday.Herfatherwasanearlyimpossiblemantobuygiftsfor,andsowhenshesawthediscandanameshedidnotrecognize,shethoughtshewouldtakeachance.Butitwasn’ttheunknownnamethatdrewher,itwasthewoman’sface.Kiyomifoundthepicturesofsopranosirritating.Theywerealwayspeeringoverthetopsoffansorgazingthroughveilsofsoftnetting.ButRoxaneCosslookedatherdirectly,evenherchinwasstraight,hereyeswerewideopen.KiyomireachedforherbeforesheevennoticeditwasarecordingofLuciadiLammermoor.HowmanyrecordingsofLuciadiLammermoordidherfatherown?Itdidn’tmatter.Shegavehermoneytothegirlatthecounter.

WhenMr.HosokawaputtheCDintheplayerandsatdowninhischairtolisten,hedidnotgobacktoworkthatnight.ItwasasifhewasaboyinthosehighseatsinTokyoagain,hisfather ’shandlargeandwarmaroundhisown.Hesetthedisctoplayoverandover,skippingimpatientlypastanythingthatwasnothervoice.Itwassoaring,thatvoice,warmandcomplicated,utterlyfearless.Howcoulditbeatoncecontrolledandsoreckless?HecalledKiyomi’snameandshecameandstoodinthedoorwayofhisstudy.Shestartedtosaysomething—yes?or,what?or,sir?—butbeforeshecouldmakeoutthewordssheheardthatvoice,thestraight-aheadwomanfromthepicture.Herfatherdidn’tevensayit,hesimplygesturedtowardsonespeakerwithhisopenhand.Shewasenormouslypleasedtohavedonesomethingsoright.Themusicpraisedher.Mr.Hosokawaclosedhiseyes.Hedreamed.

InthefiveyearssincethenhehadseeneighteenperformancesfeaturingRoxaneCoss.Thefirstwasaluckycoincidence,theothertimeshewenttothecitywhereshewouldbe,creatingbusinesstotakehimthere.HesawLaSonnambulathreenightsinarow.Hehadneversoughtheroutormadehimselftobeanythingmorethananyothermemberoftheaudience.Hedidnotassumehisappreciationforhertalentexceededanyoneelse’s.Hewasmoreinclinedtobelievethatonlyafoolwouldnotfeelaboutherexactlyhowhefelt.Therewasnothingmoretowantthantheprivilegetositandlisten.

ReadaprofileofKatsumiHosokawainanybusinessmagazine.Hewouldnottalkintermsof

passion,aspassionwasaprivatematter,butoperawasalwaysthere,thehumaninterestangletomakehimappearmoreaccessible.OtherCEOswereshownfly-fishinginScottishriversorpilotingtheirownLearjetsintoHelsinki.Mr.Hosokawawasphotographedathomeintheleatherchairhesatinwhenhelistened,aNanseiEX-12stereosystembehindhim.Thereweretheinevitablequestionsaboutfavorites.Therewastheinevitableanswer.

Forapricethatwasconsiderablymorethantheentirecostoftherestofevening(food,service,transportation,flowers,security)RoxaneCosswaspersuadedtocometotheparty,asitfellinbetweentheendofherseasonatLaScalaandthebeginningofherappearanceatTeatroColóninArgentina.Shewouldnotattendthedinner(shedidnoteatbeforeshesang)butwouldarriveattheendofthemealandperformsixariaswithheraccompanist.Mr.Hosokawawastoldbyletterthathecouldmakearequestuponacceptingtheinvitation,andwhilethehostscouldmakenopromises,therequestwouldbegiventoMissCossforherconsideration.ItwasMr.Hosokawa’sselection,theariafromRusalka,whichshehadjustcompletedwhenthelightswentout.Itwastobetheendoftheprogram,thoughwhoistosayifshemighthavesunganencoreoreventwohadthelightsremainedon?

Mr.HosokawachoseRusalkaasameasureofhisrespectforMissCoss.Itwasthecenterpieceofherrepertoireandwouldrequirenoextrapreparationonherbehalf,apiecethatsurelywouldhavebeenincludedintheprogramhadhenotrequestedit.Hedidnotseeksomethingachinglyobscure,anariafromPartenopeperhaps,soastoprovehimselfanaficionado.HesimplywantedtohearhersingRusalkawhilestandingclosetoherinaroom.Ifahumansoulshoulddreamofme,mayhestillremembermeonawaking!HistranslatorhadwrittenitoutforhimfromtheCzechyearsago.

Thelightsstayedoff.Theapplausebegantoshowtheslightestdownwardsweep.Peopleblinkedandstrainedtoseeheragain.Aminutepassed,thentwo,andstillthegroupremainedcomfortablyunconcerned.ThenSimonThibault,theFrenchAmbassador,whohad,beforecomingtothiscountry,beenpromisedthemuchmoredesirablepostofSpain(whichhadbeenunfairlygiventoanothermanasapayoffforacomplicatedpoliticalfavorwhileThibaultandhisfamilywerepacking)noticedthelightsbeneaththekitchendoorwerestillon.Hewasthefirsttounderstand.Hefeltlikehehadbeenstartledfromadeepsleep,drunkfromliquorandporkandDvořák.Hetookhiswife’shand,reachedupforitinthedarknessasshewasstillapplauding,andpulledherintothecrowd,darkbodieshecouldnotseebutpushedhimselfinto.Hewenttowardsthedirectionoftheglassdoorsherememberedbeingatthefarendoftheroom,craninghisheadtotryandcatchaglimpseofstarlightfororientation.Whathesawwasthenarrowbeamofaflashlight,oneandthenanother,andhefelthisheartcavedowninsidehischest,afeelingthatcouldonlybedescribedassadness.

“Simon?”hiswifewhispered.

Itwasalreadyinplace,withouthimseeinganyofit,thewebwasspunandsnugaroundthehouse,andwhilehisfirstimpulse,thenaturalimpulse,wastopressaheadanywayandseeifhemightbeatouttheodds,clearlogicheldhim.Betternottodrawattentiontoyourself.Betternottobeanexample.Somewhereinthefrontoftheroomtheaccompanistwaskissingtheoperasinger,andsoAmbassadorThibaultdrewhiswife,Edith,intohisarms.

“I’llsinginthedark,”RoxaneCosscalledout,“ifsomeonewillgetmeacandle.”

Withthesewordstheroomstiffenedandthefinalmomentofapplauseturnedtosilenceasitwasnotedthatthecandles,too,weredark.Itwastheendoftheevening.Bynowthebodyguardsnappedinsidelimousineslikegreat,overfeddogs.Allacrosstheroommenslippedtheirhandsintopocketsandfoundonlyneatlypressedhandkerchiefsandfoldingmoney.Asurgeofvoiceswentup,therewassomeshuffling,andthen,asifbymagic,thelightscameon.

***

Ithadbeenabeautifulparty,thoughnoonewouldrememberthat.Whiteasparagusinhollandaise,afishcourseofturbotwithcrispysweetonions,tinychops,onlythreeorfourbitesapiece,inacranberrydemiglaze.UsuallystrugglingcountrieslongingtoimpresstheheadsofimportantforeigncorporationschoseRussiancaviarandFrenchchampagne.RussianandFrench,RussianandFrench,asifthatwastheonlywaytoproveprosperity.Oneverytablespraysofyelloworchids,eachflowernobiggerthanathumbnail,alllocallygrown,trembledandbalancedlikemobiles,rearrangingthemselveswitheveryexhalationofaguest.Theeffortthathadgoneintotheevening,thepositioningofeachstem,thesweepingcalligraphyoftheplacecards,hadbeenlostwithoutamoment’sappreciation.Paintingshadbeenborrowedfromthenationalmuseum:adark-eyedMadonnapresentingatinyChristonherfingertips,hisfaceoddlyknowingandadult,wasplacedoverthemantel.Thegarden,whichtheguestswouldseeonlyforamomentwhentheywalkedtheshortdistancefromtheircarstothefrontdoororiftheyhappenedtoglanceoutthewindowwhileitwasstilllightenough,waspolishedandcomposed,birdsofparadiseandtightlywrappedcannalilies,banksoflamb’searandemeraldfern.Theywerenotfarfromthejungle,andeveninthemostdomesticatedgardentheflowersstrainedtoovertakethedullstretchofneatBermudagrass.Fromearlyinthemorningyoungmenhadworked,wipingthedustfromtheleatheryleaveswithdampcloths,pickingupthefallenblossomsofbougainvilleathatrottedbeneaththehedges.ThreedaysbeforetheyhadputafreshcoatofwhitewashonthehighstuccowallthatsurroundedthehomeoftheVicePresident,carefulthatnoneofthepaintshouldfallonthegrass.Everyelementwasplanned:crystalsaltcellars,lemonmousse,Americanbourbon.Therewasnodancing,noband.Theonlymusicwouldbeafterdinner,RoxaneCossandheraccompanist,amaninhisthirtiesfromSwedenorNorwaywithfineyellowhairandbeautiful,taperingfingers.

***

TwohoursbeforethebeginningofMr.Hosokawa’sbirthdayparty,PresidentMasuda,anativeofthiscountrybornofJapaneseparents,hadsentanoteofregretsayingthatimportantmattersbeyondhiscontrolwouldpreventhimfromattendingtheevening’sevent.

Therewasgreatspeculationaboutthisdecisionaftertheeveningturnedbad.WasitthePresident’sgoodluck?God’sdivinewill?Atip-off,conspiracy,plot?Sadly,itwasnothingsorandom.Thepartywasscheduledtobeginateighto’clockandshouldhavelastedpastmidnight.ThePresident’ssoapoperabeganatnine.AmongthePresident’scabinetmembersandadvisersitwasanopensecretthatmattersofstatecouldnotbeheldMondaythroughFridayforonehourbeginningattwointheafternoonorTuesdayeveningforonehourbeginningatnine.Mr.Hosokawa’sbirthdayfellonaTuesdaythisyear.Therewasnothing

thatcouldbedoneaboutthat.Norcouldanyoneconceivehowtohaveapartythatcommencedatteno’clockatnightorhadconcludedbyeight-thirtyandwhichallowedtimeforthePresidenttoreturnhome.Itwassuggestedthattheprogramcouldbetaped,butthePresidentabhorredtaping.Therewasenoughtapingtoendurewhenhewasoutofthecountry.Allheaskedofanyonewasthatcertainhoursofhisweekremainunquestionablyopen.ThediscussionoftheproblemofMr.Hosokawa’sill-timedbirthdaypartylastedfordays.Afteragreatdealofnegotiating,thePresidentrelentedandsaidhewouldattend.Hoursbeforethepartybegan,foranobviousandunstatedreason,hefirmly,irrevocably,changedhismind.

WhilePresidentMasuda’scommitmenttohisprogramswascompletelyknownandacknowledgedbyhispoliticalinnercircle,thiscommitmentsomehowmanagedtoremainutterlyunknowntothepressorthepeople.Thehostcountrywasmadforsoapoperas,andyetthePresident’sunwaveringdevotiontohistelevisionsetwassopotentiallyembarrassinghiscabinetwouldhavegladlytradeditinforanindiscreetmistress.Evenmembersofthegovernmentwhowerethemselvesknowntofollowcertainprogramscouldnotbeartoseetheobsessionplayedoutsorigidlyintheirheadofstate.SoformanyofthepeopleatthepartywhoworkedwiththePresident,hisabsencewasnotedwithdisappointmentandnorealsurprise.Everyoneelseinquired,Hastherebeenanemergency?IsPresidentMasudaunwell?

“MattersinIsrael,”theyweretoldconfidentially.

“Israel,”theywhispered.Theywereimpressed,neverdreamingthatPresidentMasudawouldbeconsultedonmattersinIsrael.

Therewasacleardivisionamongthealmosttwohundredgueststhatnight:thosewhoknewwherethePresidentwasandthosewhodidn’t,andsoitremaineduntilbothsidesforgotabouthimaltogether.Mr.Hosokawabarelynoticedtheabsence.HecaredverylittleaboutmeetingthePresident.WhatcouldapresidentpossiblymeanontheeveningonewouldmeetRoxaneCoss?

Intothepresidentialvoid,theVicePresident,RubenIglesias,steppedforwardtohosttheparty.Thiswasnotsodifficulttoimagine.Thedinnerwasbeinggiveninhishome.Throughoutthecocktailsandhorsd’oeuvres,thesit-downdinnerandthecreamysinging,hismindstayedonthePresident.HoweasyitwastopicturehisrunningmatenowasIglesiashadseenhimahundredtimesbefore,sittinginthedarkontheedgeofthebedinthemastersuiteofthepresidentialpalace,hissuitjacketfoldedoverthearmofachair,hishandsfoldedandpressedbetweenhisknees.Hewouldbewatchingasmalltelevisionthatsatonhisdresserwhilehiswifewatchedthesameprogramonalargescreeninthedendownstairs.Apictureofabeautifulgirltiedtoachairreflectedinhisglasses.Shetwistedherwristsbackandforth,overandoveragain,untilsuddenlyshefoundsomeslackintheropeandslidonehandfree.Mariawasfree!PresidentMasudarockedbackandclappedhishandssilently.Tothinkhehadalmostmissedthis,afterwaitingforweeks!Thegirlglancedquicklyaroundthestoreroomandthenleanedforwardtountiethecoarseropethatboundherankles.

TheninaninstantthepictureofMariawasgoneandRubenIglesiasliftedhisfacetothelightswhichweresuddenlyrestoredtohislivingroom.Hehadjustbeguntoregisterthatabulbwasburnedoutonasidetablelampwhenmenburstintothepartyfromeverywindow

andwall.EverywheretheVicePresidentturnedtheedgesoftheroomseemedtopushforward,yelling.Heavybootsandgunbuttspoundedthroughvents,stormedinthroughdoors.Peoplewerethrowntogetherandthenjustasquicklybrokeapartinastateofanimalpanic.Thehouseseemedtoriseuplikeaboatcaughtinsidethewidearmofawaveandflipontoitsside.Silverwareflewintotheair,thetinesofforkstwistingagainstknifeblades,vasessmashedintowalls.Peopleslipped,fell,ran,butonlyforaninstant,onlyuntiltheireyesreadjustedtothelightandtheysawtheutteruselessnessoftheirfight.

Itwaseasytoseewhowasincharge—theoldermen,theonesshoutingorders.Theydidnotintroducethemselvesatthetimeandso,forawhile,theywerethoughtofnotbytheirnamesbutbytheirmostdistinctivefeatures.Benjamin:ragingshingles.Alfredo:mustache,firstandsecondfingersmissingonlefthand.Hector:goldwireglassesthathadlostonearm.WiththeGeneralscamefifteensoldierswhorangedinagefromtwentytofourteen.Therewerenowanadditionaleighteenpeopleattheparty.Noonetherecouldcountthematthetime.Theymovedandspread.Theydoubledandtripledastheypulsedaroundtheroom,appearedfrombehindcurtains,camedownfromupstairs,disappearedintothekitchen.Theywereimpossibletocountbecausetheyseemedtobeeverywhere,becausetheyweresosimilar,liketryingtocountbeesinaswarmaroundyourhead.Theyworefadedclothingindarkcolors,manyinthedullgreenofshallow,sludgyponds,ahandfulindenimorblack.Overtheirclothingtheyworeasecondlayerofweapons,sashesofbullets,flashyknivesinbackpockets,allmannerofguns,smallergunsholsteredtothighsorstickinguphopefullyfrombelts,largergunscradledlikeinfants,brandishedlikesticks.Theyworecapswiththebillspulleddown,butnoonewasinterestedintheireyes,onlytheirguns,onlytheirshark-toothedknives.Amanwiththreegunswasrecordedsubconsciouslyasthreemen.Therewereothersimilaritiesbetweenthemen:theywerethin,eitherfromthewantingoffoodorjustthebusinessofgrowing,theirshouldersandkneespokedattheirclothing.Theywerealsodirty,noticeablyso.Evenintheconfusionofthemomenteveryonecouldseethattheyweresmudgedandstreaked,armsandfacesandhandsmottledindirtasiftheyhadarrivedatthepartybydiggingupthroughthegardensanddislodgingapanelinthefloor.

Thisentrancecouldnothavetakenmorethanaminute,andyetitseemedtolastlongerthanallfourcoursesofdinner.Therewastimeforeveryguesttoconsiderastrategy,reviseitthoroughly,andabandonit.Husbandsfoundwiveswhohaddriftedtotheothersideoftheroom,countrymensoughtouttheirownandstoodinblocks,speakingrapidlytooneanother.ItwastheconsensusofthepartythattheyhadbeenkidnappednotbyLaFamiliadeMartinSuarez(sonamedforaboyoftenwhohadbeenshotdeadbythegovernment’sarmywhilepassingoutflyersforapoliticalrally)butbythemuchmorefamousterrorists,LaDirecciónAuténtica,arevolutionarygroupofmurdererswhosereputationhadbeenbuiltoverfiveyearsofwide-rangingbrutality.Itwastheunspokenbeliefofeveryonewhowasfamiliarwiththisorganizationandwiththehostcountrythattheywereallasgoodasdead,wheninfactitwastheterroristswhowouldnotsurvivetheordeal.Thentheterroristmissingtwofingerswhowaswearingwrinkledgreenpantsandamismatchedjacketraisedthelarge.45-caliberautoandfiredtworoundsintotheceiling.Asplatteringofplasterdislodgedanddustedaportionoftheguests,atwhichpointseveralofthewomenscreamed,eitherfromthefiringofthegunorthetouchofsomethingunexpectedontheirbareshoulders.

“Attention,”themanwiththegunsaidinSpanish.“Thisisanarrest.Wedemandabsolutecooperationandattention.”

Roughlytwo-thirdsoftheguestslookedfrightened,butascatteredthirdlookedbothfrightenedandpuzzled.Theseweretheonesleaningtowardsthemanwiththegun,insteadofawayfromhim.TheseweretheonesthatdidnotspeakSpanish.Theywhisperedquicklytotheirneighbors.Thewordatenciónwasrepeatedinseverallanguages.Thatwordwasclearenough.

GeneralAlfredohadanticipatedhisannouncementbringingaboutasortofpricked,waitingsilence,butnosilencecame.Thewhisperingcausedhimtofireintotheceilingagain,carelesslythistime,hittingalightfixture,whichexploded.Theroomwasdimmer,andsliversofglasssettledintoshirtcollarsandrestedonhair.“Arresto,”herepeated.“Detengase!”

Itmayseemsurprisingatfirst,suchalargenumberofpeopleunabletospeakthelanguageofthehostcountry,butthenyourememberitwasagatheringtopromoteforeigninterestandthetwoguestsofhonordidnotknowtenwordsofSpanishbetweenthem,althougharrestomadelogicalsensetoRoxaneCossandmeantnothingtoMr.Hosokawa.Theyleanedforwardasifitmightmakeunderstandingeasier.MissCosswasnotleaningfar,astheaccompanisthadwrappedhimselfaroundherlikeasecuritywall,hisbodyready,anxious,tostepinfrontofanybulletthatmightstrayinherdirection.

GenWatanabe,theyoungmanwhoworkedasMr.Hosokawa’stranslator,leanedoverandspokethewordsinJapanesetohisemployer.

Notthatitwouldhavedonehimanygoodinthesepresentcircumstances,butMr.HosokawahadoncetriedtolearnItalianfromasetoftapeshelistenedtoonairplanes.ForbusinesspurposesheshouldhavelearnedEnglish,buthewasmoreinterestedinimprovinghisunderstandingofopera.“Ilbigliettaiomifeceilbiglietto,”thetapesaid.“Ilbigliettaiomifeceilbiglietto,”hemouthedbacksilently,notwantingtodisturbtheotherpassengers.Buthiseffortswereminimalatbestandintheendhemadenoprogress.ThesoundofthelanguagespokenmadehimlongforthesoundofthelanguagesungandsoonhewasslippingMadamaButterflyintotheCDplayerinstead.

Whenhewasyounger,Mr.Hosokawasawthegreatadvantageoflanguages.Whenhewasolderhewishedhehadmadethecommitmenttolearnthem.Thetranslators!Theywereever-changing,somegood,somefullofschoolboystiffness,someutterly,hopelesslystupid.SomecouldhardlyspeaktheirnativeJapaneseandcontinuallyhaltedconversationstolookupawordinadictionary.Therewerethosewhocouldperformtheirjobwellenough,butwerenotthesortofpeopleonewishedtotravelwith.Somewouldabandonhimthemomentthefinalsentenceofameetingwascompleted,leavinghimstrandedandmuteiffurthernegotiationswerenecessary.Othersweredependent,wantingtostaywithhimthrougheverymeal,wantingtoaccompanyhimonhiswalksandrecountforhimeverymomentoftheirownlusterlesschildhoods.WhathewentthroughjustforamouthfulofFrench,afewclearsentencesofEnglish.WhathewentthroughbeforeGen.

GenWatanabehadbeenassignedtohimataconferenceontheworldwidedistributionof

goodsinGreece.Normally,Mr.Hosokawatriedtoavoidthesurpriseelementlocaltranslatorssooftenprovided,buthissecretaryhadbeenunabletolocateaGreektranslatorwhocouldtravelonshortnotice.DuringtheplaneridetoAthens,Mr.Hosokawadidnottalkwiththetwoseniorvicepresidentsandthreesalesmanagerswhoaccompaniedhimonthetrip.Instead,helistenedtoMariaCallassingacollectionofGreeksongsonhisNanseiheadset,thinkingphilosophicallyifthemeetingwasunintelligibletohim,atleasthewouldhaveseenthecountrysheconsideredherhome.Afterwaitinginlinetohavehispassportstampedandhisluggagerifledthrough,Mr.Hosokawasawayoungmanholdingasign,Hosokawa,neatlylettered.TheyoungmanwasJapanese,which,frankly,wasarelief.ItwaseasiertodealwithacountrymanwhoknewalittleGreekthanaGreekwhoknewalittleJapanese.ThistranslatorwastallforbeingJapanese.Hishairwasheavyandlonginthefrontanditbrushedacrossthetoprimsofhissmallroundglassesevenashetriedtokeepitpartedtooneside.Heappearedtobequiteyoung.Itwasthehair.ThehairdenotedtoMr.Hosokawaalackofseriousness,orperhapsitwasjustthefactthattheyoungmanwasinAthensratherthanTokyothatmadehimseemlessserious.Mr.Hosokawaapproachedhim,gavetheslightestbowofacknowledgmentthatonlyincludedhisneckanduppershoulders,agesturethatsaid,Youhavefoundme.

TheyoungmanreachedforwardandtookMr.Hosokawa’sbriefcase,bowingashedidsotothewaist.Hebowedseriously,thoughsomewhatlessdeeply,tobothofthevicepresidentsandthethreesalesmanagers.Heintroducedhimselfasthetranslator,inquiredafterthecomfortoftheflight,gavetheestimateddrivingtimetothehotelandthestartingtimeofthefirstmeeting.InthecrowdedAthensairport,whereeverysecondmanseemedtosportamustacheandanUzi,amongthejostlingofbagsandthedinofshoutingandoverheadannouncements,Mr.Hosokawaheardsomethinginthisyoungman’svoice,somethingfamiliarandsoothing.Itwasnotamusicalvoice,andyetitaffectedhimlikemusic.Speakagain.

“Whereareyoufrom?”Mr.Hosokawaasked.

“Naganocity,sir.”

“Verybeautiful,andtheOlympics—”

Gennodded,contributingnoinformationabouttheOlympics.

Mr.Hosokawastruggledtocomeupwithsomethingelse.Ithadbeenalongflightanditseemedthatinthetimehehadbeenontheplanehehadforgottenhowtomakeconversation.HefeltitshouldbeincumbentuponGentoattempttodrawhimout.“Andyourfamily,aretheystillthere?”

GenWatanabepausedforamomentasifhewereremembering.AswarmofAustralianteenagerspassedthem,eachwithaknapsackstrappedtoherback.Theirshoutsandlaughterfilledtheconcourse.“Wombat!”onegirlcriedout,andtheothersanswered,“Wombat!Wombat!Wombat!”Theystumbledintheirlaughterandclungtoeachother ’sarms.“Theyareallthere,”Gensaid,eyeingthebacksoftheteenagerswithcautioussuspicion.“Myfather,mother,andtwosisters.”

“Andyoursisters,aretheymarried?”Mr.Hosokawadidnotcareaboutthesisters,butthe

voicewassomethinghecouldalmostplace,likethenotesopeningthefirstactof,what?

Genlookedathimdirectly.“Married,sir.”

Suddenlythisdullquestiontookontheedgeofsomethinginappropriate.Mr.HosokawalookedawaywhileGentookhisluggageandledhispartythroughtheslidingglassdoorsintotheblastingheatofGreeceatnoon.Thelimousinewaited,coolandidling,andthemenclimbedinside.

Overthenexttwodays,everythingGentouchedbecameasmoothsurface.HetypedupMr.Hosokawa’shandwrittennotes,tookcareofscheduling,foundticketstoaperformanceofOrfeoedEuridicethathadbeensoldoutforsixweeks.AttheconferencehespokeinGreekforMr.Hosokawaandhisassociates,spokeinJapanesetothem,andwas,inallmatters,intelligent,quick,andprofessional.ButitwasnothispresencethatMr.Hosokawawasdrawnto,itwashislackofpresence.Genwasanextension,aninvisibleselfthatwasconstantlyanticipatinghisneeds.HefeltGenwouldrememberwhateverhadbeenforgotten.Oneafternoonduringaprivatemeetingconcerningshippinginterests,asGentranslatedintoGreekwhathehadjustthatmomentsaidhimself,Mr.Hosokawafinallyrecognizedthevoice.Somethingsofamiliar,that’swhathehadthought.Itwashisownvoice.

“Idon’tdoagreatdealofbusinessinGreece,”Mr.HosokawasaidtoGenthatnightoverdrinksinthebaroftheAthensHilton.ThebarwasontopofthehotelandlookedoutovertheAcropolis,andyetitseemedthattheAcropolis,smallandchalkyinthedistance,hadbeenbuiltthereforjustthisreason,toprovideapleasantvisualdiversionforthedrinkingguests.“Iwaswonderingaboutyourotherlanguages.”Mr.HosokawahadheardhimspeakingEnglishonthephone.

Genmadealist,stoppingfromtimetotimetoseewhathadbeenleftout.Hedividedintocategoriesthelanguagesinwhichhefelthewasextremelyfluent,veryfluent,fluent,passable,andcouldread.HeknewmorelanguagesthantherewerespecialtycocktailslistedinthePlexiglasholderonthetable.TheyeachorderedadrinkcalledanAreopagus.Theytoasted.

HisSpanishwasextremelyfluent.

Halfaworldaway,inacountrytwiceasforeign,Mr.HosokawawasrememberingtheAthensairport,allthemenwithmustachesandUziswhocalledtomindthemanwhoheldthegunnow.ThatwasthedayhemetGen,fouryearsago,five?Afterthat,GencamebacktoTokyotoworkforhimfull-time.Whentherewasnothingthatneededtranslating,Gensimplyseemedtotakecareofthingsbeforeanyoneknewtheyneededtakingcareof.GenwassocentraltothewayhethoughtnowthatMr.Hosokawaforgotsometimeshedidn’tknowthelanguageshimself,thatthevoicepeoplelistenedtowasnothisvoice.Hehadnotunderstoodwhatthemanwiththegunwassayingandyetitwasperfectlycleartohim.Atworst,theyweredead.Atbest,theywerelookingatthebeginningofalongordeal.Mr.Hosokawahadgonesomeplacehenevershouldhavegone,letstrangersbelievesomethingthatwasnottrue,alltohearawomansing.HelookedacrosstheroomatRoxaneCoss.Hecouldbarelyseeher,heraccompanisthadhersoneatlywedgedbetweenhimselfandthepiano.

“PresidentMasuda,”themanwiththemustacheandthegunsaid.

Therewasanuneasyshiftingamongthewell-dressedguests,noonewantingtobetheonetobreakthenews.

“PresidentMasuda,comeforward.”

Peoplekepttheireyesblank,waiting,untilthemanwiththegunbroughtthegundownsothatnowitfacedthecrowd,thoughinparticularitappearedtobepointedatablondewomaninherfiftiesnamedElise,whowasaSwissbanker.Sheblinkedafewtimesandthencrossedherwide-openhandsoneontopoftheothertocoverherheart,asifthiswastheplaceshewasmostlikelytobeshot.Shewouldofferupherhandsiftheymightaffordherheartamillisecondofprotection.Whilethiselicitedafewgaspsfromtheaudience,itdidlittleelse.Therewasanembarrassingwaitthatruledoutallnotionsofheroicsorevenchivalry,andthenfinallytheVicePresidentofthehostcountrytookasmallstepforwardandintroducedhimself.

“IamVicePresidentRubenIglesias,”hesaidtothemanwiththegun.TheVicePresidentappearedtobeextremelytired.Hewasaverysmallman,bothinstatureandgirth,whohadbeenchosenasarunningmateasmuchforhissizeasforhispoliticalbeliefs.ThepervasivethinkingingovernmentwasthatatallervicepresidentwouldmakethePresidentappearweak,replaceable.“PresidentMasudawasunabletoattendthisevening.Heisnothere.”TheVicePresident’svoicewasheavy.Toomuchofthisburdenwasfallingtohim.

“Lies,”themanwiththeguncorrected.

RubenIglesiasshookhisheadsadly.NoonewishedmorethanhethatPresidentMasudawereinattendancerightnow,insteadoflyinginhisownbed,happilyplayingovertheplotoftonight’ssoapoperainhismind.GeneralAlfredoquicklyturnedtheguninhishandsothathenowheldthemuzzleratherthanthehandle.HebroughtthegunbackintheairandhittheVicePresidentontheflatboneofhischeekbesidetherighteye.Therewasasoftthump,asoundconsiderablylessviolentthantheaction,asthehandleofthegunhittheskinovertheboneandthesmallmanwasknockedtotheground.Hisbloodwastednotimeinmakingitsexit,spillingoutthethree-centimetergashnearhishairline.Someofitmadeitswayintohisearandstartedthejourneybackintohishead.Still,everyone,includingtheVicePresident(nowlyinghalfconsciousonhisownliving-roomrugwherenottenhoursbeforehehadrolledinamockwrestlingmatchwithhisthree-year-oldson)waspleasedandsurprisedthathehadnotbeenshotdead.

ThemanwiththegunlookedattheVicePresidentonthefloorandthen,asiflikingthesightofhimthere,instructedtherestofthepartytoliedown.Forthosewhodidn’tspeakthelanguagethiswasclearenough,asonebyonetheotherguestssanktotheirkneesandthenstretchedoutonthefloor.

“Faceup,”headded.

Thefewwhohaddoneitwrongrolledovernow.TwooftheGermansandamanfromArgentinawouldnotliedownatalluntilthesoldierswentandpokedthemsharplyinthebacksoftheirkneeswithrifles.Thegueststookupconsiderablymoreroomlyingdownthan

theyhadstandingup,andtoaccommodatetheneedforspacesomelaydowninthefoyerandothersinthediningroom.Onehundredandninety-oneguestslaydown,twentywaiterslaydown,sevenprepcooksandchefslaydown.TheVicePresident’sthreechildrenandtheirgovernesswerebroughtfromtheupstairsbedroom,where,despitethelatehour,theyhadyettogotosleepbecausetheyhadbeenwatchingRoxaneCosssingfromthetopofthestairs,andthey,too,laydown.Scatteredacrossthefloorlikearearugslaysomeimportantmenandwomenandafewextremelyimportantmenandwomen,ambassadorsandvariousdiplomats,cabinetmembers,bankpresidents,corporationheads,amonseigneur,andoneoperastar,whoappearedtobemuchsmallernowthatshewasonthefloor.Bitbybittheaccompanistwasmovingontopofher,tryingtoburyherbeneathhisownbroadback.Shesquirmedabit.Thewomenwhobelievedthatthiswouldallbeovershortlyandtheywouldbehomeintheirownbedsbytwo A.M.werecarefultoadjusttheirfullskirtsbeneaththeminawaythatwouldminimizewrinkling.Theoneswhobelievedtheywouldbeshotpresentlyletthesilkwadandcrease.Wheneveryonehadsettledtothefloortheroomwasleftremarkablyquiet.

Nowthepeoplewereclearlydividedintotwogroups:thosewhowerestandingandthosewhowerelyingdown.Instructionsweregiven,thoselyingdownweretoremainquietandstill,thosestandingupshouldcheckthoselyingdownforweaponsandforsecretlybeingthepresident.

Onewouldthinkthatbeingonthefloorwouldmakeonefeelmorevulnerable,moreafraid.Theycouldbesteppedonorkicked.Theycouldbeshotwithouteventhechancetorun.Yettoapersoneveryoneonthefloorfeltbetter.Theycouldnolongerplottooverpoweraterroristorconsideradesperaterunatthedoor.Theywereconsiderablylesslikelytobeaccusedofdoingsomethingtheydidnotdo.Theywerelikesmalldogstryingtoavoidafight,theirnecksandbelliesturnedwillfullytowardssharpteeth,takeme.EventheRussians,whohadbeenwhisperingaplottomakearunforitafewminutesbefore,experiencedthereliefofresignation.Notafewoftheguestsclosedtheireyes.Itwaslate.Therehadbeenwineandturbotandaverynicesmallchop,andasmuchastheywereterrified,theyweretired.Thebootsthatsteppedaroundthem,overthem,wereoldandcakedinmudthatflakedoffintotrailsacrosstheelaboratelypatternedSavonnièrecarpet(which,mercifully,layonagoodpad).Therewereholesinthebootsandtheedgesoftoescouldbeseen,toesbeingnowsoclosetoeyes.Someofthebootshadfallenapartandwereheldtogetherbysilverelectricaltapethatwasitselffilthyandrolledbackattheedges.Theyoungpeoplecroucheddownovertheguests.Theydidnotsmilebuttherewasnothingparticularlythreateningintheirfaceseither.Itwaseasytoimaginehowthismighthavegoneifeveryonehadbeenstanding,asmallerboywithseveralknivesneedingtoestablishhisauthorityoverataller,oldermanwearinganexpensivetuxedo.Butnowtheboys’handsmovedquickly,flutteringinandoutofpockets,smoothingdownpantslegswiththeirfingersspread.Forthewomentherewasjusttheslightesttappingaroundtheskirts.Sometimesaboywouldleanover,hesitate,andpullawayaltogether.Theyfoundverylittleofinterest,asthiswasadinnerparty.

ThefollowingitemswererecordedinanotebookbytheveryquietGeneralHector:sixsilverpenknivesintrouserpocketsandfourcigarcuttersonwatchchains,onepearl-handledpistolscarcelylargerthanacombinaneveningbag.Atfirsttheythoughtitwasacigarettelighterandaccidentallypoppedoffaroundtryingtofindtheflame,leavinganarrowgouge

inthedining-roomtable.Aletteropenerwithacloisonnéhandlefromthedeskandallmannerofknivesandmeatforksfromthekitchen,thepokerandtheshovelfromthestandbythefireplace,andasnub-nosed.38Smith&WessonrevolverfromtheVicePresident’sbedsidetable,agunwhichtheVicePresidentfreelyadmittedtohavingwhenquestioned.Allofthistheylockedintoanupstairslinencloset.Theyleftthewatches,wallets,andjewelry.Oneboytookapeppermintfromawoman’ssatineveningclutchbutfirsthelditupdiscreetlyforconsent.Shemovedherheaddownandback,justaquarterofaninch,andhesmiledandslippedoffthecellophane.

OneboypeeredintentlyatGenandMr.Hosokawa,lookingonceandthenagainattheirfaces.HestaredatMr.Hosokawaandthenbackedup,steppingonthehandofoneofthewaiters,whowincedandpulleditquicklyaway.“General,”theboysaid,tooloudlyforsuchaquietroom.Genmovedclosertohisemployer,asiftosaybythepositionofhisbodythatthiswasapackagedeal,theywenttogether.

OverthewarmandbreathingguestssteppedGeneralBenjamin.Atfirstglanceonemighthavethoughthehadtheunluckydrawofalargeportwinebirthmark,butwithanotherlookitwasclearthatwhatwasonhisfacewasaliving,ragingthing.Thebrightredriverofshinglesbegansomewheredeepbeneathhisblackhairandcutaswathacrosshislefttemple,stoppingjustshortofhiseye.Theverysightofthemmadetheviewerweakfromsympatheticpain.GeneralBenjaminfollowedthepathoftheboy’spointingfingerandhe,too,staredatMr.Hosokawaforalongtime.“No,”hesaidtotheboy.Hebegantoturnaway,butthenhestopped,saidtoMr.Hosokawainaconversationalmanner,“HethoughtyouwerethePresident.”

“HethoughtyouwerethePresident,”Gensaidquietly,andMr.Hosokawanodded.AJapanesemaninhisfiftieswearingglasses,therewereanotherhalf-dozenlyingaround.

GeneralBenjamindroppedhisrifledowntoGen’schestandrestedthemuzzletherelikeawalkingstick.Theroundopeningwasbarelybiggerthanoneofthestudsonhisshirtfrontanditmadeasmallanddistinctpointofpressure.“Notalking.”

Genmouthedthewordtraductortohim.TheGeneralconsideredthisforamoment,asifhehadjustbeentoldthemanhehadspokentowasdeaforblind.Thenhepickeduphisgunandwalkedaway.Surely,Genthought,theremustbesomemedicationthatmancouldtakethatwouldhelphim.Whenheinhaledhefeltasmall,piercingachewherethepointofthegunhadbeen.

Notsofaraway,nearthepiano,twoboystooktheirgunsandpokedattheaccompanistuntilhewasmorebesideRoxaneCossthanontopofher.Herhair,whichhadbeenpulledupintoanelaboratetwistonthebackofherhead,wasnearlyimpossibletolieon.Shehadsurreptitiouslyremovedthepinsandputtheminaneatpileonherstomach,wheretheycouldbecollectedasweaponsifanyonewassoinclinedtotakethem.Nowherhair,longandcurled,spreadoutaroundherheadandeveryyoungterroristmadeapointofcomingbytoseeit,somebeingboldenoughtotouchit,notthedeepsatisfactionofastroke,butthesmallestoftapswithonefingernearitscurlingends.Leaningoverthisway,theycouldsmellherperfume,whichwasdifferentfromtheperfumesoftheotherwomentheyhadinspected.Theoperasingerhadsomehowreplicatedthescentofthetinywhiteflowerstheyhadpassed

inthegardenontheirwaytotheairducts.Evenonthisnight,withthepossibilitiesoftheirowndeathsandthepossibilitiesofliberationweighingheavilyontheirminds,theyhadnoticedthesmellofsuchatiny,bell-shapedflowerthatgrewnearthehighstuccowall,andnowtofindithereagainsosooninthehairofthebeautifulwoman,itfeltlikeanomen,likegoodluck.Theyhadheardhersingwhiletheywaitedcrouchedinsidetheair-conditioningvents.Theyeachhadatask,extremelyspecificinstructions.Thelightsweretobecutoffafterthesixthsong,nooneeverhavingexplainedintheirlivestheconceptofanencore.Noonehavingexplainedopera,orwhatitwastosingotherthanthesingingthatwasdoneinacarelessway,underone’sbreath,whilecarryingwoodintothehouseorwaterupfromthewell.Noonehavingexplainedanything.Eventhegenerals,whohadbeentothecapitalcitybefore,whohadhadeducations,heldtheirbreathsoastobetterhearher.Theyoungterroristswaitingintheair-conditioningventsweresimplepeopleandtheybelievedsimplethings.Whenagirlintheirvillagehadaprettyvoice,oneoftheoldwomenwouldsayshehadswallowedabird,andthiswaswhattheytriedtosaytothemselvesastheylookedatthepileofhairpinsrestingonthepistachiochiffonofhergown:shehasswallowedabird.Buttheyknewitwasn’ttrue.Inalltheirignorance,inalltheirunworldliness,theyknewtherehadneverbeensuchabird.

Inthesteadyriverofapproachingboys,onecroucheddownbesideherandpickedupherhand.Hehelditlightly,hardlymorethanrestedherpalmagainsthisown,sothatshecouldhavetakenitbackfromhimatanyminute,butshedidnot.RoxaneCossknewthelongerheheldherhand,themorehewouldloveher,andifhelovedherhewasmorelikelytotryandprotectherfromtheothers,fromhimself.Thisparticularboylookedimpossiblyyoungandfine-bonedbeneaththebillofhiscap,hiseyelidsburdenedbytheweightofathousandsilkyblacklashes.Acrosshisnarrowchestwasabandolierofbulletsandhisbodycurvedbeneaththeirweight.Theroughwoodenhandleofaprimitivekitchenknifestuckupfromthetopofonebootandapistolwashalffallingfromhispocket.RoxaneCossthoughtofChicagoandthefrigidnightsoflateOctober.Ifthisboyhadbeenlivinginanothercountry,inanentirelydifferentlife,hemightstillhavegoneouttrick-or-treatingnextweek,evenifhehadbeentooold.Hemighthavedressedasaterrorist,wornoldbootsfromagardeningshed,fashionedabandolierfromstripsofcorrugatedcardboard,andfilledeachloopwithatubeofhismother ’slipstick.Theboywouldnotlookather,onlyherhand.Hestudieditasifitweresomethingcompletelyseparatefromher.Underanyothercircumstancesshewouldhavepulleditawayfromhim,butduetotheremarkablecourseoftheevening’sevents,shekeptherhandstillandallowedittobestudied.

Theaccompanistraisedhisheadandgloweredattheboy,whothensettledRoxaneCoss’shandbackagainstherdressandwalkedaway.

***

Twofacts:noneoftheguestswasarmed;noneoftheguestswasPresidentMasuda.Groupsofboyswithgunsdrawnweredispatchedtodifferentcornersofthehouse,downtothebasement,uptotheattic,outaroundtheedgesofthehighstuccowall,toseeifhehadhiddenhimselfintheconfusion.Butthewordcamebackagainandagainthatnoonewasthere.Throughtheopenwindowscametheraucoussawingofinsectlife.Inthelivingroomofthevice-presidentialhome,everythingwasstill.GeneralBenjaminsatdownonhisheelsnextto

theVicePresident,whowasbleedingheartilyintothedinnernapkinwhichhiswife,wholaybesidehim,pressedagainsthishead.Amoresinisteredgeofpurplewasnowringinghiseye.Itlookednowherenearaspainfulastheinflammationofhisownface.“WhereisPresidentMasuda?”theGeneralasked,asifitwasthefirstmomenttheyhadnoticedhimgone.

“Athome.”Hetookthebloodyclothfromhiswifeandmotionedforhertoscootaway.

“Whydidhenotcomethisevening?”

WhattheGeneralwasaskingwas,didhehaveamoleinhisorganization,didthePresidentreceivewordofanattack?ButtheVicePresidentwasdazedfromtheblowandfeelingbitterbesides,bitternessbeingafirstcousintothetruth.“Hewantedtowatchhissoapopera,”RubenIglesiassaid,andinthehushedandobedientroomhisvoicetraveledtoeveryear.“HewantedtoseeifMariawouldbefreedtonight.”

“Whywerewetoldhewouldbehere?”

TheVicePresidentgaveitupwithouthesitationorremorse.“Hehadagreedtoattendandthenhechangedhismind.”Therewasanuneasyshiftingofbodiesonthefloor.Thepeoplewhodidn’tknowwereasappalledtohearitastheoneswhohadknownallalong.RubenIglesiashadatthatexactmomentendedhisownpoliticalcareer.TherehadbeennogreatlovebetweenhimandMasudatobeginwith,andnowMasudawouldruinhim.Avicepresidentworkedhardbecausehebelievedsomedaytheofficewouldbehandeddown,likepropertypassedfromfathertoson.Inthemeantimehebithislip,tookthedirtyjobs,theceremonialfunerals,visitstoearthquakesites.HenoddedappreciativelythrougheachofthePresident’sinterminablespeeches.ButonthisnighthenolongerbelievedhewouldsomedaybethePresident.Tonighthebelievedhewouldbeshotalongwithsomeofhisguests,possiblyallofhisguests,possiblyhischildren,andifthatwasthecase,hewantedtheworldtoknowthatEduardoMasuda,amanbarelyonecentimetertallerthanhimself,washomewatchingtelevision.

TheCatholicpriests,sonsofthosemurderingSpanishmissionaries,lovedtotellthepeoplethatthetruthwouldsetthemfree,andinthiscasetheywereexactlycorrect.TheGeneralnamedBenjaminhadcockedhisgunandwaspreparedtomakeanexamplebydispatchingtheVicePresidentintothenextworld,butthesoapoperastorystoppedhim.AsmuchashewassicktoknowthatfivemonthsofplanningforthisoneeveningtokidnapthePresidentandpossiblyoverthrowtheentiregovernmentwereworthlessandhewasnowsaddledwithtwohundredandtwenty-twohostageslyingbeforehimonthefloor,hebelievedtheVicePresident’sstorycompletely.Noonecouldmakeitup.Itwastoopettyandsmall-minded.GeneralBenjaminhadnoqualmsaboutkilling,believingfromhisownexperiencethatlifewasnothingmorethanexcruciatingsuffering.IftheVicePresidenthadsaidthePresidenthadtheflu,hewouldhaveshothim.IfhehadsaidthePresidentwascalledawayonurgentmattersofnationalsecurity,hewouldhaveshothim.IfhehadsaiditwasallaruseandthePresidenthadneverplannedonattendingthepartyatall,bang.ButMaria,eveninthejunglewheretelevisionswererare,electricitysketchy,andreceptionnonexistent,peoplespokeofthisMaria.EvenBenjamin,whocaredfornothingbutthefreedomoftheoppressed,knewsomethingofMaria.HerprogramcameonintheafternoonsfromMondaytoFriday,withaspecialepisodeonTuesdaynightswhichmoreorlesssummarizedtheweekforthosewho

hadtoworkduringtheday.IfMariawastobefreed,itwasnotsurprisingthatitshouldhappenonaTuesdaynight.

Therewasaplan,andthatplanhadbeentotakethePresidentandbegoneinsideofsevenminutes.Theyshouldbeoutofthecitybynow,speedingtheirwayoverthedangerousroadsthatledbacktothejungle.

Throughthewindows,brightredstrobelightsflashedacrossthewallsaccompaniedbyahigh-pitchedwailing.Thesoundwasnaggingandaccusatory.Itwasnothing,nothinglikesong.

two

allnightlongtheoutsideworldbellowed.Carsskiddedandsped.Sirensarrived,departed,flickedoffandonandoffagain.Woodenbarricadesweredraggedintoplace,peoplewereherdedbehind.Itwassurprisinghowmuchmoretheycouldhearnowthattheywerelyingdown.Theyhadthetimetoconcentrate—yes,therewenttheshufflingoffeet,thatwasthesoundofabatonbeingsmackedintoanopenpalm.Theceilinghadbeenmemorized(lightbluewithcrownmoldingthatwaselaboratetothepointofbeingtasteless,scrollingandspiralingandeveryinchofitleafedingold,thethreechippedholesleftbybullets)andsoguestsclosedtheireyestosettleintotheseriousbusinessoflistening.Voices,exaggeratedandmangledthroughthebullhorn’samplification,shoutedinstructionstowardsthestreet,madedemandstowardsthehouse.Theywouldsettlefornothingshortofunqualified,immediatesurrender.

“Youwillputyourgunsdownoutsidethedoor,”thevoiceraged,loudanddistortedasifithadbubbledupfromtheoceanfloor.“Youwillopenthedoorandexitbeforethehostages,handsonthebacksofyourheads.Next,thehostageswillproceedthroughthefrontdoor.Forthepurposesofsafety,hostagesshouldkeeptheirhandsonthetopoftheirheads.”

Whenonevoicehadcompleteditspitchthebullhornwashandedofftoanother,whobeganitalloveragainwithsubtlevariationsofthethreats.Therewereaseriesofloudclicksandthenanartificialblue-whitelightspilledthroughtheliving-roomwindowlikecoldmilkandmadeeveryonesquint.Atwhatpointhadtheirproblemsbeendiscovered?Whohadcalledthesepeopleinandhowwasitpossiblethatsomanyofthemhadassembledsoquickly?Didtheywaittogetherinthebasementofsomepolicestation,waitforanightjustlikethis?Didtheypracticethethingstheywouldsay,shoutingthroughbullhornstonoone,makingthepitchoftheirvoicesgohigherandhigher.Eventheguestsknewthatnoonewouldputdownhisgunsandwalkoutthedoorsimplybecausehewastoldtodoso.Eventheyunderstoodthateverytimethedemandwasissuedthechancesofitbeingansweredfavorablyreceded.Eachoftheguestsdreamedthatheorshewasinpossessionofasecretgun,andiftheyhadsuchaguntheywouldcertainlyneverthrowitdownthefrontporchsteps.Afterawhiletheyweresotiredtheyforgottowishthatthishadneverhappened,ortowishthattheyhadnevercometotheparty.Alltheywishedwasforthemenoutsidetogohome,turnoffthebullhorns,andletthemallhaveanight’ssleeponthefloor.Everynowandthentherewouldbeafewfreemomentswhennoonewasspeaking,andinthatfalseandtemporaryquietadifferentkindofnoisewouldcomeforward,treefrogsandlocustsandthemetallicclicking

ofgunsbeingloadedandcocked.

Mr.Hosokawalaterclaimedhedidnotclosehiseyesallnight,butGenheardhimsnoringsometimeafterfour A.M..Itwasasoft,whistlingsnorelikewindcominginbeneathadoorjamb,anditgaveGencomfort.Therewasothersnoringintheroomaspeoplefellasleepfortenminutesortwenty,butevenasleeptheyremainedobedientandstayedflatontheirbacks.Theaccompanisthadworkedhiswayoutofhissuitjacketsoslowlyheneverappearedtomoveatallandhemadealittleballed-uppillowonwhichRoxaneCosscouldlayherhead.Allnightlongthemuddybootssteppedoverthem,betweenthem.

Whentheguestslaydownthenightbeforetherehadbeenagreatdealofdrama,whichservedasadistractiontowhatmighthappen,butbymorningfearhadcoatedtheinsideofeverymouth.Theyhadbeenawakethinkingoverthealternatives,whichdidnotseemgood.Theroughbrushofbeardshadsprungupduringthenightandeyemakeuphadbeensmearedfromcrying.Dinnerjacketsanddresseswerecrumpled,shoesweretight.Backsandhipsachedfromthehardfloorandneckswerelockedstraightahead.Withoutexception,everylastpersononthefloorneededtousethefacilities.

Inadditiontosufferingwhattheotherssuffered,Mr.Hosokawaboretheterribleburdenofresponsibility.Allofthesepeoplehadcomeforhisbirthday.Byagreeingtoapartyunderwhatheknewtobefalsepretense,hehadcontributedtotheendangermentofeverylifeintheroom.SeveralemployeesofNanseihadcome,includingAkiraYamamoto,thedirectorofprojectdevelopment,andTetsuyaKato,seniorvicepresident.VicepresidentsfromSumitomoBankandtheBankofJapan,SatoshiOgawaandYoshikiAoi,respectively,hadalsocome,despiteMr.Hosokawa’spersonalandrepeatedrequeststhattheynotattend.Thehostcountryhadcalledthemaswell,explainingthatitwasabirthdaypartyfortheirmostvaluedcustomerandofcoursetheywouldn’twanttomissabirthdayparty.TheambassadorfromJapanhadmadethecall.Hewaslyingonthedoormatnowintheentryway.

ButthehostagethatpainedMr.Hosokawathemost(andevenashefeltthisheknewitwaswrong,toplaceahighervalueononelifeoveranother)wasRoxaneCoss.Shehadbeenbroughttothisdismaljungletosingforhim.Whatvanityonhisparttothinkthiswasanappropriategift.Itwasenoughtolistentoherrecordings.IthadbeenmorethanenoughtoseeheratCoventGarden,theMetropolitan.Whydidhethinkitwouldbeanybetterifhecouldstandcloseenoughtosmellherperfume?Itwasnotbetter.Hervoice,ifhecouldbeveryhonest,wasnotflatteredbytheacousticsinthelivingroom.Itmadehimuncomfortabletonoticethesupremeathleticismofhermouth,toseesoclearlyherdamppinktonguewhensheopenedupwideandwiderstill.Thelowerteethwerenotstraight.Ithadbeenanhonorbutnothingthatwouldbeworththeharmthatcouldcometoher,toallofthem.Hetriedtoraisehisheadjustahalfaninchtoseeher.Shewasalmostnearhim,sincehehadbeenstandinginthefrontoftheroomwhenshewassinging.Hereyeswereclosednow,thoughheimaginedshewasnotsleeping.Itwasnotthatshewasaverybeautifulwoman,ifonecouldseeherobjectively,lyingonaliving-roomfloor.Eachofherfeaturesseemedabittoolargeforherface,hernosewastoolong,hermouthwastoowide.Hereyes,certainly,werebigger,rounder,thanaverageeyes,butnoonecouldcomplainabouthereyes.TheyremindedhimoftheblueoftherindoflowersthatgrewnearLakeNagano.Hesmiledtothinkofthat,andwantedtoturnandtellhisthoughttoGen.HelookedinsteadtoRoxane

Coss,whosefacehehadtirelesslystudiedinprogramnotesandCDinserts.Hershouldersweresloping.Herneck,perhaps,couldbelonger.Alongerneck?Hecursedhimself.Whatwashethinking?Noneofitmattered.Noonecouldseeherobjectivelyanyway.Eventhosewhosawherforthefirsttime,beforeshehadopenedhermouthtosing,foundherradiant,asifhertalentcouldnotbecontainedinhervoiceandsopouredlikelightthroughherskin.Thenallthatcouldbeseenwastheweightandtheglossofherhairandthepalepinkofhercheeksandherbeautifulhands.TheaccompanistcaughtsightofMr.Hosokawa’sraisedheadandMr.Hosokawaquicklyreturnedittothefloor.Theterroristswerebeginningtotapsomeoftheguestsandmotionthemtostandandfollow.ItwaseasyforMr.Hosokawatopretendhehadonlyraisedhisheadtoseeaboutthat.

Byteninthemorningacertainamountofwhisperinghadbegun.Itwasn’tsodifficulttosneakinawordortwowithallthenoisethatblastedinthroughthewindowsandtheconstantupanddownoftheguestsbeingledintothehall.Thatwaswhathadstartedthewhispering.Atfirsttheyallbelievedtheyweretobetakenawayandshotahandfulatatime,probablyinthegardenbehindthehouse.VictorFyodorovfingeredthepackageofcigarettesinhisjacketpocketandwonderediftheywouldlethimsmokeforaminutebeforegunninghimdown.Hecouldfeeltherivuletsofsweatcombingbackhishair.Itwouldalmostbeworthgettingshotifhecouldhaveacigarettenow.Theroomwaspainfullystillastheywaitedforthereport,butwhenthatfirstgroupreturned,smiling,nodding,theywhisperedtotheonesnexttothem,“Toilet,bathroom,WC.”Thewordspread.

Everyonewasledawaywithoneescort:foreveryguest,adirt-smearedyoungterroristsportingseveralweapons.Someoftheyoungmenmerelywalkedbesidetheguests,whileothersheldtheupperarmwithvaryingdegreesofaggression.TheboywhocameforRoxaneCosstookherhandratherthanherarmandhelditinthemannerofsweetheartslookingforadesertedstretchofbeach.Hewasn’tprettythewaytheboywhoheldherhandearlierhadbeen.

Therewerethosewhobelievedtheywouldbekilled,whooverandoveragainsawthemovieofthemselvesbeingledoutthedooratnightandshotinthebackofthehead,butRoxaneCossthoughtnosuchthing.Maybetherewouldbeabadoutcomeforsomeoftheothers,butnoonewasgoingtoshootasoprano.Shewaspreparedtobenice,toletherhandbeheld,butwhenthetimewasrightshewouldbetheonetogetaway.Shewassureofit.Shesmiledattheboywhenheopenedthedoortothebathroomforher.Shehalfexpectedhewouldfollowherinside.Whenhedidn’tshelockedthedoor,satdownonthetoilet,andcried,great,gulpingsobs.Shewrappedherhairaroundherhandsandcoveredhereyes.Goddamnheragentwhosaidthiswasworthallthemoney!Herneckwasstiffandshefeltlikeshemightbegettingacold,butwhowouldn’tcatchacoldsleepingonafloor.Wasn’tsheTosca?Hadn’tshejumpedoffthebackoftheCastleSant’Angelonightafternight?Toscawasharderthanthis.AfterthisshewouldonlyplayinItaly,England,andAmerica.Italy,England,andAmerica.Shesaidthethreewordsoverandoveragainuntilshecouldregulateherbreathingandwasabletostopthecrying.

Cesar,theboywiththegunwhowaitedinthehallway,didnotraponthedoortohurryheralongaswasdonewithotherguests.Heleanedagainstthewalloutsideandimaginedherbendingdowntowardsthegoldfaucettorinseouthermouth.Hepicturedherwashingher

faceandhandswiththelittleshell-shapedsoaps.Hecouldstillhearthesongsthatshesanginhisheadandveryquietlyhehummedthepartsthatherememberedtopassthetime,Vissid’arte,vissid’amore,nonfecimaimaleadanimaviva!Strangehowthosesoundsstayedsoclearlyinhismind.Shewasnotquickinthebathroom,butwhatcouldyouaskofsuchawoman?Shewasamasterpiece.Nothingabouthercouldberushed.Whenshefinallycameoutherhandwasslightlydampandthrilling-cooltothetouch.Vissid’arte,hewantedtosaytoher,buthedidn’tknowwhatitmeant.Whenhereturnedhertoherspotnearthepiano,theaccompanistwasgone,andthen,inamoment,hewasreturnedaswell.Helookedconsiderablyworsethantheotherguests.Theaccompanistwasatroublingmoonshadeofwhiteandhiseyeswererimmedinbloodyred.HewasheldtightlyoneithersidebyGilbertandFrancisco,twoofthebiggerboys.Theyusedbothoftheirhandstodraghimforward.Atfirstitappearedthattheaccompanisthadtriedtomakearunforawindowordoorandhadbeenoverpowered,butwhentheywenttoreturnhimtohisspot,hiskneesfoldedbeneathhimasiftheyweretwosheetsofnotebookpaperaskedtosupporthisentirebodyweight.Heslippedtothefloorinacrumplingfaint.TheterroristsgaveRoxaneapieceofadviceorinformationinSpanish,butshedidnotspeakSpanish.

Shesatupabit,unsurewhetherornotshewasallowedtositup,andpulledhislegsoutstraight.Hewasalargeman,notheavy,buttall,andshestruggledagainsttheunnaturalarrangementofhislimbs.Atfirstshehadthoughthewasplayingpossum.Shehadheardofhostagespretendingtobeblindtofacilitatetheirrelease,butnoonecouldpretendtheirskinintothatcolor.Hisheadwaggeddullyfromsidetosidewhensheshookhim.Oneofthewaiterswhowasnearherleanedoverandtuggedtheaccompanist’sarmsdowntohissidesfromwheretheyhadbeenpinnedbeneathhim.

“What’shappenedtoyou?”shewhispered.Asetofmuddybootswalkedpast.Shestretchedoutbesidetheaccompanistandtookhiswristbetweenherfingers.

Finally,theaccompaniststirredandsighedandturnedtofaceher,blinkingrapidlyasifheweretryingtorousehimselffromadeepandwonderfulsleep.“Nothingwillhappentoyou,”hetoldRoxaneCoss,butevenwithhisbluishlipspressedagainstthesideofherhead,hisvoicewasdistant,exhausted.

“Therewillbearequestforransom,”Mr.HosokawatoldGen.TheywerebothwatchingRoxaneandheraccompanistnow,thinkingatseveralpointsthattheaccompanistwasdead,butthenhewouldshiftorsigh.“ItisNansei’spolicytopayransom,anyransom.They’llpayitforbothofus.”Hecouldspeakinhissmallestvoice,asoundtoominimaltoeverbecalledawhisper,andstillGenunderstoodhimperfectly.“Theywillpayitforheraswell.Itwouldonlybefitting.Sheishereonmyaccount.”Andtheaccompanist,especiallyifheweresick,heshouldnotbeforcedtostay.Mr.Hosokawasighed.Actually,insomesense,everyoneintheroomwashereonhisaccountandhewonderedwhatsucharansomcouldaddupto.“IfeelthatIhavebroughtthisonus.”

“Youarenotholdingagun,”Gensaid.ThesoundoftheirownJapanesespokensosoftlyitcouldnothavebeenheardtwelvecentimetersaway,comfortedthem.“ItwasthePresidenttheymeanttotakelastnight.”

“Iwishtheyhadhim,”Mr.Hosokawasaid.

Ontheothersideoftheroomnearthebottomedgeofagoldbrocadesofa,SimonandEdithThibaultheldeachother ’shand.Theydidn’tsettleinwiththerestoftheFrenchbutkepttothemselves.Theylookedverymuchapair,nearlybrotherandsister,withtheirdarkstraighthairandblueeyes.Theylayonthefloorofthedinnerpartywithsomuchdignityandeasetheylookednotliketwopeopleforcedtotheflooratgunpoint,butliketwopeoplewhohadsimplygrowntiredofstanding.Whileeveryoneelselayrigidandtrembling,theThibaultsleanedin,herheadonhisshoulder,hischeekpressedtothecrownofherhead.Hewasthinkinglessoftheterroristsandmoreoftheremarkablefactthathiswife’shairsmelledoflilacs.

InParis,SimonThibaulthadlovedhiswife,thoughnotalwaysfaithfullyorwithagreatdealofattention.Theyhadbeenmarriedfortwenty-fiveyears.Therehadbeentwochildren,asummermonthspenteveryyearattheseawithfriends,variousjobs,variousfamilydogs,largefamilyChristmasesthatincludedmanyelderlyrelatives.EdithThibaultwasanelegantwomaninacityofsomanythousandsofelegantwomenthatoftenoverthecourseofyearsheforgotabouther.Entiredayswouldpasswhensheneveroncecrossedhismind.Hedidnotstoptothinkwhatshemightbedoingorwonderifshewashappy,atleastnotEdithbyherself,Edithashiswife.

Then,inawaveofgovernmentpromisesmadeandretracted,theyweresenttothiscountry,which,betweenthetwoofthemwasalwaysreferredtoascepaysmaudit,“thisgodforsakencountry.”Bothofthemfacedtheappointmentwithdreadandstoicpracticality,butwithinamatterofdaysaftertheirarrivalamostremarkablethinghappened:hefoundheragain,likesomethingheneverknewwasmissing,likeasonghehadmemorizedinhisyouthandhadthenforgotten.Suddenly,clearly,hecouldseeher,thewayhehadbeenabletoseeherattwenty,notherphysicalselfattwenty,becauseineverysenseshewasmorebeautifultohimnow,buthefeltthatoldsensation,theleapingofhisheart,therecklessflushofdesire.Hewouldfindherinthehouse,cuttingfreshpapertolinetheshelvesorlyingacrosstheirbedonherstomachwritingletterstotheirdaughterswhowereattendinguniversityinParis,andhewasbreathless.Hadshealwaysbeenlikethis,hadheneverknown?Hadheknownandthensomehow,carelessly,forgotten?Inthiscountrywithitsdirtroadsandyellowricehediscoveredhelovedher,hewasher.PerhapsthiswouldnothavebeentrueifhehadbeentheambassadortoSpain.Withouttheseparticularcircumstances,thisspecificandhorribleplace,hemightneverhaverealizedthattheonlytrueloveofhislifewashiswife.

“Theydon’tseemtobeinanyhurrytokillanyone,”EdithThibaultwhisperedtoherhusband,herlipstouchinghisear.

Forasfarastheeyecanseethereisnothingbutwhitesandandbrightbluewater.Edithwalkingintotheoceanforaswimturnsbacktohim,thewaterlappingatherthighs.“ShallIbringyouafish?”shecalls,andthensheisgone,divingunderawave.

“They’llseparateuslater,”Simonsaid.

Shewrappedherarmtightlyaroundhisandtookhishandagain.“Letthemtry.”

TherehadbeenamandatoryseminarlastyearinSwitzerland,protocolforthecaptureofanembassy.Heassumedthattheruleswouldapplyforoverthrowndinnerpartiesaswell.They

wouldtakethewomenaway.Theywould—Hestopped.Hehonestlydidn’trememberwhatcameafterthat.HewonderedifwhentheytookEdith,ifshemighthavesomethingwithher,somethingofhershecouldkeep,anearring?Howquicklywesettleforless!thoughtSimonThibault.

Whathadbeenafewpocketsofcarefulwhisperingatfirstwasnowasteadyhumaspeoplereturnedfromthebathrooms.Havingstoodupandstretchedtheirlegs,theydidn’tfeelasobedientonthefloor.Quietly,peoplebegantohavetentativeconversations,amurmurandthenadialogueroseupfromthefloor,untiltheroombecameacocktailpartyinwhicheveryonewaslyingprone.Finally,GeneralAlfredowasdriventoshootanotherholeintheceiling,whichputanendtothat.Afewhigh-pitchedyelpsandthensilence.Notaminuteafterthegunwentoff,therewasaknockonthedoor.

Everyoneturnedtolookatthedoor.Withallofthedemands,theshuffleofcrowds,barkingofdogs,chopofhelicoptersdippingoverhead,noonehadknocked,andeveryoneinthehousetensed,asonetenseswhenonedoesnotwishtobedisturbedathome.Theyoungterroristslookednervouslyatoneanother,takingdeepbreathsandslippingtheirfingersintotheemptyloopofthetriggerguardsasiftosaythattheywerereadytokillsomeonenow.ThethreeGeneralsconferredwithoneanother,didabitofpointinguntiltherewasalineofyoungmenoneithersideofthedoor.ThenGeneralBenjamindrewhisowngunand,nudgingtheVicePresident’sshoulderwiththeroundededgeofhisboot,madehimgetupandanswerthedoor.

ItonlystoodtoreasonthatwhoeverwasontheothersideofthedoorhadeveryintentionofcominginfiringandbettertheyserveupRubenIglesiastothismistake.Hegotupfromthenesthehadmadebytheemptyfireplacewithhiswifeandthreechildren,twobright-eyedgirlsandonesmallboy,whosefacewassweatyandredfromtheworkofsuchdeepsleep.Thegoverness,Esmeralda,stayedwiththem.Shewasfromthenorthanddidnothesitatetoglareopenlyattheterrorists.TheVicePresidentkeptlookingattheceiling,afraidthatlastbulletmighthavenickedapipe.Thatwouldbeahellofathingtodealwithnow.Therightsideofhisface,whichchangedandgrewhourly,wasnowswollenintoameatyyellowredandhisrighteyewasshuttight.Stillthewoundbledandbled.Twicehehadhadtogetanewdinnernapkin.Asaboy,RubenIglesiasprayedlonghoursonhiskneesintheCatholicchurchthatGodwouldgranthimthegiftofheight,agiftHehadnotseenfittograntasinglememberofhisextendedfamily.“Godwillknowwhattogiveyou,”thepriestshadtoldhimwithoutahintofinterest,andtheywereright.Beingshorthadmadehimthesecond-most-importantmaninhisgovernment,andnowithadveryprobablysavedhimfromseriousinjuryastheblowhadlandedmoreonthestrongplaneofhisskullthanthecomparativelydelicatehingeofhisjaw.Hisfaceservedasareminderthateverythinghadnotgonesmoothlythenightbefore,anothergoodmessagetothoseoutside.WhentheVicePresidentstood,stiffandaching,GeneralBenjaminputtheslenderbroomstickoftherifle’sbarrelbetweenhisshoulderbladesandsteeredhimforward.Hisowncondition,alwaysexacerbatedbystress,hadbeguntobloomonetinypustuleattheendofeverynerveandhelongedforahotcompressalmostasmuchashelongedforrevolution.Theknockrepeateditself.

“I’mcoming,”RubenIglesiassaid,nottothedoorbuttothearmedmanbehindhim.“Iknowwheremydooris.”Heknewhislifewasprobablyover,andtheknowledgeofthisfactgave

himatemeritythathefounduseful.

“Slowly,”GeneralBenjamininstructed.

“Slowly,slowly,yes,tellme,please.I’veneveropenedadoor,”theVicePresidentsaidunderhisbreath,andthenopenedthedoorathisownpace,whichwasneitherslownorfast.

Themanwaitingonthefrontporchwasextremelyfair,andheworehiswhite-yellowhairneatlypartedandcombedback.HiswhiteshirtwithablacktieandblacktrousersmadehimlookverymuchlikeanearnestrepresentativeofanAmericanreligion.Oneimaginedtherewasasuitjacketthathadbeensurrenderedtotheheat,orperhapsitwasofftoshowthered-crossarmbandthathewore.RubenIglesiaswantedtobringthemaninoutoftheharshsun.Alreadyhisforeheadandthetopsofhischeekshadbeguntoburnred.TheVicePresidentlookedpasthim,downthepaththroughhisownfrontyard,orwhathehadcometothinkofashisownfrontyard.Thehouse,infact,wasnothis,norwasthelawn,thestaff,thesoftbedsorfluffytowels.Everythingcamewiththejobandwouldbeinventoriedupontheirdeparture.Theirownpossessionswereinstorageandtherewasatimehehadthoughthopefullythattheirthingswouldstayexactlywheretheywerewhileheandhisfamilymadetheirinevitabletransitionintothepresidentialmansion.Throughthenarrowopeningofthefrontgatehesawanangryknotofpoliceofficers,militarypersonnel,andreporters.Somewhereinatreeacameraflashpoppedabrightlight.

“JoachimMessner,”themansaid,extendinghishand.“IamwiththeInternationalRedCross.”HespokeinFrench,andwhentheVicePresidentsquintedathimherepeatedhisstatementinmediocreSpanish.

Hismannerwassocalm,soseeminglyunawareofthechaosthatsurroundedthem,thathecouldhavebeentakingaSundaymorningcollection.TheRedCrosswasalwaystheretohelpthevictimsofearthquakesandfloods,theveryonesVicePresidentIglesiaswassenttocomfortandassess.RubenIglesiasshookhandswiththemanandthenheldupafinger,indicatingthatheshouldwait.“TheRedCross,”hesaidtothebankofgunsbehindhim.

AgaintherewasaconferencebetweenthethreeGeneralsanditwasagreedthatthiscouldbeallowed.“Areyousureyouwanttocomein?”theVicePresidentaskedquietlyinEnglish.HisEnglishwasimperfect,perhapsonparwithMessner ’sSpanish.“There’snosayingthatthey’llletyouout.”

“They’llletmeout,”hesaid,steppinginside.“Theproblemisthattherearetoomanyhostages.Morehostagesisnotwhatthey’relookingfornow.”HelookedaroundattheterroristsandthenbacktotheVicePresident.“Yourfaceisnotwell.”

RubenIglesiasshruggedtoindicatethathewasphilosophicalaboutitall,havingreceivedthekinderendofthegun,butMessnertookittomeanthathehadnotunderstoodthequestion.

“IspeakEnglish,French,German,andItalian,”hesaidinEnglish.“I’mSwiss.IspeakalittleSpanish.”Hehelduptwofingersandplacedthemaboutacentimeterapart,asiftosaythattheamountofSpanishhespokewouldfitintothisspace.“Thisisn’tmyregion.Iwasonvacation,canyouimaginethat?Iamfascinatedbyyourruins.Iamatouristandtheycallmeintowork.”JoachimMessnerseemedinordinatelycasual,likeaneighborstoppinginto

borroweggsandstayingtoolongtochat.“IshouldbringinatranslatorifI’mgoingtoworkinSpanish.Ihaveoneoutside.”

TheVicePresidentnoddedbutfranklyhadn’tcaughthalfofwhatMessnerhadsaid.HeknewalittleEnglishbutonlywhenthewordswerespokenoneatatimeandhehadn’trecentlybeenclubbedintheheadwithagun.Hethoughttherewassomethinginthereaboutatranslator.Eveniftherewasn’t,he’dlikeoneanyway.“Traductor,”hetoldtheGeneral.

“Traductor,”GeneralBenjaminsaid,andscannedthefloor,workingoffadimmemoryfromthenightbefore.“Traductor?”

Gen,whowashelpfulbutnotheroicbynature,laystillforamomentrememberingthesharppointofpressurethegunhadmadeagainsthischest.Evenifhesaidnothingtheywouldremembersoonerorlaterthathewasthetranslator.“Wouldyoumind?”hewhisperedtoMr.Hosokawa.

“Goon,”hesaid,andtouchedGen’sshoulder.

TherewasamomentofquietandthenGenWatanaberaisedatentativehand.

GeneralAlfredowavedhimup.Gen,likemostofthemen,hadtakenoffhisshoesandhestoopeddownnowtoputthembackon,buttheGeneralsnappedathimimpatiently.Gen,embarrassed,workedapatharoundtheguestsinhissockfeet.Hethoughtitwouldberudetostepoversomeone.Heapologizedquietlyashewalked.Perdon,perdonare,pardonme.

“JoachimMessner,”theRedCrossmansaidinEnglish,shakingGen’shand.“English,French,doyouhaveapreference?”

Genshookhishead.

“French,then,ifit’sallthesame.Areyouallright?”MessneraskedinFrench.Hisfacewassucharemarkableassemblageofcolors.Theveryblueofhiseyes,theverywhiteofhisskin,redwherethesunhadburnedhischeeksandlips,theyellowhairwhichwasthecolorofthewhitecornGenhadseenonceinAmerica.Hewasallprimarycolors,Genthought.Fromsuchafaceanybeginningwaspossible.

“Wearewell.”

“Haveyoubeenmistreated?”

“Spanish,”GeneralAlfredosaid.

Genexplainedandthensaidagain,cuttinghiseyestotheVicePresident,thattheywerewell.TheVicePresidentdidnotlookwellatall.

“TellthemIwillactastheirliaison.”Messnerthoughtforaminute,repeatedthesentencefairlywellinSpanishhimself.ThensmiledatGenandsaidinFrench,“Ishouldn’ttry.I’llgetsomethingterriblywrongandthenwe’llallbeintrouble.”

“Spanish,”GeneralAlfredosaid.

“HesayshestruggleswithSpanish.”

Alfredonodded.

“Whatwewant,ofcourse,istheunconditionalreleaseofallthehostages,unharmed.Whatwewillsettleforatpresentaresomeoftheextras.”Messnerglancedaroundathisfeet,thecarpetofwell-dressedguestsandwhite-jacketedwaiterswhocranedtheirheadstowardshim.Thewholepicturewasextremelyunnatural.“Thisistoomanypeople.You’reprobablyoutoffoodnoworyouwillbebytonight.There’snoneedforthismany.Isayreleasethewomen,thestaff,anyonewhoissick,anyoneyoucandowithout.We’llstartthere.”

“Inreturn?”theGeneralsaid.

“Inreturn,enoughfood,pillows,blankets,cigarettes.Whatdoyouneed?”

“Wehavedemands.”

Messnernodded.Hewasseriousyetweary,asifthiswereaconversationhehadtentimesadaybeforebreakfast,asifeveryotherbirthdaypartyendedupinjustsuchaknot.“I’msureyoudoandI’msurethey’llbeheard.WhatI’mtellingyouisthatthis”—hespreadhisarmforwardtomakeclearhemeantthepeopleonthefloor—“isuntenabletoeveryone.Releasetheextrasnow,theonesyoudon’tneed,anditwillbetakenasagoodwillgesture.Youestablishyourselfasreasonablepeople.”

“Whoistosaywearereasonable?”GeneralBenjaminaskedGen,whopassediton.

“You’vehadcontrolofthepropertyfortwelvehoursandnooneisdead.Nooneisdead,arethey?”MessnersaidtoGen.Genshookhisheadonceandtranslatedthefirsthalfofthestatement.“Thatmakesyoureasonableinmybook.”

“TellthemtosendusPresidentMasuda.WecamehereforthePresidentandforhimwewillleteveryonego.”Hegesturedexpansivelyacrosstheroom.“Lookatthesepeople!Idon’tevenknowhowmanypeoplethereare.Twohundred?More?Youtellmeonemanfortwohundredisnotareasonableexchange.”

“Theywon’tgiveyouthePresident,”Messnersaid.

“That’swhowecamefor.”

Messnersighedandnoddedseriously.“Well,Icamehereonvacation.Itseemsthatnooneisgoingtogetwhattheywant.”

AllthetimeRubenIglesiasstoodbesideGen,passivelylisteningtotheconversationasifhehadnorealinterestinitsoutcome.Hewasthehighest-rankingpoliticalofficialintheroomandyetnoonewaslookingtohimtobeeithertheleaderorthevaluable,near-presidentialhostagereplacement.AsktheaveragecitizeninthisbeautifulcountrysobereftofmasscommunicationwhotheVicePresidentwasandchancesaretheywouldshrugandturnaway.Vicepresidentsweremerelycallingcards,thingssentinlieuofthingsdesired.Theywerereplaceable,exchangeable.Nowarwasfoughtorwonovertheinspiringwordsofavicepresident,andnooneunderstoodthismoreclearlythantheVicePresidentofthehostcountry.

“Givethemup,”RubentoldtheGeneralscalmly.“Thismanisright.Masudawouldnevercomeinhere.”Funny,butatthatmomenthewasthinking,comeinhere,asin—thishouse,myhouse.MasudahadalwaysexcludedRuben.Hedidnotknowhischildren.Heneverasked

todancewithRuben’swifeatstatedinners.Itwasonethingtowantacommonmanonyourticket,itwassomethingelseentirelytowanthimatyourdinnertable.“Iknowhowthesethingsgo.Givethemthewomen,theextras,anditsendsthemamessagethatyouarepeopletheycanworkwith.”WhentheFirstFederalBankwastakenovertwoyearsagotheygaveupnothing,notasinglecustomerorteller.Theyhangedthebank’smanagerinthefrontporticoforthemediatophotograph.Everyonerememberedhowthatoneended:everylastterroristshotagainstthemarblewalls.WhatRubenwantedtotellthemwasthatthesethingsneverworkedout.Nodemandswereevermet,orwereeverhonestlymet.Noonegotawaywiththemoneyandahandfulofcomradesliberatedfromsomehigh-securityprison.Thequestionwasonlyhowmuchtimeitwouldtaketowearthemdown,andhowmanypeoplewouldbekilledintheprocess.

GeneralBenjaminliftedonefingerandpokedatthebloodstaineddinnernapkintheVicePresidentheldagainsthisface.Rubentookitfairlywell.“Didweaskyou?”

“Itismyhouse,”hesaid,feelingslightlynauseatedfromawaveofpain.

“Gobacktothefloor.”

Rubenwantedtoliedown,andsoheturnedawaywithoutremark.HefeltnearlysadwhenMessnertookhisarmandstoppedhim.

“Someoneneedstosewupthatcut,”Messnersaid.“I’mgoingtocallinamedic.”

“Nomedics,nosewing,”GeneralAlfredosaid.“Itwasneveraprettyface.”

“Youcan’tleavehimbleedinglikethat.”

TheGeneralshrugged.“Ican.”

TheVicePresidentlistened.Hecouldnotpleadhisowncase.Andreally,thethoughtofaneedlenowthatthisgreatsorenesshadsettledin,theheadacheandhotpressurebehindhiseyes,well,hewasn’tentirelysurehewasn’tpullingfortheterroriststowinthisparticularargument.

“Nothingwillproceedifthismanbleedstodeath.”Messner ’svoicewascalmtobalanceouttheseriousnessofhisstatement.

Todeath?theVicePresidentthought.

GeneralHector,whodidnotmakemuchinthewayofcontributions,toldthegovernesstogoupstairsandfindhersewingkit.Heclappedtwice,likeaschoolteachercallingthechildrentoattention,andshewasupandstumbling,herleftfoothavingfallenasleep.Assoonasshewasgone,hisson,Marco,whowasjustalittleboyoffour,criedinagony,ashebelievedthehiredgirltobehisownmother.“Settlethisnow,”GeneralHectorsaidgravely.

RubenIglesiasturnedhisswollenfacetoJoachimMessner.Asewingkitwasnotwhathehadinmind.Hewasnotaloosebutton,aheminneedofshortening.Thiswasnotthejungleandhewasnotaprimitiveman.Twiceinhislifehehadhadstitchesbeforeandtheywereneatlydoneinahospital,sterileinstrumentswaitinginflatsilverpans.

“Isthereadoctorhere?”MessneraskedGen.

Gendidnotknowbuthesentthequestionoutacrosstheroominonelanguageafteranother.

“Wemusthaveinvitedatleastonedoctor,”RubenIglesiassaid,thoughwiththebuildingpressureinhisheadhecouldnotrememberanything.

Thegirl,Esmeralda,wascomingdownthestairsnowwithasquarewickerboxheldunderonearm.Shewouldnothavestoodoutamongsomanywomandressedineveningwear.Shewasacountrygirlinauniform,ablackskirtandblouse,awhitecollarandcuffs,herdark,longbraid,asbigaroundasachild’sfist,slidingacrossherbackwitheverystep.Butnoweveryoneintheroomlookedather,thewayshemovedsoeasily,thewaysheseemedcompletelycomfortable,asifthiswasanyotherdayinherlifeandshehadamomenttofinishsomemending.Hereyesweresmart,andshekeptherchinup.Suddenly,thewholeroomsawherasbeautifulandthemarblestaircaseshewalkedonshimmeredinherlight.Genrepeatedhiscall,doctor,doctor,whiletheVicePresidentwasmovedtosaythegirl’sname,“Esmeralda.”

Nooneonthefloorraisedahandandtheconclusionwasthatnodoctorswerepresent.Butthatwasn’ttrue.Dr.Gomezwaslyingintheback,almosttothediningroom,andhiswifewasstabbinghimsharplyintheribswithtworedlacqueredfingernails.Hehadgivenuphispracticeyearsagotobecomeahospitaladministrator.Whenwasthelasttimehehadsewnamanup?Inhisdaysofpracticehehadbeenapulmonologist.Certainlyhehadnotrunaneedlethroughskinsincehisresidency.Hewasprobablynomorequalifiedtodoadecentjobthanhiswife,whoatleastkeptacanvasofpetitpointgoingallthetime.Withouttakingasinglestitchhesawhowthewholethingwouldunravel:therewouldbeaninfection,certainly;theywouldnotbringinthenecessaryantibiotics;laterthewoundwouldhavetobeopened,drained,resewn.RightthereontheVicePresident’sface.Heshudderedatthethoughtofit.Itwouldnotgowell.Peoplewouldblamehim.Therewouldbepublicitylater.Adoctor,theheadofthehospital,killingamanperhaps,eventhoughnoonecouldsayitwashisfault.Hefelthishandsshaking.Hewasonlylyingthereandstillhishandstrembledagainsthischest.Whathandswerethesetosewaman’sface,toleaveascarforwhichtheywouldbothbecomeknown?Andthentherewasthisgirldescendingthestaircasewithherbasket,lookingsomuchlikehopeitself.Shewasanangel!Hehadneverbeenabletofindsuchintelligent-lookinggirlstoworkonthehospitalfloors,suchprettygirlswhocouldkeeptheiruniformssoclean.

“Getupthere!”hiswifehissed.“OrI’llraiseyourarmforyou.”

Thedoctorclosedhiseyesandgentlywaggedhisheadfromsidetosideinawaythatwouldattractnoattentiontohimself.Whateverwouldhappenwouldhappen.Thestitcheswouldneithersavethemannorkillhim.Thatcardwasalreadyplayedandtherewasnothingtodobutwaitandseetheoutcome.

EsmeraldahandedthebaskettoJoachimMessnerbutshedidnotstepaway.Instead,sheliftedthelid,whichwaslinedinapaddedrose-coveredprint,tookaneedlefromthetomato-shapedcushionandaspoolofblackthread,andthreadedtheneedle.Shebitoffthethreadwithadelicatesnapandmadeaneatlittleknotattheend.Allofthemen,eventheGenerals,watchedherasifshewasdoingsomethingquitemiraculous,somethingfarbeyondneedlesandthreadthattheycouldneverhavemanagedthemselves.Thenshereachedintoherskirt

pocketandtookoutabottleofrubbingalcoholintowhichsheloweredtheneedleandbounceditupanddownseveraltimes.Sterilization.Andhereshewasasimplecountrygirl.Nothingcouldhavebeenasthoughtful.ShepulledtheneedleupholdingonlytheknotonthethreadandextendedittoJoachimMessner.

“Ah,”hesaid,takingtheknotbetweenhisforefingerandthumb.

Therewassomediscussion.FirstitwasthoughtthattheycouldbothstandandthenitseemedbetterfortheVicePresidenttositdownandthenbestofallforhimtoliedownnearatablelampwherethelightwasbest.Thetwomenwerestalling,eachdreadingitmorethantheother.Messnerrubbedhishandsinalcoholthreetimes.Iglesiaswasthinkinghewouldratherbehitbythegunagain.HelaydownonthecarpetawayfromhiswifeandchildrenandMessnerbentoverhim,leaninginandthenblockinghisownlight,leaningbackandturningtheVicePresident’sheadonewayandthentheother.TheVicePresidenttriedtomakehimselfthinkofsomethingpleasantandsohethoughtofEsmeralda.Itwasreallyquiteremarkablehowshemanagedthings.Perhapshiswifehadtaughtherthat,theconceptofbacteria,theneedtokeepthingsclean.Howluckyhewastohavesuchagirllookingafterhischildren.Thebloodnolongerpulsedbutitcontinuedtoseep,andMessnerstoppedtoblotitawaywithanapkin.Consideringthecircumstances,theblaringmessagespouringinthroughthewindows,theconstantonandoffofsirens,thehostagesstretchedacrossthefloor,theterroristssleepywiththeirgunsandknives,youwouldhavethoughtthatnoonewouldcarewhatbecameofRubenIglesias’scheek,andyetthepeoplecranedtheirnecksupliketurtlestoseewhatwouldhappennext,toseetheneedlegodownforthatfirststick.

“Fiveminutesiswhatyouhaveleft,”GeneralAlfredosaid.

JoachimMessnerpinchedtheskinclosedwithhislefthandandwithhisrightputtheneedlein.Thinkingthataquickmovementwouldbekinder,hemisjudgedthethicknessofthematerialathandanddrovetheneedlehardintothebone.Bothmenmadeanoisethatwaslessthanascream,sharpbutsmall,andMessnerjerkedtheneedleoutagainwithsomeeffort,leavingthemexactlywheretheyhadstarted.Exceptthatnowthelittleholewasworkingupadropofblooditself.

NoonehadaskedforherbuttherewasEsmeraldacleaningherhands.ShehadalookonherfacetheVicePresidenthadseenherusewithhischildren.Theyhadtriedatsomethingandfailedandshehadletthingsgofarenough.ShetooktheneedleandthreadfromJoachimMessnerandbobbeditagaininthealcohol.Itwaswithgreatreliefthathemovedaside.Hedidnotcareaboutherintentionsorqualifications,heonlywatchedherasshebentbesidethelight.

RubenIglesiasthoughtherfacewaskindinthebeatificmannerofsaints,eventhoughshewasnotexactlysmiling.Hewasgratefulforherseriousbrowneyes,whichwerenowjustinchesfromhisown.Hewouldnotclosehiseyes,nomatterhowgreatthetemptation.Heknewthathewouldneveragainseesuchconcentrationandcompassionfocusedonhisfaceevenifheweretosurvivethisordealandlivetobeahundred.Whentheneedlecametowardshimheheldstillandbreathedinthegrassysmellofherhair.Hedidfeellikeabuttonthathadcomeundone,apairofchild’strousersspreadacrossherwarmlapthatshesewedintheevening.Itwasnotsobad.HewassimplyonemorethingforEsmeraldatoput

togetheragain,somethingelseinneedofrepair.Ithurt,thelittleneedle.Hedidnotliketoseeitpassbeforehiseye.Hedidnotlikethesmalltugattheendofeverystitchthatmadehimfeellikeatrout,caught.Buthewasgratefultobesoclosetothisgirlhesaweveryday.Thereshewasonthelawnwithhischildren,sittingonasheetbeneathatree,pouringthemteainchippedcups,Marcoonherlap,hisdaughters,RosaandImelda,holdingdolls.Thereshewasbackingintothehallway,goodnight,goodnight,shesays,nomorewater,gotosleep,closeyoureyes,goodnight.Shewassilentinherconcentrationandstilltheverythoughtofhervoicemadehimrelax,andthoughithurtheknewhewouldbesorrywhenitwasover,whenherhipwasnolongerpressedagainsthiswaist.Thenshewasfinishedandshemadeanotherknot.Likeakisssheleaneddowntohimandbitthethread,herlipshavingnochoicebuttobrushtheseamherhandshadmade.Hecouldhearthequickcuttingofherteeth,thedisconnectionofwhatboundthem,andthenshesatupagain.Sheranherhandacrossthetopofhishead,agiftforwhathehadsuffered.PrettyEsmeralda.

“Verybrave,”shesaid.

Anyonewhowascloseenoughtoseethemsmiledandsighed.Shehaddonesuchnicework,laiddownaneattraintrackofevenblackstitchesalongthesideofhishead.Itwaswhatonewouldexpectfromagirlwhohadbeenraisedtosew.MarcoshinniedbackintoEsmeralda’sarmswhenshewenttorejointhem.Hepressedhisheadagainstherbreastsandbreathedherin.TheVicePresidenthimselfdidnotmove,thepainandthepleasureofitwereallcollidingandhereleasedhimselfintothemoment.Heclosedhiseyesasifhehadbeengivenaproperanesthetic.

“Bothofyou,”theGeneralsaidtoMessnerandGen.“Goliedown.We’lldiscussthis.”Heusedhisguntopointtothefloor,someplacenottoocloseby.

Messnerdidnottrytoresumenegotiations.“Idon’tliedown,”hesaid,buthisvoicewastiredenoughthatonemighthavethoughthewouldhavelikedto.“Iwaitoutside.I’llcomebackagaininonehour.”WiththathegaveacourteousnodtoGenandsimplyopenedthedoorandlethimselfout.Genwonderedifhemightdothesame,explainthathewouldbewaitingoutside.ButGenknewhewasnotMessner.Therewasnoputtingone’sfingeronitexactly,butitwasasiftherewouldbenopointinshootingMessner.Heseemedlikesomeonewhohadbeenshoteverydayofhislifeandhadsimplyhadenoughofit.Gen,ontheotherhand,hismindstillfullofstitches,wasfeelingdecidedlymortal.Mortalandloyal,andhewenttotakehisplacebesideMr.Hosokawa.

“Whatdidtheysay?”Mr.Hosokawawhispered.

“Ithinkthey’llletthewomengo.Itisn’tdecidedyet,buttheyseemtowantto.Theysaytherearetoomanyofus.”Oneverysideofhimwasaperson,somenotsixcentimetersaway.HefeltlikehewastakingtheYamanotelineintotheTokyostationateightinthemorning.Hereachedupandloosenedhistie.

Mr.Hosokawaclosedhiseyesandfeltacalmnessspreadoverhimlikeasoftblanket.“Good,”hesaid.RoxaneCosswouldbereleased,safelyoffintimetosinginArgentina.Withinafewdaysthescareofthiseventwouldleaveher.Shewouldfollowtheirfatethroughthesafetyofthenewspaper.Shewouldtellthestoryatcocktailpartiesandpeoplewouldbe

amazed.Butpeoplewerealwaysamazed.InBuenosAiresshewouldbesingingGildathefirstweek.Itseemedtohimtheperfectcoincidence.SheissingingGildaandheisstillaboywithhisfatherinTokyo.Hewatchesherfromthehighseats,fromsofarawayandyetstillhervoiceisasclearanddelicateasithadbeenwhenhewasstandingcloseenoughtotouchher.Herboldgestures,herstagemakeup,areperfectfromadistance.Shesingswithherfather,Rigoletto.ShetellsherfathersheloveshimwhileinthehighstandstheboyKatsumiHosokawatakeshisfather ’shand.Theoperapullsupfromthetapestryrugsandthehalf-emptyglassesofpiscosoursinthelivingroom,itmovesawayfromspecificbirthdaysandfactoryplans.Itrisesandturnsabovethehostcountryuntil,gently,itlandsonthestage,whereitbecomesitswholeself,somethingdistantandbeautiful.Alloftheorchestrasupportshernow,itreacheswiththevoices,liftsthevoicesup,thebeautifulvoiceofRoxaneCossissingingherGildatotheyoungKatsumiHosokawa.Hervoicevibratingthetinybonesdeepinsidehisear.Hervoicestaysinsidehim,becomeshim.Sheissingingherparttohim,andtoathousandotherpeople.Heisanonymous,equal,loved.

LyingontheflooratoppositeendsoftheroomweretwopriestsoftheHolyRomanCatholicChurch.MonsignorRollandwasbehindthesofatheThibaultswereinfrontof,havingthoughtitwouldbebettertostayawayfromthewindowsincaseashootingweretooccur.Asaleaderofhispeoplehehadaresponsibilitytoprotecthimself.Catholicpriestshadoftenbeentargetsinpoliticaluprisings,youonlyneededtolookatthepapers.Hisvestmentsweredampwithsweat.Deathwasaholymystery.ItstimingwasforGodalonetodecide.Buttherewerevitalreasonsforhimtolive.ItwasthoughtthattheMonsignorwasvirtuallyguaranteedthespotofbishopifandwhenthepresent,ancientBishopRomerocompletedhistenurethroughdeath.ItwasMonsignorRolland,afterall,whoattendedthefunctionsandbrokeredthedealsthatmadeawiderpathforthechurch.Nothingintheworldwasabsolutelycertain,notevenCatholicisminthesepoverty-strickenjungles.JustlookattheencroachingtideofMormons,withtheirmoneyandtheirmissionaries.ThegallofsendingmissionariesintoaCatholiccountry!Asiftheyweresavagesreadyforconversion.Lyingwithhisheadonasmallsofapillowthathehadmanagedtodiscreetlypilferonhiswaytothefloor,hishipsstillgavehimpainandhethoughtofhow,whenthiswasover,therewouldbealong,hotbathandthenhewouldtakeattheveryleastthreedaysinhisownsoftbed.Ofcourse,therewasapositivewayoflookingatthings,assumingtherewasnoovertmadnessandhewasreleasedinthefirstwaveofhostages,thekidnappingcouldbejustthethingtosealtheMonsignor ’sfate.Thepublicityofbeingkidnappedcouldmakeaholymartyrevenofamanwhohadescapedunhurt.

Andthiswouldhavebeenexactlythecase,wereitnotforayoungpriestwhowaslyingonthecoldmarblefloorinthefronthallway.MonsignorRollandhadmetFatherArguedas,hadbeenpresentwhenhereceivedholyorderstwoyearsago,butofthishehadnomemory.Thiscountrydidnotsufferfromalackofyoungmenwantingtosignupforthepriesthood.Withtheirshortdarkhairandstiffblackshirtsthesepriestswereasindistinguishablefromoneanotherasthechildrenintheirfirstcommunionwhites.TheMonsignorhadnoideathatFatherArguedaswasevenintheroom,neveroncehavingseteyesonhimduringthecourseoftheevening.SohowdidayoungpriestcometobeinvitedtoapartyatthehomeoftheVicePresident?

FatherArguedaswastwenty-sixyearsoldandworkedasathird-tierparishpriestontheothersideofthecapitalcity,lightingcandles,servingcommunion,andmaintainingdutiesnohigherthanthoseofawell-establishedaltarboy.InthefewmomentsofhisdaythatwerenotconsumedbylovingGodthroughprayerandservingtheflockthroughdeeds,hewenttothelibraryattheuniversityandlistenedtoopera.Hesatinthebasement,protectedbythewingsofanoldwoodencarrel,andlistenedtorecordingsthroughasetofgiantblackheadphonesthatweretootightandmadehisheadache.Theuniversitywashardlywealthyandoperawasnotapriorityforspending,sothecollectionwasstillonheavyrecordsinsteadofcompactdiscs.Althoughthereweresomepieceshelikedbetterthanothers,FatherArguedaslistenedwithoutdiscrimination,everythingfromDieZauberflötetoTroubleinTahiti.Heclosedhiseyesandsilentlymouthedalongthewordshedidnotunderstand.Atfirsthecursedtheonesbeforehim,theoneswholefttheirfingerprintsontherecords,orscratchedthemor,worse,simplytookonerecordaway,sothattherewasnothirdactforLulu.Thenherememberedhimselfasapriestandwenttohiskneesonthecementfloorofthelibrarybasement.

Tooofteninthesemomentsoflisteninghehadfelthissoulfillwithakindofrapture,afeelinghecouldnotnamebutwasdisquietedby—longing?Love?Earlyinhisseminarytraininghehadsethismindtogivingupoperaasotheryoungmenhadsettheirmindstogivingupwomen.Hethoughttheremustbeadarknessinsuchpassion,especiallyforapriest.Lackinganyrealorinterestingsinstoconfess,heoffereduptheimaginedsinofoperaoneWednesdayafternoonashisgreatestsacrificetoChrist.

“VerdiorWagner?”saidthevoicefromtheothersideofthescreen.

“Both,”FatherArguedassaid,butwhenherecoveredhimselffromthesurpriseofthequestionhechangedhisanswer.“Verdi.”

“Youareyoung,”thevoicereplied.“Comebackandtellmeagainintwentyyears,ifGodallowsthatIamhere.”

Theyoungprieststrainedtorecognizethevoice.CertainlyheknewallthepriestsattheSanPedroChurch.“Isitnotasin?”

“Artisnotsin.It’snotalwaysgood.Butitisnotasin.”ThevoicepausedforaminuteandFatherArguedasslippedafingerintotheblackbandofhiscollar,tryingtomovesomeofthethickwarmairintohisshirt.“Thenagain,someofthelibretti...well,trytoconcentrateonthemusic.Themusicisthetruthofopera.”

FatherArguedastookhissmall,perfunctorypenanceandsaideachprayerthreetimesasanofferingofjoy.Hedidnothavetogiveuphislove.Infact,afterthathechangedhismindcompletelyanddecidedthatsuchbeautywouldhavetobeonewithGod.Themusicgavepraise,hewassureofthat,andifthewordstoooftenfocusedonthesinsofman,well,didJesushimselfnotexplorethissubjectexactly?Whenhesufferedfromanyfeelingsofquestionablediscomfort,hesimplyrectifiedthesituationbynotreadingthelibretti.HehadstudiedLatininseminary,butherefusedtomaketheconnectiontoItalian.Tchaikovskywasespeciallygoodinthesecases,asRussianescapedhimcompletely.Sadly,thereweretimeswhenthelustcamethroughthemusicratherthanthewords.HavingnounderstandingofFrenchdidnotkeepapriestsafefromCarmen.Carmengavehimdreams.Inmostinstances,

though,hewasabletopretendthateverymanandwomanineveryoperasangwithsomuchgraceandsplendorbecausetheysangabouttheloveforGodintheirhearts.

Oncefreedbyhisconfessor,FatherArguedasdidnottrytohidehisloveformusic.Nooneseemedtocareabouthisinterestsonewayortheothersolongasitdidnottakeawayfromthedutiesofhislife.Perhapsitwasnotaparticularlymoderncountryoramodernreligion,butitwasamodernage.Peopleintheparishhadafondnessforthisyoungpriest,thetirelessvigorwithwhichhepolishedthepews,thewayhekneltinfrontofthecandlesforanhoureverymorningbeforefirstmassbegan.AmongthepeoplewhonoticedhisgoodworkswasawomannamedAnaLoya,thefavoritecousinofthewifeoftheVicePresident.She,too,hadaninterestinmusicandwasgenerousinloaningFatherArguedasrecordings.WhensheheardarumorthatRoxaneCosswascomingtosingataparty,Anatelephonedhercousintoaskifacertainyoungpriestcouldattend.Hewouldn’thavetobeinvitedtodinner,ofcourse,hecouldwaitinthekitchenduringthedinner.HecouldwaitinthekitchenwhileRoxaneCosssang,forallitmattered,butifhecouldbeinthehouse,eveninthegarden,shewouldbeverygrateful.FatherArguedashadonceconfidedinAnaafteraparticularlymediocrerehearsalofthechurchchoirthathehadneverheardoperasunglive.Thegreatloveofhislife,afterGod,livedonlyindarkvinyl.Anahadoncelostason,morethantwentyyearsbefore.Theboywasthreewhenhedrownedinanirrigationditch.Thereweremanyotherchildrenandshelovedthemwellanddidnotspeakoftheonewhowaslost.Infact,theonlytimesheeverthoughtofthatchildnowwaswhenshesawFatherArguedas.Sherepeatedherquestiontohercousinbytelephone:“CouldFatherArguedascometohearthesoprano?”

***

Itwasdifferentinwayshenevercouldhaveimagined,asifthevoiceweresomethingthatcouldbeseen.Certainlyitcouldbefelt,evenwherehestoodintheverybackoftheroom.Ittrembledinsidethefoldsofhiscassock,brushedagainsttheskinofhischeeks.Neverhadhethought,neveronce,thatsuchawomanexisted,onewhostoodsoclosetoGodthatGod’sownvoicepouredfromher.Howfarshemusthavegoneinsideherselftocallupthatvoice.Itwasasifthevoicecamefromthecenterpartoftheearthandbythesheereffortanddiligenceofherwillshehadpulleditupthroughthedirtandrockandthroughthefloorboardsofthehouse,upintoherfeet,whereitpulledthroughher,reaching,lifting,warmedbyher,andthenoutofthewhitelilyofherthroatandstraighttoGodinheaven.Itwasamiracleandheweptforthegiftofbearingwitness.

Evennow,aftermorethanadozenhoursspentonthefloorofthemarbleentryway,thecoldhavingpermeatedintohisbonemarrow,thevoiceofRoxaneCosswasmakinglarge,swoopingcirclesthroughhishead.Ifhehadnotbeentoldtoliedown,hemighthavebeenforcedtoaskifhemightbeallowedto.Heneededallthistimetorest,andbetterthatitwasonamarblefloor.ThefloorkepthimmindfulofGod.Hadhebeenstretchedoutonasoftrughemighthaveforgottenhimselfaltogether.Hewasgladtohavespentthenightintheseaofbullhornsandsirensbecauseitkepthimawakeandthinking,glad(andforthisheaskedforgiveness)tohavemissedthemorning’smassandcommunionbecausethenhecouldstaytherelonger.Thelongerhestayedwherehewas,thelongerthemomentcontinued,asifhervoicewerestillechoingagainstthesepaperedwalls.Shewasstillthere,afterall,lyingsomeplacewherehecouldnotseeherbutnotsoterriblyfaraway.Hesaidaprayerthatshe

hadhadacomfortablenight,thatsomeonewouldhavethoughttoofferheroneofthecouches.

InadditiontohisconcernforRoxaneCoss,FatherArguedaswasworriedabouttheyoungbandits.Manyofthemwereproppeduprightagainstthewalls,theirfeetapart,leaningontheirrifleslikewalkingsticks.Thentheirheadswoulddropbackandtheywouldfallasleepfortensecondsbeforetheirkneesbuckledandtheyslumpedintotheirguns.FatherArguedashadoftengonewiththepolicetocollectthebodiesofsuicidesandoftentheylookedliketheymusthavebeguninexactlysuchaposition,theirtoespresseddownonthetrigger.

“Son,”hewhisperedtooneoftheboyswhowasguardingthepeopleintheentryhall,mostlywaitersandcookslaidonthehardfloor,peopleofthelowestranking.Beingyounghimself,heoftenfeltuncomfortablecallingaparishioner“son,”butthischild,hefelt,washisown.Helookedlikehiscousins.Helookedlikeeveryboywhoranfromthechurchassoonastheyhadtakencommunion,thehoststillwhiteandroundontheirtongues.“Comehere.”

Theboysquintedtowardstheceilingasifhewashearingthevoiceinhissleep.Hepretendednottonoticethepriest.“Son,”FatherArguedassaidagain.“Comehere.”

Nowtheboylookeddownandapuzzlementcrossedhisface.Howdidonenotanswerapriest?Howwasitpossiblenottogoifcalled?“Father?”hewhispered.

“Comehere,”thepriestmouthed,andpattedhishandonthefloor,nothingmorethanalittleflutteringmovementofhisfingersbesidehim.Itwasnotcrowdedonthemarblefloor.Unlikethecarpetedlivingroom,therewasplentyofspacetostretchhere,andwhenonehadbeenleaningagainstarifleallnight,anopenexpanseofmarblefloorwouldseemasinvitingasafeatherbed.

TheboylookednervouslyaroundthecornertotheplacewheretheGeneralswereinconference.“I’mnotallowed,”hemouthed.HewasanIndian,thisboy.HespokethelanguagefromthenorththatFatherArguedas’sgrandmotherspoketohismotherandaunts.

“Isayyouareallowed,”hesaid,notwithauthority,butwithcompassion.

Theboyconsideredthisforamomentandthenturnedhisheadupasifhewasstudyingtheintricatecrownmoldingthatringedtheceiling.Hiseyesfilledupwithtearsandhehadtoblinkmadlytoholdthemback.Hehadbeenawakeforsuchalongtimeandhisfingertipstrembledaroundthecoolbarrelofhisgun.Hecouldnolongerexactlytellwherehisfingersstoppedandthegreen-bluemetalbegan.

FatherArguedassighedandletitgofornow.Hewouldasktheboyagainlaterjusttolethimknowtherewasaplacetorestandforgivenessforanysin.

Thecrowdonthefloorpulsedwithneeds.Somehadtogotothebathroomagain.Thereweremurmuringsaboutmedications.Peoplewantedtostandup,tobefed,tohaveadrinkofwatertowashthetastefromtheirmouths.Theirrestlessnessemboldenedthem,buttherewasthisaswell:nearlyeighteenhourshadpassedandstillnoonewasdead.Thehostageshadbeguntobelievethattheymightnotbekilled.Ifwhatapersonwantsishislife,hetendstobequietaboutwantinganythingelse.Oncethelifebeginstoseemsecure,onefeelsthefreedomtocomplain.

VictorFyodorov,aMuscovite,finallygaveintohimselfandlitupacigarette,eventhoughalllightersandmatchesweretohavebeensurrendered.Heblewhissmokestraightuptotheceiling.Hewasforty-sevenyearsoldandhadbeensmokingregularlysincehewastwelve,eveninhardtimes,evenwhendecisionshadtobemadebetweencigarettesandfood.

TheGeneralBenjaminsnappedhisfingersandoneoftheminionsrushedforwardtotakeFyodorov’scigaretteaway,butFyodorovonlyinhaled.Hewasabigman,evenlyingdown,evenwithnoweaponsavethecigaretteitself.Helookedliketheonewhowouldwinthefight.“Justtry,”hesaidtothesoldierinRussian.

Theboy,havingnoideawhathadbeensaid,wasunsureofhowtoproceed.HetriedtosteadyhishandwhenhewithdrewhisgunandpointeditatFyodorov’smiddleinahalfheartedway.

“Thisisit!”YegorLedbed,anotherRussianandafriendtoFyodorov,said.“Youwillshootusforsmoking!”

Whatadreamitwas,thatcigarette.Howmuchmoredelightfulitwastosmokewhenonehadnotsmokedinaday.Thenonecouldnoticetheflavor,thebluetintofthesmoke.Onecouldrelaxintothepleasantlight-headednessonerememberedfromboyhood.Itwasalmostenoughtomakeamanquit,sothathecouldknowthepleasuresofstartingagain.Fyodorovwasalmostdowntothepointofburninghisfingers.Whatapity.Hesatup,startlingthegunmanwithhisgirth,andcrushedthecigaretteagainstthesoleofhisshoe.

TothegreatpleasureoftheVicePresident,Fyodorovputthebuttinthepocketofhistuxedoandtheboystuffedthegunawkwardlybackintothewaistbandofhispantsandslunkaway.

“Iwillnottakethisanotherminute!”awomanshouted,butwhentheylookedaroundnoonecouldbesurewhohadspoken.

TwohoursafterJoachimMessnerhadleft,GeneralBenjaminsummonedtheVicePresidentupfromthefloorandhadhimopenthedoorandwaveMessnerbackin.

WasitpossiblethatMessnerhadspentallthistimewaitingjustoutsidethedoor?Hisdelicatecheekslookedevenmorescorchedthanbefore.

“Everythingallright?”MessnersaidtotheVicePresidentinSpanish,asifhehadspentthelasttwohoursstandinginthesunworkingonhislanguageskills.

“Verylittlechanges,”theVicePresidentsaidinEnglish,inanattempttobethoughtful.Hestillhadsomevestigesoffeelinglikethehost.

“Yourface,itisn’tbad.Shedidaverygoodjobwiththe”—hestruggledfortheword—“sew,”hesaidfinally.

TheVicePresidentliftedhisfingerstohischeekbutMessnerheldhishanddown.“Don’ttouchit.”Helookedaroundtheroom.“TheJapaneseman,ishestillhere?”

“Wherewouldhego?”Rubenasked.

Messnerglancedaroundatthebodiesathisfeet,allofthemwarmandtakingevenbreaths.Really,hehadseenworse.

“I’mgoingtocallforthetranslator,”theVicePresidenttoldtheGenerals,wholookedaway

fromthemasiftheyhadnotnoticedthatMessnerhadarrived.Thenfinallyoneofthemglancedupandgavesomesortofbrief,sidewaysgesturewithhiseyebrowsthatRubenIglesiastooktomean,fine,goahead.

HedidnotcallforGen,butwalkedthelongwayaroundtheroomtogettohim.Itwasbothanopportunitytostretchhislegsandtotakeinventoryofhisguests.Mostpeoplegavesomethingbetweenawinceandasmileuponseeinghim.Thesideofhisfacereallywasswellinghorriblywithoutice.Thestitchesalreadystrainedagainsttheburdenofkeepinghisfacetogether.Ice.Itwasn’tlikehewaslookingforpenicillin.Therewasplentyoficeinthehouse.Thereweretwofreezers,onesidebysidewiththerefrigeratorinthekitchenandoneinthebasementjustforstorage.Therewasalsoamachineinthekitchenthatstoodseparatelyanddidnothingbutpourforthicealldayintoaplasticcabinet.AndyetheknewhewasnotafavoritewiththeseGenerals,andtorequestsomuchasacubemightmeantheclosingofhisothereye.Howlovelyitwouldbejusttostandwithhischeekrestinglightlyagainstthecoolwhitemetalofthefreezerdoor.Hedidn’tevenneedtheice,thatwouldbeenough.“Monsignor,”hesaid,steppingaroundMonsignorRollandonthefloor.“Iamsosorry.Areyoucomfortable?Yes?Good,good.”

Itwasabeautifulhouse,abeautifulrugonwhichhisguestscrowdedtogether.Whowouldhavethoughtthathewouldonedayliveinsuchahousewithtwofreezersandamachinethatmadeonlyice?Ithadbeenaspectacularpieceofluck.Hisfatherliftedbaggageontoflatbedcarts,firstforthetrainsandthenfortheairlines.Hismotherraisedeightchildren,soldvegetables,tookinneedlework.Howmanytimeshadthatstorybeentold?RubenIglesiasworkinghiswayup.Thefirstinhisfamilytofinishhighschool!Workedasajanitortoputhimselfthroughcollege.Workedasajanitorandajudge’sclerktoputhimselfthroughlawschool.Afterthattherewasasuccessfulcareerinthelaw,thecorrectstepsontheunstableladderofpolitics.Itmadehimasattractivearunningmateashisheight.Neverinthestorydidtheymentionhowhehadmarriedwell,thedaughterofaseniorpartnerhehadmadepregnantduringafestiveChristmasparty,howtheambitionsofhiswifeandherparentspushedhimforward.Thatwasadecidedlylessinterestingstory.

Amanonthefloornearthetapestrywing-backedchairaskedhimaquestioninalanguageRubenbelievedwasGerman.TheVicePresidenttoldhimhedidnotknow.

GenthetranslatorwaslyingveryclosetoMr.Hosokawa.HewhisperedsomethinginMr.Hosokawa’searandtheoldermanclosedhiseyesandnoddedhisheadalmostimperceptibly.RubenhadforgottenallaboutMr.Hosokawa.Happybirthday,sir,hethoughttohimself.Idon’tsupposetherewillbeanyfactoriesbuiltthisyear.NottoofarfromthemwasRoxaneCossandheraccompanist.Shelooked,ifthiswaspossible,evenbetterthanshehadthenightbefore.Herhairwaslooseandherskinglowedasifshehadbeenwaitingforthisopportunitytorest.“Howareyou?”shemouthedinEnglish,andtouchedherhandtoherowncheektoindicateherconcernforhisinjury.Perhapsitwasthefactthathehadhadnothingtoeat,maybeitwasexhaustionorbloodlossortheonsetofaninfection,butatthatmomenthewasquitesurehewouldfaint.Thewayshetouchedherface,diditbecauseshecouldnotstandandputherhandtohisowncheek,theimageofherstandingandtouchinghischeek,hesankdowntothefloor,balancingonhistoes,puttinghishandsdowninfrontofhim,anddroppedhisheadforwarduntilthefeelingpassed.Slowlyheraisedhiseyestohers,

whichnowlookedpanicked.“I’mwell,”hewhispered.Atthatmomenthenoticedheraccompanist,whofranklydidnotlookwellatall.ItseemedthatifRoxaneCosswasabletoextendsuchcompassiontohimsheshouldtakealookatthemanlyingnexttoher.Hispalenesshadadecidedlygraycast,andwhilehiseyeswereopenandhischestmovedinashallowway,therewasastillnessabouthimthatthevicepresidentthoughtwasnotgoodatall.“Him?”hesaidsoftly,andpointed.

Shelookedatthebodybesideherasifshewasnoticingitforthefirsttime.“Hesayshehastheflu.Ithinkhe’sverynervous.”

Speakingintheverysmallestofwhispers,thesoundofhervoicewasthrilling,evenifhewasn’texactlysurewhatshewassaying.

“Translator!”GeneralAlfredocalledout.

RubenhadmeanttostandandextendhishandtoGen,butGen,younger,madeittohisfeetmorequicklyandreacheddowntohelptheVicePresident.HetookRuben’sarm,asiftheVicePresidenthadbeenstrucksuddenlyblind,andledhimforwardthroughtheroom.Howquicklyonecouldformattachmentsundercircumstanceslikethese,whatboldconclusionsamancouldcometo:RoxaneCosswasthewomanhehadalwaysloved;GenWatanabewashisson;hishousewasnolongerhisown;hislifeasheknewit,hispoliticallife,wasdead.RubenIglesiaswonderedifallhostages,allovertheworld,feltmoreorlessthesameway.

“Gen,”Messnersaid,andshookhishandsomberly,asifofferingcondolences.“TheVicePresidentshouldhavemedicine.”HesaidthisinFrenchforGentotranslate.

“Toomuchtimeisspentdiscussingtheneedsofafoolishman,”GeneralBenjaminsaid.

“Ice?”Rubenofferedhimself,assuddenlyhismindwasfilledwiththepleasuresofice,ofthesnowonthetopsoftheAndes,ofthosesweetOlympicskatersontelevision,younggirlswearinghandkerchiefsofdiaphanousgauzearoundtheirdoll-likewaists.Hewasburningalivenowandthesilverbladesoftheirskatesshotuparchesofblue-whitechips.Hewantedtobeburiedinice.

“Ishmael,”theGeneralsaidimpatientlytooneoftheboys.“Intothekitchen.Gethimatowelandice.”

Ishmael,oneoftheyoungboysholdingupthewall,asmallonewiththeworstshoesofall,lookedpleased.Maybehewasproudofhavingbeenchosenforthetask,maybehewantedtohelptheVicePresident,maybehewantedashotatthekitchen,wheresurelytraysofleftovercrackersandmeltedcanapéswerewaiting.“Noonegivesmypeopleicewhentheyneedice,”GeneralAlfredosaidbitterly.

“Certainly,”Messnersaid,halflisteningtoGen’stranslation.“Haveyoureachedsomekindofcompromisehere?”

“We’llletyouhavethewomen,”GeneralAlfredosaid.“Wehavenointerestinharmingwomen.Theworkerscango,thepriests,anyonewhoissick.Afterthatwe’llreviewthelistofwhowehave.Theremaybeafewmoretogoafterthat.Inreturnwe’llwantsupplies.”Heproducedapieceofpaper,neatlyfolded,fromhisfrontpocketandclampeditbetweenthethreeremainingfingersofhislefthand.“Thesearethethingswe’llneed.Thesecondpageis

tobereadtothepress.Ourdemands.”Alfredohadbeensocertaintheirplanwouldturnoutbetterthanthis.Ithadbeenhiscousin,afterall,whohadonceworkedontheair-conditioningsystemofthishouseandhadmanagedtostealacopyoftheblueprints.

MessnertookthepapersandscannedthemforaminuteandthenaskedGentoreadthem.Genwassurprisedtofindhishandstrembling.Hecouldneverrememberaninstancewhenwhathewastranslatinghadactuallyaffectedhim.“Onbehalfofthepeople,LaFamiliadeMartinSuarezhastakenhostage—”

MessnerraisedhishandforGentostop.“LaFamiliadeMartinSuarez?”

TheGeneralnodded.

“NotLaDirecciónAuténtica?”Messnerkepthisvoicedown.

“Yousaidwewerereasonablemen,”GeneralAlfredosaid,hisvoiceswellingwiththeinsult.“Whatdoyouthink?DoyouthinkLaDirecciónAuténticawouldbetalkingtoyou?Doyouthinkwewouldbelettingthewomengo?IknowLDA.InLDA,theoneswhoarenotusefulareshot.Whohaveweshot?Wearetryingtodosomethingforthepeople,canyouunderstandthat?”HetookasteptowardsMessner,whoknewhowitwasintended,butGenmovedquietlybetweenthem.

“Wearetryingtodosomethingforthepeople,”Gensaid,keepinghistonedeliberateandslow.Thesecondpartofthesentence,“Canyouunderstandthat?”wasirrelevantandsoheleftitoff.

Messnerapologizedforhismistake.Anhonestmistake.TheywerenotLDA.Hehadtoconcentratetokeepthecornersofhismouthfrombendingup.“Howlongbeforethefirstgroupcanbereleased?”

GeneralAlfredocouldnotspeaktohim.Hegrounddownonhisteeth.EvenGeneralHector,whohadtheleasttosay,spatontheSavonnièrecarpet.Ishmaelreturnedwithtwodishtowelsfulloficecubes,asignofthegreatabundancethekitchenheld.GeneralBenjaminbattedoneofthesacksfromhishand,sendingthecleardiamondicetrippingandbouncingacrossthecarpet.Anyonecloseenoughscoopeduptheextracubesandslippedthemintotheirmouths.Ishmael,frightenednow,quicklygavetheremainingbagtotheVicePresidentwithaslightbowofthehead.Rubenreturnedthenod,thinkingitbestnottodrawanymoreattentiontohimselfthanwasabsolutelynecessary,asclearlyitwouldtakelittletoprovokeanothergunbutttothesideofthehead.Hetouchedtheicetohisfaceandwincedwiththepainandthedeep,deeppleasureofthecold.

GeneralBenjaminclearedhisthroatandpulledhimselftogether.“We’lldividethemupnow,”hesaid.Firsthespoketohistroops.“Lookalert.Onyourguard.”Theboysagainstthewallstraightenedouttheirlegsandliftedtheirgunstotheirchests.“Everyoneonyourfeet,”hesaid.

“Ibegforyourattention,”GensaidinJapanese.“Itisnowtimetostand.”Iftheterroristsmindedspeaking,theymadeanexceptionforGen.Herepeatedthesentenceagaininasmanylanguagesashecouldthinkof.Hesaiditinlanguagesheknewheneednotinclude,Serbo-CroatianandCantonese,justbecausetherewascomfortinspeakingandnoonetriedtostop

him.“Standup,”isnotamessagethatneededtranslationinthefirstplace.Peoplearesheepaboutcertainthings.Whensomebegintostand,therestwillfollow.

Theywerestiffandawkward.Somepeopletriedtoworktheirwaybackintotheirshoesandothersjustforgotthem.Somepeoplestompedlightlyononefoot,tryingtowrestleitfromsleep.Theywerenervous.Asmuchastheyhadbeenthinkingthatalltheywantedwastostand,nowthattheywereontheirfeettheyfeltinsecure.Itseemedsomuchmorelikelythattransitionswouldbebadratherthangood,thatstandingincreasedthelikelihoodofbeingshot.

“Thewomenwillstandtothefarrightoftheroomandthementothefarleft.”

Genchurnedthesentencethroughthedifferentlanguageswithnoclearideaofwhichcountrieswererepresentedorwhowasinneedofatranslator.Hisvoicewasfullofthesoothingmonotonyoftheoverheadannouncementsheardintrainstationsandairports.

Butthemenandwomendidnotpartquickly.Insteadtheyclungtooneanother,armsaroundnecks.Coupleswhohadnotheldeachotherthiswayforyears,whohadperhapsneverheldeachotherthiswayinpublic,embraceddeeply.Itwasapartythathadsimplygoneontoolong.Themusichadstoppedandthedancinghadstoppedandstillthecouplesstood,eachenvelopedintheother,waiting.TheonlyawkwardpairingwasbetweenRoxaneCossandtheaccompanist.Shelookedsosmallinhisarmssheseemedalmostachild.Shedidn’tappeartowanttobeheldbyhim,butoncloserinspectionshewasactuallyshoringhimup.Hedrapedhimselfonher,andthegrimaceonherfacewasthatofawomanunequaltotheweightthathadbeengivenher.Mr.Hosokawa,recognizingherdistress(becausehehadbeenwatching,havingnoonetoembracehimself,hisownwifesafelyhomeinTokyo),tooktheaccompanistinhisarms,wrappingthemuchlargermanacrosshisshoulderslikeacoatinwarmerweather.Mr.Hosokawastaggeredabithimself,butitwasnothingcomparedwiththereliefthatfloodedherface.

“Thankyou,”shesaid.

“Thankyou,”herepeated.

“You’lllookafterhim?”Atthispointtheaccompanistraisedhisheadandtooksomeofhisweightontohisownfeet.

“Thankyou,”Mr.Hosokawarepeatedtenderly.

Othermen,singlemen,mostlywaiters,allofwhomwishedthattheyhadbeentheonetopeelthisdyinggringofromhershoulders,movedforwardtohelpMr.Hosokawa,andtogethertheyshuffledtotheleftsideoftheroomwiththesour-smellingman,hisblondheadswingingasifhisneckhadbeensnapped.Mr.Hosokawaturnedtolookather,soheartsicktothinkshewouldbealone.Hemighthavethoughtthatshewaswatchinghim,butreallyshewaslookingatheraccompanist,whowasslumpedinMr.Hosokawa’sarms.Oncehewasawayfromheritwasmucheasiertoseehowillhelooked.

Now,inthefaceofsomanypassionategood-byes,itstruckMr.Hosokawathathehadneverevenconsideredbringinghiswifetothiscountry.Hedidnottellherthatshehadbeeninvited.Hetoldherhewasattendingabusinessmeeting,notabirthdaypartytobeheldinhis

honor.TheirunspokenagreementwasthatMrs.Hosokawaalwaysstayedhomewiththeirdaughters.Theydidnottraveltogether.Nowhecouldseehowsmartthisdecisionwas.Hehadkepthiswifefromdiscomfortandpossiblyharm.Hehadprotectedher.Butstill,hecouldn’thelpbutwonderwhatitwouldhavebeenlikeforthetwoofthemtostandtogethernow.Wouldtheyhavefeltsomuchsadnesswhentheyweretoldtostepawayfromoneanother?

Forwhatseemedlikealongtimebutcouldnothavebeenawholeminute,EdithandSimonThibaultsaidnothingtoeachother.Thenshekissedhimandhesaid,“Iliketothinkofyououtside.”Hecouldhavesaidanything,itmadenodifference.Hewasthinkingofthosefirsttwentyyearstheyweremarried,yearswhenhehadlovedherwithoutanykindofrealunderstanding.Thiswouldbehispunishmentnow,forallhistimewasted.DearEdith.Shetookoffthelightsilkwrappershewaswearing.Hehadforgottentoaskforit.Itwasawonderfulblue,theblueusedonthedinnerplatesofkingsandtheunderbreastsofthebirdsinthisverygodforsakenjungle.Shecrumpleditupintoasurprisinglysmallballandpresseditintothewaitingcupofhishands.

“Don’tdoanythingstupid,”shesaid,andbecauseitwasthelastthingsheaskedofhim,hesworehewouldnot.

Forthemostparttheseparationofhostageswascivil.Notwohadtobepriedapartwithagun.Whentheyknewtheirtimewasreallyupthemenandthewomenseparated,asifacomplicateddancingreelwereabouttobeginandsoontheywouldjoinandsplitandchange,passingtheirpartnersoffonlytoreceivethembackintotheirarmsagain.

MessnertookastackofbusinesscardsoutofhiswalletandhandedonetoeachoftheGeneralsandonetoGenandone,thoughtfully,totheVicePresident,andthenlefttherestinadishonthecoffeetable.“Thishasmycellphonenumber,”hesaid.“That’sjustme.Youwanttotalktome,youcallthisnumber.They’rekeepingthephonelinesopentothehousefornow.”

Eachofthemlookedatthecardsfeelingpuzzled.Itwasasifhewasaskingthemtolunch,asifhedidn’tunderstandthegravityofthesituation.

“Youmayneedsomething,”Messnersaid.“Youmaywanttotalktosomeoneoutthere.”

Genmadeaslightbow.HeshouldhavebowedtothewaistforMessner,toshowhimrespectforcomingintothisplace,forriskinghislifefortheirs,butheknewthatnoonewouldunderstand.ThenMr.Hosokawacameupandtookacardfromthedish,shookMessner ’shand,andboweddeeply,hisfaceturneddowntothefloor.

AfterthattheGeneralsBenjamin,Alfredo,andHectorwenttothemenandfromthatpackcutouttheworkers,thewaitersandcooksandcleaningstaff,andplacedthemwiththewomen.Itwastheirultimateintentiontofreetheworkersthroughrevolutionandtheywouldnotkeepthemhostage.ThentheyaskedifanyonewasveryillandhadGenrepeatthequestionseveraltimes.Whereonewouldthinkthateverymemberwouldclaimafaintheart,thecrowdwasremarkablyquiet.Ahandfulofveryoldmenshuffledforward,ahandsomeItalianmanshowedamedicalidentificationbraceletandwasreunitedtothearmsofhiswife.Onlyonemanliedandhisliewasnotdiscovered:Dr.Gomezexplainedthathiskidneyshadfailed

yearsbeforeandhewaslatefordialysisalready.Hiswifeturnedawayfromhim,ashamed.Thesickestamongthem,theaccompanist,appearedtooconfusedtomaketherequestforhimselfandsowasplacedintoachairatthesidewheretheywouldbecertainnottoforgethim.Thepriestsweregivenleaveaswell.MonsignorRollandmadethesignofthecrossoverthosewhoremained,alovelygesture,andthenwalkedaway,butFatherArguedas,whoreallyhadnopressingdutiestoattendto,requestedpermissiontostay.

“Stay?”GeneralAlfredosaid.

“You’llneedapriest,”hesaid.

Alfredosmiledslightly,andthiswasafirst.“Really,you’llwanttogo.”

“IfthepeopleareherethroughSunday,you’llneedsomeonetosaymass.”

“Wewillprayonourown.”

“Respectfully,sir,”saidthepriest,hiseyescastdown.“Iwillstay.”

Andwiththatthematterwasclosed.MonsignorRollandcoulddonothingbuthelplesslywatchthewholething.Hewasalreadystandingwiththewomenandtheshameofitfilledhimwithmurderousrage.Hecouldhavechokedtheyoungpriesttodeathwithonehand,butitwastoolate.Hehadalreadybeensaved.

TheVicePresidentshouldhavebeengivenmedicalleavebutdidn’tevenbotherasking.Instead,sickwithfeverandholdingameltedicepacktohisface,hewastoldtogooutthedooranddowntotheheavygateinthewalltoannouncethereleasetothepress.Hebarelyhadasecondwithhisownwife,adecentwomanwhomadetheworkofherlifethewell-beingofhiscareerandneversaidawordasshewatchedhimthrowherworkaway.Hedidn’thaveaminutewithhistwodaughters,ImeldaandRosa,whohadbeensogood,lyingalldayontheirsidesplayingsomecomplicatedfingergamewitheachotherthathecouldnotrecognize.HesaidnothingtoEsmeraldabecausetherewerenowordstothankher.Hewasworriedabouther.Ifhewaskilled,wouldtheykeepheron?Hehopedso.Shehadsuchalovelystraightbackandwaspatientwiththechildren.Shehadtaughtthemtopaintpicturesofanimalsonsmallrocksandfromthoserockselaborateworldsweremade.Therewereplentyofthemupstairs.Soonerorlaterhewouldbeabletogetawayandgoandfindthem.Hiswifeclutchedattheirsonuntilhecriedoutfromthepressureofherhands.Shewasafraidtheywouldtryandtakehimtothesidewiththemen,butRubenstrokedherfingersandreassuredher.“Noonewillcounthim,”hesaid.HekissedMarcoonthehead,kissedhissilky,deeplyboyish-smellinghair.Thenhewenttothedoor.

HewasabettermanforthejobthanPresidentMasuda.ThePresidentcouldn’tsayanythingunlessitwaswrittendown.Hewasnotastupidman,buthelackedspontaneity.Besides,hehadatemperandfalseprideandwouldnotstandbeingorderedfromthefloortothedoorandbackagain.Hewouldsaysomethingunscriptedandgethimselfshot,whichwouldeventuallyleadtoeveryonegettingshot.ForthefirsttimehethoughtitwasbetterthatMasudahadstayedhometowatchhissoapoperabecauseRubencouldbetheservant,thestraightman,andindoingsohecouldsavethelivesofhiswifeandhischildrenandtheirprettygovernessandthefamousRoxaneCoss.Theparticularjobhehadbeengiventhistime

wasinfactmoresuitedtothetalentsofaVicePresident.Messnercameoutandjoinedhimonthefrontsteps.Thedayhadcloudedoverbuttheairwasmarvelous.Thepeopleattheendofthewalkwayloweredtheirgunsandoutcamethewomen,theirdressesshimmeringinthelateafternoonlight.Wereitnotforallthepoliceandphotographers,apersonwalkingbymighthavethoughtitwasapartywhereeverycouplehadfoughtandthewomenalltookituponthemselvestoleaveearlyandalone.Theywerecrying,andtheirhairfellintotangledknots.Theirmakeupwasruinedandtheirskirtswereheldupintheirfists.Mostofthemcarriedtheirshoesorhadlefttheirshoesbehindandtheirstockingsweretornontheflatshalestonesofthefrontwalk,thoughnoneofthemnoticed.Thereshouldhavebeenasinkingshipbehindthem,aburningbuilding.Thefarthertheygotfromthehousethehardertheycried.Thefewmen,theservants,theinfirm,cameoutbehindthem,lookinghelplessinthefaceofsomuchsadnessforwhichtheywerenotresponsible.

three

aclarification:allofthewomenwerereleasedexceptone.Shewassomewhereinthemiddleoftheline.Liketheotherwomen,shewaslookingbackintothelivingroomratherthanouttheopendoor,lookingbacktotheflooronwhichshe’dsleptlikeithadn’tbeenanightbutseveralyears.Shewaslookingbackatthemenwhowouldn’tbecomingoutside,noneofwhomsheactuallyknew.ExcepttheJapanesegentlemanwhosepartythishadbeen,andshecertainlydidn’tknowhim,buthehadbeenhelpfulwithheraccompanist,andforthatshesearchedhimoutandsmiledathim.Themenshiftedfromfoottofootintheirpack,allofthemsad-eyedandnervousfromthefarsideoftheroom.Mr.Hosokawareturnedhersmile,asmall,dignifiedacknowledgment,andbowedhishead.WiththeexceptionofMr.Hosokawa,themenwerenotthinkingaboutRoxaneCossthen.Theyhadforgottenherandthedizzyingheightsofherarias.Theywerewatchingtheirwivesfileoutintothebrightafternoon,knowingitwasaprobabilitythattheywouldneverseethemagain.Thelovetheyfeltroseupintotheirthroatsandblockedtheair.TherewentEdithThibault,theVicePresident’swife,thebeautifulEsmeralda.

RoxaneCosswasverynearlyatthedoor,perhapshalfadozenwomenaway,whenGeneralHectorsteppedforwardandtookherarm.Itwasnotaparticularlyaggressivegesture.Hemighthaveonlybeentryingtoescorthersomeplace,perhapshehadwantedheratthefrontoftheline.“Espera,”hesaid,andpointedovertothewall,wheresheshouldstandalonenearalargeMatissepaintingofpearsandpeachesinabowl.ItwasoneofonlytwoworksbyMatisseintheentirecountryandithadbeenborrowedfromtheartmuseumfortheparty.Roxane,confused,lookedatthatmomenttothetranslator.

“Wait,”GensaidsoftlyinEnglish,tryingtomaketheonewordsoundasbenignaspossible.Wait,afterall,didnotmeanthatshewouldnevergo,onlythatherleavingwouldbedelayed.

Shetookthewordin,thoughtaboutitforamoment.Shestilldoubtedthat’swhathehadmeantevenwhenshehearditinEnglish.Asachildshehadwaited.Shehadwaitedatschoolinlineforauditions.Butthetruthwasthatinthelastseveralyearsnoonehadaskedhertowaitatall.Peoplewaitedforher.Shedidnotwait.Andallofthis,thebirthdayparty,theridiculouscountry,theguns,thedanger,thewaitinginvolvedinallofitwasamockery.ShepulledherarmbacksharplyandthejoltcausedtheGeneral’sglassestoslipfromhisnose.

“Look,”shesaidtoGeneralHector,nolongerwillingtotoleratehishandonherskin.“Enoughisenough.”Genopenedhismouthtotranslateandthenthoughtbetterofit.Besides,shewasstillspeaking.“Icameheretodoajob,tosingforaparty,andIdidthat.Iwastoldtosleeponthefloorwithallofthesepeopleyouhavesomereasontokeep,andIdidthat,too.Butnowit’sover.”Shepointedtowardsthechairwhereheraccompanistsathunchedover.“He’ssick.Ihavetobewithhim,”shesaid,thoughitcameoffastheleastconvincingofherarguments.Slumpedforwardinhischair,hisarmshangingfromhissideslikeflagsonanespeciallywindlessday,theaccompanistlookedmoredeadthansick.Hedidnotraisehisheadwhenshespoke.Thelinehadstoppedmoving,eventhewomenwhowerefreetogonowstoppedtowatchher,regardlessofwhetherornottheyhadanyideaofwhatshewassaying.Itwasinthismomentofuncertainty,theinevitablepausethatcomesbeforethetranslation,thatRoxaneCosssawthemomentofherexit.Shemadeacleanmovetowardsthefrontdoor,whichwasopen,waiting.GeneralHectorreacheduptocatchherand,missingherarm,tookherfirmlybythehair.Suchhairmadeawomananeasytarget.Itwaslikebeingattachedtoseverallongsoftropes.

Threethingshappenedinclosesuccession:first,RoxaneCoss,lyricsoprano,madeaclear,high-pitchedsoundthatcamefromwhatappearedtobesomecombinationofsurpriseandactualpainasthetugcausedhernecktosnapbackwards;second,everyguestinvitedtotheparty(withtheexceptionofheraccompanist)steppedforward,makingitclearthatthiswasthemomentforinsurrection;third,everyterrorist,rangingfromtheagesoffourteentoforty-one,cockedtheweaponhehadbeenholdingandthegreatmetallicclickstilledthemalllikeafilmsplicedintoonesingleframe.Andtheretheroomwaited,timesuspended,untilRoxaneCoss,withoutsomuchassmoothingherdressortouchingherhair,turnedtogoandstandbesideapaintingthatwas,inallhonesty,aminorwork.

AfterthattheGeneralsbeganarguingquietlyamongthemselvesandeventhefootsoldiers,thelittlebandits,wereleaningin,tryingtohear.Theirvoicesblurredtogether.Thewordwomanwasheardandthenthewordsneverandagreement.Andthenoneofthemsaidinavoicethatwaslowandconfused,“Shecouldsing.”Withtheirheadstogethertherewasnotellingwhosaidit.Itmaywellhavebeenallofthem,allofus.

Therewereworsereasonstokeepapersonhostage.Youkeepsomeonealwaysforwhatheorsheisworthtoyou,forwhatyoucantradeherfor,moneyorfreedomorsomebodyelseyouwantmore.Anypersoncanbeakindoftradingchipwhenyoufindawaytoholdher.Sotoholdsomeoneforsong,becausethethinglongedforwasthesoundofhervoice,wasn’titallthesame?Theterrorists,havingnochancetogetwhattheycamefor,decidedtotakesomethingelseinstead,somethingthattheyneverintheirlivesknewthattheywanteduntiltheycrouchedinthelow,darkshaftoftheair-conditioningvents:opera.TheydecidedtotakethatverythingforwhichMr.Hosokawalived.

Roxanewaitedaloneagainstthewallnearthebright,tumblingfruitandcriedfromfrustration.TheGeneralsbegantoraisetheirvoiceswhiletherestofthewomenandthentheservantsfiledout.Themengloweredandtheyoungterroristskepttheirweaponsraised.Theaccompanist,whohadmomentarilyfallenasleepinhischair,rousedhimselfenoughtostandandwalkedoutoftheroomwiththehelpofthekitchenstaff,neverhavingrealizedthathiscompanionwasnowbehindhim.

“Thisisbetter,”GeneralBenjaminsaid,walkingawidecircleonthefloorthathadpreviouslybeencoveredinhostages.“Nowamancanbreathe.”

Frominsidetheycouldheartheextraneoushostagesbeingmetwithgreatapplauseandcelebration.Thebrightpopofcameraflashesraisedupovertheothersideofthegardenwall.Inthemidstoftheconfusion,theaccompanistwalkedrightbackinthefrontdoor,whichnoonehadbotheredtolock.Hethrewitopenwithsuchforcethatitslammedbackagainstthewall,thedoorknobleavingamarkinthewood.Theywouldhaveshothimbuttheyknewhim.“RoxaneCossisnotoutside,”hesaidinSwedish.Hisvoicewasthick,hisconsonantscatchingbetweenhisteeth.“Sheisnotoutside!”

Soslurredwastheaccompanist’sspeechthatittookevenGenaminutetorecognizethelanguage.TheSwedishheknewwasmostlyfromBergmanfilms.Hehadlearneditasacollegestudent,matchingthesubtitlestothesounds.InSwedish,hecouldonlyconverseonthedarkestofsubjects.“She’shere,”Gensaid.

Theaccompanist’shealthseemedtemporarilyrevivedbyhisfuryandforamomentthebloodrushedbackintohisgraycheeks.“Allwomenarereleased!”Heshookhishandsintheairasifheweretryingtorushcrowsfromacornfield,hisquicklyblueinglipswerebrightwiththefoamofhisspit.GenrelayedtheinformationinSpanish.

“Christopf,here,”Roxanesaid,andgaveasmallwaveasiftheyhadonlybeenbrieflyseparatedataparty.

“Takemeinstead,”theaccompanisthowled,hiskneesswayingdangerouslytowardsanotherbuckle.Itwasadelightfullyold-fashionedoffer,thougheverypersonintheroomknewthatnoonewantedhimandeveryonewantedher.

“Puthimoutside,”GeneralAlfredosaid.

Twooftheboyssteppedforward,buttheaccompanist,whonoonethoughtwascapableofescapeinhisstateofrapidandmysteriousdeterioration,dartedpastthemandsatdownhardonthefloorbesideRoxaneCoss.Oneoftheboyspointedhisguntowardsthecenterofhisbigblondhead.

“Don’tshootheraccidentally,”GeneralAlfredosaid.

“Whatishesaying!”RoxaneCosswailed.

Reluctantly,Gentoldher.

Accidentally.Thatwashowpeoplegotshotatthesethings.Norealmalice,justabulletafewinchesoutofplace.RoxaneCosscursedeverylastpersonintheroomassheheldherbreath.Todiebecauseanunderskilledterroristhadpooraimwashardlyhowshehadmeanttogo.Theaccompanist’sbreathingwasinsanelyrapidandthin.Heclosedhiseyesandputhisheadagainstherleg.Hisfinalburstofpassionhadbeenenoughforhim.Justthatquicklyhewasasleep.

“ForthesakeofGod,”saidGeneralBenjamin,makingoneofthelargestmistakesinatakeoverthathadbeennothingbutaseriesofmistakes,“justleavehimthere.”

Assoonasthewordswerespoken,theaccompanistfellforwardandvomitedupamouthful

ofpaleyellowfoam.Roxanewastryingtostraightenhislegsoutagain,thistimewithnoonetohelpher.“Atleastdraghimbackoutside,”shesaidviciously.“Can’tyouseethere’ssomethingwrongwithhim?”Anyonecouldseetherewassomethingterribly,terriblywrongwithhim.Hisskinwaswetandcold,thecoloroftheinnerfleshoffishgonebad.

Genputintherequestbutitwasignored.“NoPresident,oneoperasinger,”GeneralBenjaminsaid.“It’sarottenexchangeifyouaskme.”

“She’sworthmorewiththepianoplayer,”GeneralAlfredosaid.

“Youcouldn’tgetadollarforhim.”

“Wekeepher,”GeneralHectorsaidquietly,andthesubjectofoperasingerswasclosed.ThoughHectorwastheleastlikelytospeak,allofthesoldiersweremostafraidofhim.EventheothertwoGeneralsexercisedcaution.

Allofthehostages,evenGen,wereontheothersideoftheroomfromwhereRoxaneandheraccompanistwerepressedagainstthewall.FatherArguedassaidaprayerquietlyandthenwenttohelpher.WhenGeneralBenjamintoldhimtoreturntohissideoftheroomhesmiledandnoddedasiftheGeneralwasmakingalittlejokeandinthatsensewasnotcommittingasin.Thepriestwasamazedbytherushingofhisheart,bythefearthatsweptthroughhislegsandmadethemweak.Itwasnotafearofbeingshot,ofcourse,hedidnotbelievetheywouldshoothim,andiftheydid,well,thatwouldbethat.Thefearcamefromthesmellofthelittlebell-shapedliliesandthewarmyellowlightofherhair.Notsincehewasfourteen,theyearhegavehishearttoChristandputallofthoseworriesbehindhim,hadsuchthingsmovedhim.Andwhydidhefeel,inthemidstofallthisfearandconfusion,inthemortaldangerofsomanylives,thewildgiddinessofgoodluck?Whatunimaginablegoodluck!ThathehadbeenbefriendedbyAnaLoya,cousinoftheVicePresident’swife,thatshehadmadesuchanextravagantrequestonhisbehalf,thattherequesthadbeengraciouslygrantedsothathewasallowedtostandintheverybackoftheroomtohear,forthefirsttimeinhislife,thelivingopera,andnotjustsungbutsungbyRoxaneCoss,whowasbyanyone’saccountthegreatestsopranoofourtime.Thatshewouldhavecometosuchacountrytobeginwithwouldhavebeenenough.Thehonorhewouldhavefeltlyingonhissinglecotinthebasementoftherectoryjustknowingthatshewasforonenightinthesamecityinwhichhelivedwouldhavebeenamiraculousgift.Butthathehadbeenallowedtoseeherandthen,byfate(whichmaywellportendawfulthings,butwasstill,aswasallfate,God’swill,Hiswish)hewasherenow,comingforwardtohelpherwiththecumbersomearrangementofheraccompanist’sganglylimbs,comingcloseenoughtosmelltheliliesandseehersmoothwhiteskindisappearingintotheneckofherpistachio-coloredgown.Hecouldseethatafewofherhairpinsremainedinplaceonthecrownofherheadsothatherhairdidnotfallinhereyes.Whatagift,hecouldnotthinkofitotherwise.BecausehebelievedthatsuchavoicemustcomefromGod,thenitwasGod’slovehewasstandingnexttonow.Andthetremblinginhischest,hisshakinghands,thatwasonlyfitting.HowcouldhisheartnotbefilledwithlovetobesoclosetoGod?

Shesmiledathim,asmilethatwaskindbututterlyinkeepingwiththecircumstancesathand.“Doyouknowwhythey’redetainingme?”shewhispered.

Atthesoundofhervoicehefelthisfirstwaveofdisappointment.Notinher,never,butinhimself.English.EveryonesaiditwouldbeimportanttolearnEnglish.Whatwasitthetouristssaid?“Haveaniceway?”Butwhatifthatwasaninappropriateresponse?Whatifitwasinsomewayhurtful?Itcouldbeaskingforsomething,camerafilmordirectionsormoney.Heprayed.Finally,sadly,hesaidtheonlywordhewassureof,“English.”

“Ah,”shesaid,noddinginsympathyandturningherattentionbacktoherwork.

Whentheyhadsettledtheaccompanistsothatheatleastappearedcomfortable,FatherArguedastookhisownhandkerchiefandwipedthepalesheenofvomitaway.Hewouldinnowaypretendtohaveanyrealmedicalknowledge,butcertainlyhespentagreatdealoftimevisitingthesickandthesacramenthehadmostoftenperformedwasviaticum,andgiventhosetwoexperienceshehadtosaythatthismanwhohadplayedthepianosobeautifullylookedclosertoviaticumthanhedidtotheanointingofthesick.“Catholic?”heaskedRoxaneCoss,touchingtheaccompanist’schest.

ShehadnoideawhetherornotthemanwhoplayedthepianoforherhadarelationshipwithGod,muchlesswhatchurchthatrelationshipmightbeconductedthrough.Sheshrugged.Atleastshecouldcommunicatewiththepriestthismuch.

“Católica?”hesaid,strictlyforhisowncuriosity,andpointed,politely,toher.

“Me?”shesaid,touchingthefrontofherdress.“Yes.”Thenshenodded.“Sí,Católica.”TwosimplewordsbutshewasproudofherselfforansweringinSpanish.

Hesmiledatthat.Asfortheaccompanist,ifhewasdying,ifhewasCatholic,thoseweretwofairlybigifs.Butwherethematterofthesoul’severlastingrestwasconcerned,itwasbettertoerronthesideofcaution.IfhemistakenlygavelastritestoaJewwhothenrecovered,whatharmhadhedonebuttakenupalittlebitofhistime,thetimeofanunconsciouspoliticalhostageatthat.HepattedRoxane’shand.Itwaslikeachild’shand!Sopaleandsoft,roundedonthetop.Ononefingersheworeadarkgreenstonethesizeofaquail’seggthatwassurroundedinafieryringofdiamonds.Normally,whenhesawwomenwearingringslikethathewishedtheywouldmakethemcontributionstothepoor,buttodayfoundhimselfimaginingthepleasureofgentlyslidingsucharingontoherfinger.Thisthought,hewassure,wasinappropriate,andhefeltanervousdampnesscreepacrosshisforehead.Andhewithoutahandkerchief.HeexcusedhimselftogoandspeaktotheGenerals.

“Thatmanthere,”FatherArguedassaid,loweringhisvoice,“Ibelieveheisdying.”

“Heisn’tdying,”GeneralAlfredosaid.“He’stryingtogetherout.Heispretendingtodie.”

“Idon’tbelieveso.Thepulse,thecoloroftheskin.”Helookedbackoverhisshoulder,pastthegrandpianoandhugebouquetsofliliesandrosesarrangedforapartylongsinceover,tothespotwheretheaccompanistlayontheedgeofcarpetlikesomethinglargeandspilled.“Somethingsonecan’tpretend.”

“Hechosetostay.Weputhimoutthedoorandhecameback.Thosearenottheactionsofadyingman.”GeneralAlfredoturnedhisheadaway.Herubbedhishand.Tenyearsthosefingershadbeengoneandstilltheyached.

“Gobacktowhereyouweretoldtowait,”GeneralBenjaminsaidtothepriest.Hewas

enjoyingabreathoffalsereliefseeinghalfofthepeoplegone,asifhalfofhisproblemsweresolved.Heknewittobefalsebuthewantedsomequiettimeinwhichtoenjoyit.Theroomlookedwideopen.

“Iwouldlikesomeoilfromthekitchentoperformlastrites.”

“Nokitchen,”GeneralBenjaminsaid,wagginghishead.Helitacigaretteinordertoberudetotheyoungpriest.Hewantedthepriestandtheaccompanisttohaveleftwhentheyweretoldtoleave.Peopleshouldn’tbeallowedtodecidethattheywishedtoremainahostage.Hehadverylittleexperiencebeingrudetopriestsandheneededthecigaretteasaprop.Heshookoutthematchanddroppeditonthecarpet.Hewantedtoblowthesmokeforwardbutcouldnot.

“Icandoitwithouttheoil,”FatherArguedassaid.

“Nolastrites,”GeneralAlfredosaid.“Heisn’tdying.”

“Iwasonlyaskingfortheoil,”thepriestsaidrespectfully.“Iwasn’taskingaboutthelastrites.”

EachoftheGeneralsmeanttostophim,toslaphim,tohaveoneofthesoldiersmarchhimbackinlinewithaguninhisback,butnonefeltabletodoso.ThatwaseitherthepoweroftheChurchorthepoweroftheoperasingerleaningoverthemantheytooktobeherlover.FatherArguedasreturnedtoRoxaneCossandheraccompanist.Shehadunbuttonedthetopofhisshirtandwaslisteningtohischest.Herhairspilledoverhisneckandshouldersinawaythatwouldhavethrilledtheaccompanistimmeasurablyifhehadbeenconscious,butshecouldnotwakehim.Norcouldthepriest.FatherArguedaskneltbesidehimandbegantheprayeroflastrites.Perhapsitwasgranderwhenonehadthevestmentsandrobes,whentherewasoiltoworkwith,thebeautyofcandles,butasimpleprayerfeltinsomewaysclosertoGod.HehopedtheaccompanistwasaCatholic.HehopedthathissoulwouldspeedtowardstheopenarmsofChrist.

“Godthefatherofmercies,throughthedeathandresurrectionofHisSonhasreconciledtheworldtoHimselfandsenttheHolySpiritamongusfortheforgivenessofsins;throughtheministryoftheChurchmayGodgiveyoupardonandpeace.”FatherArguedasfeltarushoftendernessforthisman,analmostchokingbondoflove.Hehadplayedforher.Hehadheardhervoicedayafterdayandbeenshapedbyit.Withgreatsincerityhewhispered,“Iabsolveyoufromyoursins,”intothechalk-whiteear.Andtruly,hedidforgivetheaccompanistforeverythinghemighthavedone,“inthenameoftheFather,andtheSon,andoftheHolySpirit.”

“Lastrites?”RoxaneCosssaid,takingthecold,damphandthathadworkedsotirelesslyonherbehalf.Shedidn’tknowthelanguage,buttheritualsofCatholicismwererecognizableanywhere.Thiscouldnotbeagoodsign.

“Throughtheholymysteriesofourredemption,mayalmightyGodreleaseyoufromallpunishmentsinthislifeandinthelifetocome.MayHeopentoyouthegatesofparadiseandwelcomeyoutoeverlastingjoy.”

RoxaneCosslookeddazed,asifthehypnotisthadswunghiswatchbuthadnotyetsnapped

hisfingers.“Hewasaverygoodpianist,”shesaid.Shewantedtojoinin,butfrankly,nolongerrememberedtheprayers.Sheadded,“Hewaspunctual.”

“LetusasktheLordtocometoourbrotherwithHismercifullove,andgranthimreliefthroughthisholyanointing.”FatherArguedastouchedhisthumbtohistonguebecauseheneededsomethingwetandcouldthinkofnothingelse.Hemarkedtheaccompanist’sforehead,saying,“ThroughthisholyanointingmaytheLordinHisloveandmercyhelpyouwiththegraceoftheHolySpirit.”

Roxanecouldseethenunsstandingoverherasshememorizedherprayers.Shecouldseethedarkrosewoodrosarieshangingfromtheirwaists,shecouldsmellthecoffeeontheirbreathandafaintodorofperspirationinthefabricoftheirdresses,SisterJoanandSisterMaryJosephandSisterSerena.Shecouldremembereachofthembutnotasinglewordofprayer.“Sometimesweorderedsandwichesandcoffeeafterrehearsal,”shesaid,thoughthepriestcouldnotunderstandherandtheaccompanistnolongerheardhervoice.“Wetalkedsomethen.”Hehadtoldherabouthischildhood.HewasfromSweden,orNorway?Hetalkedabouthowcolditwasinthewintersbuthowheneverreallynoticed,growingupthere.Hismotherwouldn’tlethimplayanysortofballgamesbecauseshewassoworriedabouthishands.Notafterallthemoneyshehadspentonpianolessons.

FatherArguedasanointedtheaccompanist’shands,saying,“MaytheLordwhofreesyoufromsinsaveyouandraiseyouup.”

Roxanepickedupsomeofhisfineblondhairandhelditoverherfingers.Itlookedanemic.Itlookedlikeitbelongedtoapersonwhowasn’tlongforthisworld.Thetruthwas,shehadhatedtheaccompanistalittle.Formonthstheyhadworkedtogetheramicably.Heknewhismusic.Heplayedwithpassionbutnevertriedtoovershadowher.Hewasquietandreservedandshelikedthatabouthim.Shedidnottrytodrawhimout.Sheneverthoughtabouthimenoughtowonderifsheshould.Thenitwasdecidedthathewouldcomewithheronthistrip.Nosoonerhadthewheelsoftheplaneliftedupfromthetarmacthantheaccompanistgrabbedherhandandtoldherabouttheimpossibleburdenoflovehehadbeenlivingwith.Didn’tsheknow?Allthosedaysofbeingnexttoher,ofhearinghersing.Heleanedintoherseatandtriedtopresshisearagainstherchestbutshepushedhimaway.Itwaslikethateveryminuteoftheeighteen-hourflight.Itwaslikethatinthelimousinetothehotel.Hepleadedandweptlikeachild.Hecatalogedeveryoutfitshehadworntoeveryrehearsal.Outsidethecarwindowanimpenetrablewallofleavesandvinesspedpast.Wherewasshegoing?Hecreptonefingerovertotouchherskirtandsheknockeditawaywiththebackofherhand.

Roxanebowedherheadandclosedhereyes,pressedherhandstogetherwiththestrandsofhishaircaughtinbetween.“Aprayercanjustbesomethingnice,”SisterJoanhadsaid.SisterJoanwasherfavorite,youngandnearlypretty.Shekeptchocolateinherdesk.“Itisn’talwaysthethingsyouwant.Itcanbethethingsyouappreciate.”SisterJoanwouldoftenaskRoxanetosingforthechildrenbeforeassembly,“OhMaryWeCrownTheewithFlowersToday,”eveninthedeadofaChicagowinter.

“HealwayswantedtohearaboutChicago,IgrewupinChicago,”shewhispered.“Hewantedtoknowwhatitwasliketogrowupnearanoperahouse.Hesaid,nowthathewasinItalyhecouldneverleave.Hesaidhecouldn’tbearthosecoldnorthernwintersnow.”

FatherArguedaslookedupather,desperatetoknowwhatshewassaying.Wasitconfession,prayer?

“Maybeitwassomethingheate,”shesaid.“Therecouldbeafoodhewasallergicto.Maybehewassickbeforewegothere.”Certainly,hewasnotthemanshehadknown.

Theywereallthreequietforawhile,theaccompanistwithhiseyesclosed,theoperasingerandthepriestbothstaringdownatthoseclosedeyes.ThensomethingoccurredtoRoxaneCossandwithouthesitationshereachedintohispocketsandpulledouthiswalletandhandkerchiefandarollofmints.Sheflippedthroughthewalletandputitdown.Hispassportwasthere:Sweden.Sheslippedherhandsdeepintohispantspockets,atwhichpointFatherArguedasstoppedhisprayerstowatchher.Thereshefoundahypodermicneedle,usedandcapped,andasmallglassvilewitharubbertop,emptybutforadroportwocirclingthebottom.Insulin.Alloutofinsulin.Theywouldbebackatthehotelbymidnight,theyhadbeenpromised.Therewasnoreasontobringmorethanoneshotalong.Shescrambledtoherfeet,thenecessaryproofinherupturnedpalms.FatherArguedasraisedhisheadassherushedtotheGenerals.“Diabetic!”shecried,awordthathadtobemoreorlessthesameinanylanguage.ThosemedicaltermscameoffLatinroots,thesingletreetheyshouldallunderstand.Sheturnedherheadtowardsthemen’swall,wheretheywereallwatching,likethiswasanyothernightattheoperaandtonight’sperformancewasthetragicdeathoftheaccompanist,IlPianoforteTriste.

“Diabetic,”shesaidtoGen.

Gen,whohadwantedtogivethepriesthischance,cameforwardnowandexplainedwhattheGeneralsmust,withoutbenefitoftranslation,haveunderstood:themanwasinadiabeticcoma,whichmeantthatsomewhereouttherewasthemedicineneededtosavehimifhewasstillalive.Theywentovertosee,GeneralBenjamindroppinghiscigaretteintothemarblefireplacewhichwasbigenoughtoholdthreegood-sizedchildren.Infact,theVicePresident’sownthreechildrenhadcrowdedintheretogetherafterithadbeenemptiedofashesandscrubbeddown,andpretendedtobecookedbywitches.FatherArguedashadfinishedtheformalprayerandnowsimplykneltbesidetheaccompanist,hishandswrappedtogether,hisheadbowed,prayingsilentlythatthemanwouldfindsolaceandjoyinGod’seternallovenowthathewasdead.

Whenthepriestopenedhiseyeshesawthatheandtheaccompanistwerenolongeralone.FatherArguedassmiledgentlyattheassembledcrowd.“WhocanseparateusfromtheloveofChrist?”hesaidbywayofexplanation.

WhenRoxaneCosssanktotheflooritwasalovelysight,thepalegreenchiffonofherdressbillowingoutlikeacanopyofnewspringleavescaughtinasweepofAprilwind.Shetookinherhandsthehandthathismotherhadbeensocarefulwith,thehandshehadwatchedplaySchumannliederhourafterhourwithouttiring.Thehandwascoldalready,andthecolorsofhisface,whichhadn’tseemedrightforhours,werequicklybecomingverywrong,yellowaroundtheeyes,apalelavendercreepingupnearhislips.Histiewasgone,aswerethestudsfromhisshirtfront,buthestillworehisblacktailsandwhitewaistcoat.Hewasstilldressedforperformance.Neverforaminutehadshethoughthewasabadman.Andhehadbeenabrilliantpianist.Itwasjustthatheshouldn’thavewaiteduntiltheyweresealedupinthat

planetotellherhowhefeltabouther,andnowthathewasdeadshewouldn’tevenholdthatagainsthim.

Allthemenhadlefttheirwallandcometotheothersideoftheroom,wheretheystood,moreorlessshouldertoshoulderwiththebandofterrorists.Everyoneofthemhadresentedtheaccompanist,thoughthewastooluckyforbeingabletoplaythepianosowell,thoughthewastooforward,thewayhehadshieldedherfromtherestofthem.Butwhenhewasdeadtheyfeltthelossofhim.Hehaddiedforherafterall.Evenfromacrosstheroominlanguagestheymaynothaveunderstood,theycouldfollowthestoryclearly.Hehadnevertoldherhewasadiabetic.Hehadchosentostaywithherratherthanaskfortheinsulinthatcouldsavehislife.Thepooraccompanist,theirfriend.Hewasoneofthem.

“Nowamanisdead!”GeneralBenjaminsaid,throwinguphishands.Hisownillnessflaredatthethoughtofitandthepainwaslikehotneedlessewingtogetherthenerveendingsofhisface.

“Itisn’tasifmenhaven’tdied,”GeneralAlfredoansweredcoolly.Hehadnearlydiedhimselfmoretimesthanhecouldremember:abulletinhisstomach,thatnearlykilledhim!Twofingersshotoffnotsixmonthsafterthat,thenlastyearabulletpassingcleanlythroughthesideofhisneck.

“Wearenotheretokillthesepeople.WeareheretotakethePresidentandtogo.”

“NoPresident,”Alfredoremindedhim.

GeneralHector,trustingnoone,reacheddownandpressedhisownthinfingersagainstthedeadman’sjugular.“Perhapsweshouldshoothim,puthisbodyoutside.Letthemknowwhothey’redealingwith.”

FatherArguedas,whohadbeenkeepingtohisprayers,lookedupandstaredattheGeneralspointedly.Theideaofshootingtheirnew-deadfriendmadetheSpanish-speakinghostagesrecoil.ThosewhohadnotpreviouslyknownthatRoxaneCossdidnotspeakthelanguagewerenowsureofitbecausesheremainedinthesameposition,herheadinherhands,herskirtcircledoutaroundher,whiletheGeneralsspokeofdesecration.

AGermannamedLotharFalken,whoknewjustenoughSpanishtogetthevaguestideaofwhatwasgoingon,sidleduptoGeninthecrowdandaskedhimtotranslate.

“Tellthemitwon’twork,”hesaid.“Thewoundwon’tbleed.Youcouldshoothimstraightthroughtheheadnowandthey’dstillfigureoutsoonenoughthathedidn’tdieofagunshotwound.”LotharwasthevicepresidentofHoechst,apharmaceuticalcompany,andhadbeenabiologymajoratuniversitymanyyearsbefore.Hewasfeelingespeciallybadaboutthedeath,asinsulinrepresentedthevastmajorityofthecompany’ssales.Theywere,infact,Germany’sleadingmanufacturerofthedrug.Theyhaditeverywherebackattheoffice,freesamplesofeveryvarietyofinsulinjustwaitingtobegivenaway,refrigeratorsfullofendless,clinkingglassvialsthereforthetaking.HehadcometothepartybecausehefeltifNanseiwasconsideringanelectronicsplantinthehostcountry,hemightconsidermanufacturingthereaswell.Nowhewasstaringatamanwhodiedwantinginsulin.Hecouldn’tsavetheman’slife,butatleasthecouldsparehimtheindignityofbeingkilled

again.

Genrelatedtheinformation,tryingtochoosewordsthatwouldmakethewholethingsoundmoregruesomeratherthanless,ashe,too,didnotwanttoseethepooraccompanistshot.

GeneralHectortookouthisgunandstaredthoughtfullydownthesight.“That’sridiculous,”hesaid.

RoxaneCosslookedupthen.“Who’shegoingtoshoot?”sheaskedGen.

“Noone,”Genassuredher.

Shewipedherfingersinastraightlinebeneathhereyes.“Well,heisn’tgoingtocleanhisgun.Aretheygoingtostartkillingusnow?”Hervoicewastired,practical,asiftosayshehadascheduleandsheneededtoknowwherethingsstood.

“Youmightaswelltellherthetruth,”theVicePresidentwhisperedtoGeninSpanish.“IfanyonecanstopthisIwouldthinkitwouldbeher.”

ItshouldnotbeGen’sresponsibility,decidingwhatwasbestforher,whattotellandwhatnottotell.Hedidnotknowher.Hedidnotknowhowshewouldtakesuchathing.Butthenshegrabbedhisankleinthesamewayastandingpersonmighthavegrabbedawristinanargument.Helookeddownatthisfamoushandtouchinghispant’slegandfeltconfused.

“English!”shesaid.

“They’reconsideringshootinghim,”Genconfessed.

“He’sdead,”shesaid,incasetheyhadmissedthepoint.“HowdoyousaydeadinSpanish?Dead.”

“Difunto,”Gensaid.

“Difunto!”Hervoicewasslidingupintothehigherregistersnow.Shestoodup.Atsomepointshehadmadethemistakeoftakingoffhershoes,andinaroomfullofmenthissmallwomanseemedespeciallysmall.EventheVicePresidenthadseveralinchesonher.Butwhensheputhershouldersbackandraisedherheaditwasasifshewaswillingherselftogrow,asiffromyearsofappearingfarawayonastageshehadlearnedhowtoprojectnotjusthervoicebutherentireperson,andtheragethatwasinherliftedherupuntilsheseemedtotoweroverthem.“Youunderstandthis,”shesaidtotheGenerals.“Anybulletthatgoesintothatmangoesthroughmefirst.”Shewasfeelingverybadabouttheaccompanist.Shehaddemandedthattheflightattendantfindheranotherseatbuttheflightwasfull.Shehadbeenquitecrueltohimontheplaneinanattempttomakehimbequiet.

ShepointedafingeratGen,whoreluctantlytoldthemwhatshehadsaid.

Themenwhocircledthemlikeagalleryapprovedofthis.Suchlove!Hehaddiedforher,shewoulddieforhim!

“You’vekeptonewoman,oneAmerican,andtheonepersonthatanyoneintheworldhaseverheardofbefore,andifyoukillme,andmakenomistake,youwillhaveto—areyougettingallthis?”shesaidtothetranslator.“TheverywrathofGodwillcomedownonyouandyourpeople.”

EventhoughGentranslated,aclearandsimpleword-for-wordtranslation,everypersonintheroomunderstoodwhatshewassayingwithouthim,inthesamewaytheywouldhaveunderstoodhersingingPucciniinItalian.

“Takehimoutofhere.Draghimtothefrontstepsifyouhaveto,butyouletthepeopleouttheresendhimhomeinonepiece.”AlightperspirationhadcomeuponRoxaneCoss’sforehead,makingherglowlikeJoanofArcbeforethefire.Whenshewascompletelyfinishedshetookabreath,fullyreinflatinghermassivelungs,andthensatdownagain.HerbackwastotheGeneralsandshebentforwardtoleanherheadagainstthechestofheraccompanist.Restingonthisstillchest,shedrewherselfbackintocomposure.Shewassurprisedtofindhisbodycomfortingandshewonderedifitwasjustthatshecouldlikehimnowthathewasdead.Onceshefeltshewasherselfagainshekissedhimtoreinforceherpoint.Hislipswereslackandcoolabovethehardresistanceofhisteeth.

Fromsomewhereinthemiddleofthecrowd,Mr.Hosokawasteppedforward,reachedintohispocket,andextendedtoherhishandkerchief,cleanandpressed.Itwasodd,hethought,tohavebeensoreduced,tohavesolittletooffer,andyetshetookitasifhishandkerchiefwerethethingshehadmostbeenhopingforandpresseditbeneathhereyes.

“Allofyougoback,”GeneralBenjaminsaid,notwantingtowatchanothertouchingexchange.Hewentandsatdowninoneofthelargewing-backedchairsnearthefireplaceandlitacigarette.Therewasnothingtodo.Hecouldn’tstrikeherthewayheshouldhave,surelytherewouldhavebeenaninsurrectioninthelivingroomandhewasn’tcertainthattheyoungermembersofhisarmywouldnotshootinherdefense.Whathedidn’tunderstandwaswhyhefeltgrieffortheaccompanist.Alfredowasright,itwasn’tasifthiswasthefirstpersontodie.Mostdaysitseemedlikehalfthepeopleheknewweredead.Thethingwasthepeopleheknewhadbeenmurdered,slaughteredinahostofwaysthatpreventedhimfromsleepingwellatnight,andthisman,theaccompanist,hadsimplydied.Somehow,thosetwothingsdidnotseemexactlythesame.Hethoughtofhisbrotherinprison,hisbrother,asgoodasdead,sittingdayafterdayinacold,darkhole.Hewonderedifhisbrothercouldstayalivealittlewhilelonger,maybejustadayortwo,untiltheirdemandsweremetandhecouldbereleased.Theaccompanist’sdeathhadworriedhim.Peoplecouldsimplydieifnoonegottothemintime.Helookedupfromhiscigarette.“Getawayfromhere,”hesaidtothecrowd,andwiththattheyallsteppedaway.EvenRoxanegotupandlefthercorpseasshewastold.Sheseemedtirednow.Hecommandedhistroopstoresumetheirpositions.Theguestsweretogoandsitandwait.

Alfredowenttothephoneandpickedituphesitantly,asifhewasn’texactlysurewhatitcoulddo.Warfareshouldnotincludecellularphones,itmadeeverythingseemlessserious.HereachedintooneofthemanypocketsonhisgreenfatiguepantsandpulledoutabusinesscardanddialedMessner.Hetoldhimtherehadbeenanillness,no,adeath,andthattheyneededtonegotiatetheretrievalofthebody.

Withouttheaccompanist,everythingwasdifferent.Onewouldthinkthesentenceshouldread:Withouttheextraonehundredandseventeenhostages,everythingwasdifferent,orNowthatterroristshadsaidtheywerenottheretokillthem,everythingseemeddifferent.Butthatwasn’ttrue.Itwastheaccompanisttheyfeltthelossof,evenallthemenwhohadsorecently

senttheirwivesandloversoutside,watchedthemwalkawayinthefullsplendoroftheireveningdress,theywerethinkingofthedeadman.Theyhadnotknownhimatall.ManyassumedhewasanAmerican.Theretheywere,steadilyproducinginsulinasamatterofcoursewhileanothermandiedwithoutitsothathecouldstaywiththewomanheloved.Eachaskedhimselfifhewouldhavedonethesameandeachdecidedthechancesweregoodthathewouldnot.Theaccompanistembodiedacertainrecklessnessoflovethattheyhadnotpossessedsincetheiryouth.WhattheydidnotunderstandwasthatRoxaneCoss,whonowsatinthecornerofoneofthelargedownsofas,weepingquietlyintoMr.Hosokawa’shandkerchief,hadneverbeeninlovewithheraccompanist,thatshehadhardlyknownhimatallexceptinaprofessionalcapacity,andthatwhenhehadtriedtoexpresshisfeelingstoheritturnedouttobeadisastrousmistake.Thekindoflovethatoffersitslifesoeasily,sostupidly,isalwaysthelovethatisnotreturned.SimonThibaultwouldneverdieinafoolishgestureforEdith.Onthecontrary,hewouldtakeeverycowardlyrecourseavailabletohimtoensurethattheirliveswerespenttogether.Butwithoutallthenecessaryfacts,nooneunderstoodwhathadhappened,andalltheycouldthinkwasthattheaccompanisthadbeenabetter,braverman,thathehadlovedmorefullythantheywerecapableofloving.

Everythingwasslacknow.Thehugearrangementsofflowersthatwereplacedaroundtheroomwerealreadywilting,thesmallestedgeofbrowntrimmedthepetalsofthewhiteroses.Thehalf-emptyglassesofchampagnethatsatonendtablesandsideboardswereflatandwarm.Theyoungguardsweresoexhaustedthatsomefellasleepagainstthewallandsliddowntothefloorwithoutwaking.Theguestsstayedinthelivingroom,whisperingalittlebutmostlybeingquiet.Theycurledintooverstuffedchairsandslept.Theydidnottestthepatienceoftheirguards.Theytookcushionsoffthesofaandstretchedoutonthefloorinawaythatwasreminiscentofthenightbeforebutmuchbetter.Theyknewtheyweretostayinthelivingroom,bemostlyquiet,avoidsuddenmoves.Nooneconsideredslippingoutofthebathroomwindowwhentheytookthemselvestothelavatoryunattended,maybeoutofsomeunspokengentleman’sagreement.Acertainforcedrespecthadbeenshowntothebodyoftheaccompanist,theiraccompanist,andnowtheyhadtotrytoliveuptothestandardshehadset.

WhenMessnercameinheaskedfirsttoseeRoxaneCoss.Hislipsseemedthinnernow,stern,andhethoughtlesslyspokeinGerman.Genpushedupheavilyfromhischairandwenttotellthemwhatwasbeingsaid.TheGeneralspointedtothewomanonthecouch,whosefacewasstillpressedintoahandkerchief.

“Andshewillbecomingoutnow,”Messnersaid,notasaquestion.

“ThePresidentiscomingover?”GeneralAlfredosaid.

“Youdoexpecttoletherridehomewiththebody.”ItwasnottheMessnertheyhadseenbefore.Thesightofaroomfullofhostagesforcedtolieonthefloor,thebatteredVicePresident,theboyswiththeirweapons,allofthathadonlymadehimtired,buthewasangrynow.Angrywithnothingbutasmallredplussignstrappedoverhisupperarmtoprotecthimselffromaroomfulofguns.

HisangerseemedtoinspireanextraordinarypatienceintheGenerals.“Thedead,”Hectorexplained,“knownothingofwhoissittingbesidethem.”

“Yousaidallwomen.”

“Wecameupthroughtheair-conditioningvents,”GeneralBenjaminsaid,andthenafterapauseheaddedadescriptivephrase.“Likemoles.”

“IneedtoknowifIcantrustyou,”Messnersaid.Genonlywishedhecouldparodytheweightofhisvoice,thewayhestruckeverywordlikeasoftmalletagainstadrum.“Ifyoutellmesomething,amItobelieveyou?”

“Wesetfreetheservants,theill,andallofthewomenbutone.Perhapsthereissomethingaboutthisonethatinterestsyou.Perhapsifwehadkeptanotheritwouldn’thavematteredsomuchtoyou.”

“AmItobelieveyou?”

GeneralBenjaminthoughtaboutthisforamoment.Heliftedhishandasiftostrokehischeekbutthenthoughtbetterofit.“Wearenotonthesameside.”

“TheSwissnevertakesides,”Messnersaid.“WeareonlyonthesideoftheSwiss.”

NoneoftheGeneralshadanythingmoretosaytoMessner,whoneedednoconfirmationthattheaccompanistlyingathisfeetwas,indeed,dead.Thepriesthadcoveredthebodywithatableclothandthetableclothstayedinplace.Messnerwentoutthedoorwithoutpleasantriesandreturnedanhourlaterwithahelper.Theybroughtinarollinggurneyofthetypethatcomesfromanambulance,coveredinboxesandsacks,andwhentheywereunloadedMessnerandhishelperloweredthegurneyandtriedtotugthelargemanup.Theyultimatelyhadtobeassistedbyseveraloftheyoungerterrorists.Deathhadmadethebodydense,asifeveryrecitalperformed,eachday’snever-endingpractice,camebackinthosefinalmomentsandbalancedlikeleadbarsacrosshischest.Whenhewasinplaceandstrappeddown,hisfinehandsdanglingfrombeneaththecutworktablecloth,theytookhimaway.RoxaneCossturnedherheadasiftostudythecouchpillows.Mr.HosokawawonderedifshewasthinkingaboutBrunhilde,ifshewaswishingforahorsethatwouldtakeherintothefireafterherlover ’scorpse.

“Idon’tthinktheyshouldhavebroughtthefoodinlikethat,”theVicePresidentsaidtoastrangersittingbesidehim,althoughhewashungryandcuriousastowhatwasinthebags.“Ithinktheycouldhavemadetwoseparatetrips,outofrespect.”Thelateafternoonlightwasslantingthroughthetallwindowsofthelivingroom,makingheavygoldstrokesacrossthefloor.Itwasalovelyroom,Rubenthought,alovelytimeofdaytobeintheroom.Heveryrarelywashomebeforedarkandoftenhewasn’thomeatall,outrepresentingthePresidentononetriporanother.Theiceinhistowelhadalmostcompletelymeltedandthesleeveofhisstarcheddressshirtwassoakedfromwherethewaterhadtrickledsteadilydownhisarm.Still,thecoolwettowelfeltgoodonhisswollenface.Hewonderedwherehiswifeandchildrenwouldsleeptonight,ifthePresidentandhiswifewouldinvitethemintotheirhomeasamatterofgoodpublicityoriftheywouldgotoaguardedroominahotel.HehopedshewouldgotohercousinAna’s.AtleastAnawouldcomforther,atleastshewouldmakesomefunforthechildrenandlistentothegirlstelltheirstoriesaboutbeingkidnapped.Theywouldhavetodoubleupinextrabedsandsleeponpull-outsofas,butthatwouldbeallright.ThatwouldbebetterthantheMasudas’chillyguestsuite,wherecertainlyEsmeraldawould

bemadetosleepintheservants’quarters.

Ontheothersideoftheroomnearalargebankofwindows,GenandMr.Hosokawasatawayfromtherestoftheircountrymen.Itwasacomplicatedformofpolitenessinwhichtheothermenwouldnothavejoinedthemunlessinvited.Evenintheseunchartedcircumstancesthesocialorderstoodfirm.Mr.Hosokawawasnotmuchinthemoodforcompany.“Hewasamagnificentaccompanist,”hesaidtoGen.“I’veheardmyshareofthem.”Ofallthemenintheroom,Mr.Hosokawawastheonlyonewhocontinuedtowearhisjacketandtie.Hissuithadsomehowremainedremarkablyuncreased.

“Wouldyoulikemetotellher?”

“What?”

“Abouttheaccompanist,”Gensaid.

Mr.HosokawalookedtoRoxaneCoss,whosefacewasstillturnedbehindthecurtainofherownhair.Eventhoughthereweremensittingonthesofawhereshesat,shewasclearlyalone.Thepriestwasnearherbutnotwithher.Hiseyeswereclosedandhislipsshapedsmall,silentwordsofprayer.“Oh,I’msuresheknowsit.”Thenheaddeddoubtfully,“I’msureeveryonehastoldher.”

Gendidnotpresshispoint.Hewaited.ItwasnothisroletoadviseMr.Hosokawa.Heknewthesecretwastowaitandlethimcometohisownconclusions.

“Ifitdoesn’tappeartobedisturbingher,”hesaid,“perhapsyoucouldgivemycondolences.TellherIthoughtheraccompanistwasabraveandtalentedman.”HelookedatGendirectly,somethingthatwasuncommonbetweenthem.

“WhatifIamresponsibleforthisdeath?”hesaid.

“Howcouldthatbepossible?”

“Itwasmybirthday.Theycamehereforme.”

“Theycameheretowork,”Gensaid.“Theydon’tknowyou.”

Mr.Hosokawa,thedayafterhisfifty-thirdbirthday,lookedsuddenlyold.Hehadmadeamistake,acceptingsuchagift,andnowitseemedtobepullingtheyearsfromhislife.“Tellher,though,tellherIamespeciallygrieved.”

Gennodded,stoodup,andcrossedtheroom.Itwasahugeroom.Evenifyoudidn’tcountthegrandentryhallononeendanddiningroomontheother,thelivingroomwascavernous,withthreeseparateareassetupwithcouchesandchairs,livingroomswithinlivingrooms.Thefurniturehadbeenmovedasidefortherecitalandthenhadslowlybeendraggedbackintomismatchedconfigurationsastheremainingguestsmadethemselvescomfortable.Iftherehadbeenareceptiondeskitwouldhaveseemedverymuchlikeanenormoushotellobby.Iftherehadbeenapianoplayer,Genthought,butthenstoppedhimself.RoxaneCosswasalone,butnottoofarawayayoungterroriststoodbehindher,hisrifleheldclosetohischest.Genhadseenthisboybefore.HewastheonewhohadheldRoxaneCoss’shandwhentheywerefirstonthefloor.Whydidherememberitwasthisonewhenalltheothersblurredtogether?Itwassomethingabouthisface,whichwasdelicate,

intelligentsomehow,anditsethimapart.Genfeltuncomfortableforhavingnoticedthisatall.ThentheboyraisedhiseyesfromthefloorandsawGenlooking.Theystaredatoneanotherforaninstantandthenbothjustasquicklylookedaway.TherewasastrangesensationlowinGen’sstomach.ItmadeiteasiertospeaktoRoxaneCoss.Shedidnotfrightenhimthewaythisboydid.

“Forgiveme,”hesaidtotheoperasinger.Heshooktheboyfromhismind.NeverinalifetimewouldGenhavecometoheronhisown.Neverwouldhefindthecouragetoexpresshisownsympathiesandremorse,inthesamewaythatMr.HosokawawouldnothavethecouragetospeaktoherevenifhisEnglishhadbeenperfect.Buttogethertheymovedthroughtheworldquiteeasily,twosmallhalvesofcouragemakingabravewhole.

“Gen,”shesaid.Shesmiledsadly,hereyesstillredanddamp.Shereachedupfromthecouchandtookhishand.Ofallthepeopleintheroom,hiswastheonlynameshewassureofanditgavehercomforttosayitaloud.“Gen,thankyouforbefore,forstoppingthem.”

“Ididn’tstopanyone.”Heshookhishead.Hewassurprisedtohearhisnamecomeoutofhermouth.Surprisedbythewayitsounded.Surprisedbythetouchofherhand.

“Well,itwouldhaveallbeenprettymeaninglessifyouhadn’tbeentheretotellthemwhatIwassaying.Iwouldhavebeenjustanotherwomanscreaming.”

“Youmadethingsveryclear.”

“Tothinktheywantedtoshoothim.”Sheletgoofhishand.

“Iamglad,”Gensaid,butthenhestopped,tryingtothinkofwhattherewastobegladabout.“Iamgladthatyourfriendhadsomepeace.I’msuretheywillsendhimhomesoon.”

“Yes,”shesaid.

GenandRoxaneeachimaginedtheaccompanistgoinghome,asinsittingupinaseatbythewindowofaplane,lookingoutatthecloudsthatpooledoverthehostcountry.

“Myemployer,Mr.Hosokawa,asksmetoofferyouhiscondolences.Hewantedmetotellyouthatyouraccompanistwasverytalented.Wewerehonoredtohearhimplay.”

Shenodded.“He’sright,youknow,”shesaid.“Christopfwasverygood.Idon’tsupposepeoplenoticetheaccompanistveryoften.That’skindofhimtosay.Youremployer.”SheraisedupheropenhandtoGen.“Hegavemehishandkerchief.”Itwasasmallwhiteflagcrushedintoherpalm.“I’mafraidI’veruinedit.Idon’tthinkhe’dwantitbacknow.”

“Ofcoursehewouldwantyoutohaveit.”

“Sayhisnameagainforme.”

“Ho-so-kawa.”

“Hosokawa,”shesaid,nodding.“Itwashisbirthday.”

“Yes.Heisfeelingverysorryaboutthataswell.Hehasagreatsenseofresponsibility.”

“Thatitwashisbirthday?”

“Thatyouandyourfriendcameheretoperformforhim.Hefeelsthatyouaretrappedherebecauseofhim,thatperhapsyourfriend—”AgainGenstopped.Therewasnopointinbeingsoexplicit.Fromthisclose,herfacelookedveryyoung,verymuchlikeagirl’s,withhercleareyesandlonghair.Butheknewshewasatleasttenyearsolderthanhewas,somewhereinherlatethirties.

“YoutellMr.Hosokawaforme,”shesaid.Shestoppedtopinsomeofherhairbackawayfromherface.“Whatthehell.Itisn’tlikeI’msobusyIcan’ttellhimmyself.DoeshenotspeakEnglish?Well,you’lltranslate.You’retheonlyoneofusaroundherewhohasajobnow.Arethereanylanguagesyoudon’tspeak?”

Gensmiledattheverythoughtofsuchathing,thetoweringlistoflanguageshedidn’tspeak.“MostofthemIdon’tspeakawordof,”hesaid.HestoodupandRoxaneCossputherhandonhisarmtowalkacrosstheroomasifshemightfaint.Itwasapossibility.Shehadhadaveryhardday.Allaroundtheroomthemenraisedtheirheadsandendedtheirconversationstowatchthem,thetallyoungJapanesetranslatornavigatingthewideexpanseoflivingroomwiththesopranoonhisarm.Howstrangeandlovelyitwastoseeherhandrestingonthetopofhissleeve,herpalefingersnearlyreachinghiswrist.

WhenMr.Hosokawa,whohadbeentryingtolooktheotherway,realizedthatGenwasbringingRoxaneCosstohim,hefeltadeepblushcomingupfromthecollarofhisshirtandhestoodtowaitforherarrival.

“Mr.Hosokawa,”Roxanesaid,andheldoutherhandtohim.

“MissCoss,”hesaid,andbowed.

RoxanetookonechairandMr.Hosokawatooktheother.Genpulledupathird,smallerchairandwaited.

“Genhastoldmeyoufeelinsomewayresponsibleforthis,”shesaid.

Mr.Hosokawanodded.Hespoketoherwithgreathonesty,thekindtwopeopleuseafteralifetimeofknowingoneanother.Butwhatwasalifetime?Thisafternoon?Thisevening?Thekidnappershadresettheclocksandnooneknewathingabouttimeanymore.Betterthisoncetobeinappropriateandhonestastheburdenofhisguiltwastighteningastringaroundhisthroat.Hetoldherhehaddeclinedmanyinvitationsfromthehostcountrybutthenagreedtocomeoncetheytoldhimshewouldbethere.Hetoldherhehadneverhadanyplansofhelpingthiscountry.Hetoldherhewasagreatadmirerofherworkandnamedthecitieshehadseenherin.Hetoldherhemustbeinsomepartresponsibleforthedeathofheraccompanist.

“No,”shesaid.“No.Isinginsomanyplaces.It’srarethatIwouldsingforaprivatepartylikethis.Totellyouthetruth,mostpeopledon’thavethemoney,butI’vedoneitbefore.Ididn’tcomehereforyourbirthday.Withallrespect,Ididn’tevenrememberwhosebirthdayitwas.Besides,fromwhatIunderstand,thesepeopledidn’tevenwantyou,theywantedthePresident.”

“ButIwastheonewhosetthisthinginmotion,”Mr.Hosokawasaid.

“OrdidI?”shesaid.“Ithoughtaboutdeclining.Ideclinedseveraltimesuntiltheycameup

withmoremoney.”Sheleanedforward,andwhenshedid,GenandMr.Hosokawaduckedtheirheadsdownaswell.“Don’tgetmewrong.Iamverycapableofblame.ThisisaneventripeforblameifeverIsawone.Ijustdon’tblameyou.”

ThemembersofLFDMScouldhaveopenedallthedoorsatthatmoment,throwndowntheirgunsandtoldeveryonetogo,andMr.HosokawawouldnothaveexperiencedanygreatersenseofreliefthantheonehehadknowingRoxaneCossforgavehim.

SeveralofthefootsoldierscamearoundwiththebagsthatMessnerhadbroughtinontheaccompanist’sgurneyanddistributedsandwichesandcansofsoda,wrappedslicesofdarkcakeandbottledwater.Ifnothingelse,thefoodseemedtobeingreatabundanceandwhentheytookonesandwicheachtheboyshookthebagatthem,urgingthemwordlesslytoreachinformore.OrmaybetherewassimplymoreforthembecausetheyweresittingwithRoxaneCoss.

“ItlookslikeI’llstayforsupper,”shesaid,unwrappingthewhitepaperlikeapresent.Insidetheheavyslabsofbreadtherewasapieceofmeat,orangish-redwithsauceorwaterypeppers.Itsjuicedrippedintothepaperwhichshespreadacrossherlap.Thetwomenwaitedforhertobegin,buttheydidn’thavetowaitforlong.Sheatelikeshewasstarving.“Therearepeoplewhowouldliketohaveapictureofthis,”shesaid,liftingupthesandwich.“I’mveryparticularaboutmyfood.”

“Wemakeexceptionsinextraordinarytimes,”Mr.Hosokawasaid,andGentranslated.Hewaspleasedtoseehereating,pleasedthathergriefhadnotoverwhelmedherinanywaythatcouldendangerherhealth.

ForGen,theoilypieceofmeat(whichanimal?)insidestainedbreadmadehimstopandconsiderexactlyhowhungryhewas.Hewashungry.HeturnedhisheadawayfromRoxaneCossandMr.Hosokawa,afraidoftheorangegreaseonhislips.Butbeforehehadthechancetoeatevenhalfofhissandwich,oneoftheboyswearingagreenbaseballcapcameforhim.Theywerejuststartingtobecomedistinguishable,theseboys.ThisonehadacapwithaphotobuttonofCheGuevaraonit,anotherworeaknifeonhischest,onemorehadacheapscapulaoftheSacredHearttiedhighuponhisthroatwithastring.Someoftheboyswereverybigorverysmall,afewhadahandfulofwhiskerssproutingontheirchins,othershadacne.TheboythatGenhadnoticedwithRoxanehadafacelikeafine-bonedMadonna.TheboythatcameforhimnowtoldGeninaSpanishsorudimentarythatitwasastruggletounderstand,thattheGeneralswouldseehimnow.

“Forgiveme,”hesaidinEnglishandJapanese,wrappingupwhatwasleftofhismealandputtingitdiscreetlybeneathachairinhopesitwouldstillbetherewhenhereturned.Hehadespeciallywantedthecake.

GeneralHectorusedapenciltotakenotesonayellowtablet.Hewasextremelymeticulousabouthiswriting.

“Name?”GeneralAlfredoaskedamansittingonaredottomannearthefireplace.

“OscarMendoza.”Themantookhishandkerchiefoutofhispocketandwipedhismouth.Hewasfinishingoffapieceofcake.

“Anyidentification?”

Mr.Mendozatookouthiswallet,foundadriver ’slicense,acreditcard,picturesofhisfivedaughters.GeneralHectorcopieddowntheinformation.Hewrotedownhisaddress.GeneralBenjaminpickedupthepicturesandstudiedthem.“Occupation?”hesaid.

“Contractor.”Mr.Mendozadidnotlikethemhavinghisaddress.Helivedonlyfivemilesfromhere.HehadplannedonbiddingtobuildthefactorythathehadbeentoldMr.Hosokawahadcometohiscountrytodevelop.Insteadhehadsleptonafloor,saidgood-byetohiswifeandhisgrandstringofgirlsforwhoknewhowlong,andhadtoconsiderthepossibilitythathemightbeshot.

“Yourhealth?”

Mr.Mendozashrugged.“GoodenoughIwouldthink.I’mhere.”

“Butdoyouknow?”GeneralBenjaminsaid,tryingtorememberthetonethatthedoctorhadtakenwithhimwhenhehadgonetothecityyearsbeforetoseeabouthisshingles.“Doyouhaveanyconditions?”

Mr.Mendozalookedasifhewerebeingaskedabouttheinternalworkingsofhiswristwatch.“Iwouldn’tknow.”

Gencamealongbehindthemandwaitedwhiletheyaskedafewmorequestions,allofthemremarkableonlyinwhatunhelpfulanswerstheyengendered.Theyweretryingtogetridofmorehostages.Theyweretryingtodiscernwhoelsemightbedying.Thedeathoftheaccompanisthadmadethemnervous.Thecrowdoutside,whichhadquietedforawhile,hadbeguntobellowagainoncetheysawthebodytuckedinsideitswhitetablecloth.“Mur-der!Mur-der!”theychanted.Fromthestreettherecameaconstantbarrageofbullhornedmessagesanddemands.Thephonerangandrangandrangwithwould-benegotiators.Soon,alloftheterroristsweregoingtohavetobeallowedtosleep.TheGeneralswerebickeringinsomeshorthandnonsensethatGencouldn’tfollow.GeneralHectorstoppedtheargumentbytakingouthispistolandshootingtheclockonthemantel.Thereweretoomanypeopletowatch,evenwiththecrowdcutinhalf.Theywentfrommantoman,asking,printingdowntheanswersandnames.GenservedinthecaseswhereSpanishwasnotunderstood.Itwastheforeignerstheyplacedtheirhopesonanyway.Foreigngovernmentswillingtopayforeignransoms.TheGeneralswerehavingtorethinktheirfailedmission.Iftheycouldn’tgetthePresident,thenthereshouldstillbesomethinginitfortheirtroubles.Theyplannedtotalktoeveryhostageintheroom,toassessandrankthemtoseewhowouldbemostbeneficialingettingcomradesreleasedfromhigh-altitudeprisons,forgettingmoneyforthecause.Butthepollingprocesslackedscience.Theguestsplayeddowntheirownimportancewhenquestioned.

“No,Idon’trunthecompany,notexactly.”

“Iamonlyonememberonaboardofmany.”

“Thisdiplomaticpostisnotasitseems.Itwasarrangedbymybrother-in-law.”

Noonewasquitewillingtolie,buttheytuggeddowntheedgesofthetruth.Thenote-takingmadethemnervous.

“Allofthisinformationwillbecheckedbyourpeopleontheoutside,”Alfredosaidagainandagain,andGentranslateditintoFrenchandGerman,GreekandPortuguese,eachtimecarefultosaytheirpeopleoutside.Somethingatranslatorshouldneverdo.

InthemiddleofaninterviewwithaDanewhowasthoughttobeapotentialbackerforthe

nonexistentNanseiproject,GeneralBenjamin,theupperrightportionofhisfacesinflames,turnedtoGen.“Howdidyougettobesosmart?”hesaidinanaccusatorytone,asiftherewasasecretcacheofintelligencehiddensomewhereinthehousethatGenwashoardingallforhimself.

Genfelttired,notsmart.Hefelthungry.Sleepwassinginghimlullabies.Helongedforwhatwasleftofhissandwich.“Sir?”hesaid.HecouldseeMr.HosokawaandRoxaneCosssittingquietlytogether,unabletospeakbecausetheirtranslatorwasbusywiththeterrorists’footwork.

“Wheredidyoulearnsomanylanguages?”

Genhadnointerestintellinghisstory.Washissandwichstillbeneaththechair?Thecake?Hewaswonderingwhetherornottheywouldqualifyforreleaseandfeelingasadresignationintheknowledgetheywouldnot.“University,”hesaidsimply,andturnedhiseyesbacktothemantheywerequestioning.

Whentheymadetheirlistsofthosetokeepandthosetosendaway,Genshouldhavebeenonthetopofthelisttogo.Hewasworthnomoney,hehadnoleverage.Hewasasmuchanemployee,aworkingman,astheoneswhohadfine-slicedtheonionsfordinner.Butwhenthelistsweredrawnuphisnamedidnotappearanywhere.Hewassomehowbeneaththeirthoughtaltogether.NotthathewouldhavegonewithoutMr.Hosokawa.Hewouldhavechosentostaylikethatyoungpriest,buteveryonelikestobeasked.Oncetheinterviewswerecompletedandthefinaldecisionsweremadeitwaslateintheevening.Allaroundtheroomlampswereclickedon.Genwasgiventhetaskofmakingcopiesofthelists.Hehadsomehowbecomethesecretarytothewholeevent.

Intheend,countingthetranslator(headdedhisownname),itwasdecidedthatthirty-ninehostageswouldbekept.Thefinalnumberwasforty,becauseFatherArguedasagainrefusedtoleave.Withfifteensoldiersandthreegenerals,itgavethemverynearlythetwo-hostages-for-every-one-captorratiothattheyhaddecideduponasbeingreasonable.Consideringthattheoriginalplanwasforeighteenterroriststotakeonepresident,therecalculationfelttobeasmuchastheycouldreasonablyhandle.Whattheywanted,whatwouldhavebeenbest,wouldbetoteaseoutthereleaseoftheextras,tokeepthemallforanotherweekandthenletthemdribbleout,afewhereandthereinexchangefordemandsthatweremet.Buttheterroristsweretired.Thehostageshadneedsandcomplaints.Theytookontheweightofaroomfulofrestlesschildrenallneedingtobeshushedandpettedandentertained.Theywantedthemgone.

TheVicePresidentcouldnothelphimself.Hewaspickingupglassesandputtingthemonalargesilvertrayheknewthemaidkeptinthesideboardinthediningroom.Whenhewenttothekitchenhewasfollowedbutnotstoppedandhetookaminutetoresthischeekagainstthefreezerdoor.Hecamebackwithadarkgreenplasticgarbagebagandbegantopickupthewrappersfromthesandwiches.Therewerenocrustsofbreadleftinthepapers,onlysmallpoolsoforangeoil.Theyhadallbeenhungry.Hepickedupthesodacansfromthetablesandrugs,eventhoughthetablesandrugsdidnottechnicallybelongtohim.Hehadbeenhappyinthishouse.Ithadalwaysbeensuchabrightplacewhenhecamehome,hischildrenlaughing,runningdownthehallwayswiththeirfriends,theprettyIndianmaidswhowaxed

thefloorsdownontheirhandsandkneesdespitethepresenceofanelectricpolisherinthebroomcloset,thesmellofhiswife’sperfumeasshesatatthedressingtablebrushingherhair.Itwashishome.Hehadtomakesomeattempttoputitbacktowardsthefamiliarsoastokeepthingsbearable.

“Areyoucomfortable?”hewouldsaytohisguestsashesweptsometendercrumbsintothepalmofhishand.“Areyouholdingupallright?”Hewantedtonosetheirshoesunderthesofa.Hewantedtodragthebluesilkchairdowntotheotherendoftheroomwhereitbelonged,butdecorumprohibitedthat.

Hemadeanothertriptothekitchenforawetcloth,hopingtoblotupsomethingthatlookedlikegrapejuiceoutofthetightknotsoftheSavonnièrerug.AtthefarendoftheroomhesawtheoperasingersittingwiththeJapanesemanwhosebirthdaywasyesterday.Funny,butwiththepaininhisheadnowhecouldthinkofneitheroftheirnames.Theywereleaningtowardsoneanotherandfromtimetotimeshewouldlaughandthenhewouldnodhappily.Wasitherhusbandwhohadjustdied?TheJapanesemanwouldhumsomethingandshewouldlistenandnodandthen,inaveryquietvoice,shewouldsingitbacktohim.Whatasweetsound.Overtheconstantruckusofthemessagesbeingboomedinthroughthewindowitwashardtomakeoutwhatitwasshewassinging.Hecouldonlyhearthenotes,theclearresonanceofhervoice,likewhenhewasaboyandwouldrundownthehillpasttheconvent,howhecouldhearjustamomentofthenuns’singing,andhowitwasbetterthatway,toflypastitratherthantostopandwaitandlisten.Running,themusicflewintohim,becamethewindthatpushedbackhishairandtheslapofhisownfeetonthepavement.Hearinghersingnow,softly,ashespongedatthecarpet,waslikethat.Itwaslikehearingonebirdansweranotherwhenyoucanonlyhearthereplyandnottheplaintive,originalcall.

WhenMessnerwascalledagainhecamequickly.RubenIglesias,VicePresident,houseboy,wassenttothedoortolethimin.PoorMessnerlookedmoreexhausted,moresunburnedasthedaywenton.Howlongwerethesedays?Haditbeentodaythattheaccompanisthaddied?HaditonlybeenlastnightthattheirclotheswerefreshandtheyatethelittlechopsandlistenedtotheariaofDvořák?OrwasDvořáksomethingtheydrankinsmallglassesafterdinner?Haditbeensorecentlythattheroomwasstillfullofwomenandthesweetchiffonoftheirgowns,theirjewelryandjeweledhaircombsandtinysatineveningbagsfashionedtolooklikepeonies?Haditbeenjustyesterdaythatthehousewascleaned,thewindowpanesandwindowsills,thesheercurtainsandheavydrapeswashedandrehung,everythinginimmaculateorderbecausethePresidentandthefamousMr.Hosokawa,whomightwanttobuildafactoryintheircountry,werecomingtodinner?ItwasthenthatitstrucktheVicePresidentforthefirsttime:whyhadMasudaaskedhimtohavethepartyathishouse?Ifthisbirthdaywassoimportant,whynotthepresidentialpalace?Why,ifnotbecauseheknewallalongthathehadnointentionofcoming?

“Ithinkyou’regettinganinfection,”Messnersaid,andtouchedthetipsofhispalefingerstoRuben’sburningforehead.HeflippedopenhiscellularphoneandmadearequestforantibioticsinacombinationofEnglishandSpanish.“Idon’tknowwhatkind,”hesaid.“Whatevertheygivetopeoplewithsmashed-upfaces.”HeputhishandoverthebottomofthephoneandsaidtoRuben,“Any—”HeturnedtoGen.“Whatisthewordallergies?”

“Alergia.”

Rubennoddedhistenderhead.“Peanuts.”

“Whatishecallingabout?”GeneralBenjaminsaidtoGen.

GentoldhimitwasformedicationfortheVicePresident.

“Nomedication.Ihaven’tgivenauthorizationforanymedication,”GeneralAlfredosaid.WhatdidthisVicePresidentknowaboutinfection?Thebulletinhisstomach,nowthatwasaninfectiontotalkabout.

“Certainlynotinsulin,”Messnersaid,flippingshuthisphone.

Alfredoappearednottohearhim.Hewasshufflinghispapers.“Herearethelists.Thisiswhowearekeeping.Thisiswhowearelettinggo.”HeputtheyellowtabletpagesonthetableinfrontofMessner.“Theseareourdemands.They’vebeenupdated.Therewillbenomorereleasesuntilthedemandsarecompletelyandfullymet.Wehavebeen,asyousay,veryreasonable.Nowisthetimeforthegovernmenttobereasonable.”

“I’lltellthemthat,”Messnersaid,pickingupthepapersandfoldingthemintohispocket.

“We’vebeenveryconscientiousinmattersofhealth,”Alfredosaid.

Gen,suddenlytired,helduphishandforamomenttostopthedialogue,tryingtorememberthewordforconcienzudoinEnglish.Itcametohim.

“Anyoneneedingmedicalattentionwillbereleased.”

“Includinghim?”MessnertippedhisheadtowardtheVicePresident,who,lostinsidetheintricateworldofhisownfever,paidnoattentiontowhatwasbeingsaid.

“Himwekeep,”GeneralAlfredosaidshortly.“Wedidn’tgetthePresident.Wehavetohavesomething.”

***

Therewasanotherlist,asidefromTheDemands(money,prisonersreleased,aplane,transportationtotheplane,etc....)Thiswasthelistthatslowedthingsdown,thelistofSmallandImmediateNeeds.Thedetailswerenotinteresting,certainthingshadtocomeinbeforetheexcessofhostagescouldgoout:pillows(58),blankets(58),toothbrushes(58),fruit(mangoes,bananas),cigarettes(20cartonsfiltered,20cartonsunfiltered),bagsofcandy(alltypes,excludinglicorice),barsofchocolate,sticksofbutter,newspapers,aheatingpad,thelistwentonandon.Inside,theyimaginedthepeopleontheoutsidebeingdispatchedonagreatscavengerhunt,tryingtocomeupwithwhatwasneededinthemiddleofthenight.Peoplewouldbebangingonglassdoors,wakingupshopkeeperswhowouldbeforcedtoflickonthebrightoverheadlights.Noonewantedtowaituntilmorningandriskthepossibilityofsomeonechanginghismind.

Whenalltheremainingguestswereherdedtogetherintothediningroomtohearthehostagelistandreleaselist,therewasagreatsenseofexcitement.Itwasacakewalk,agameofmusicalchairsinwhichpeoplewererandomlyrewardedorpunishedandtheywereeachonegladtotaketheirchanceatthewheel,eventhoselikeMr.HosokawaandSimonThibault,

whomusthaveknowntheydidn’thaveachanceofgoinghome,stoodwiththerestofthemen,theirheartsbeatingwildly.ThemenallthoughtthatRoxaneCosswassuretobeletgonow,theideaofkeepingonewomanwouldbecomecumbersomeandembarrassing.Theywouldmissher,theyweremissingheralready,buteveryonewantedtoseehergo.

Theycalledthroughthenamesandtoldthemtogotoeithertheleftortheright,andwhiletheydidn’tsaywhichsidewastobereleased,itwasclearenough.Onecouldalmosttellfromthecutofthetuxedowhowouldbestaying.Agreatwallofdarknesscamefromthosewhocouldnowreasonablyassumetheirfateanditpulledthemawayfromtheluckyhilarityoftheothers.Ononeside,mendeemedlessimportantweregoingbacktotheirwives,wouldsleepinthefamiliarsheetsoftheirownbeds,wouldbegreetedbychildrenanddogs,thewetandrecklessaffectionoftheirunconditionallove.Butthirty-ninemenandonewomanontheothersidewerejustbeginningtounderstandthattheywerediggingin,thatthiswasthehousewheretheylivednow,thattheyhadbeenkidnapped.

four

fatherArguedasexplainedtoGen,whoexplainedtoMr.Hosokawa,thatwhattheywerelookingatinthehourstheyspentstaringoutthewindowwascalledgarúa,whichwasmorethanmistandlessthandrizzleandhungwoollyandgrayoverthecityinwhichtheywerenowcompelledtostay.Notthattheycouldseethecity,theycouldnotseeanything.TheycouldhavebeeninLondonorParisorNewYorkorTokyo.Theycouldhavebeenlookingatafieldofblue-tippedgrassoragridlockoftraffic.Theycouldn’tsee.Nodefininghintsofcultureorlocalcolor.Theycouldhavebeenanyplacewheretheweatherwascapableofstayingbadforindeterminateamountsoftime.Fromtimetotime,instructionscameblastingoverthewall,buteventhatseemedtobediminishing,asifthevoicescouldn’talwayspermeatethefog.Thegarúamaintainedadull,irregularpresencefromAprilthroughNovemberandFatherArguedassaidtotakeheartsinceOctoberwasverynearlyoverandthenthesunwouldreturn.Theyoungpriestsmiledatthem.Hewasalmosthandsomeuntilhesmiled,buthissmilewastoobigandhisteethturnedandcrossedatawkwardangles,makinghisappearancesuddenlyloopy.Despitethecircumstancesoftheirinternment,FatherArguedasremainedsanguineandfoundcausetosmileoften.Hedidnotseemtobeahostage,butsomeonehiredtomakethehostagesfeelbetter.Itwasajobhecarriedoutwithgreatearnestness.HeopenedhisarmsandputonehandonMr.Hosokawa’sshoulderandtheotheronGen’s,thenhedippedhisheaddownslightlyandclosedhiseyes.Itmighthavebeentopraybutifitwashedidnotforcetheotherstojoinhim.“Takeheart,”hesaidagainbeforepressingoninhisrounds.

“Agoodboy,”Mr.Hosokawasaid,andGennoddedandbothreturnedtolookingoutthewindow.Thepriestneednothavebeenconcernedwithhowtheyfeltabouttheweather.Theyhadnoissuewiththeweather.Thegarúamadesense,whileatmosphericclaritywouldnot.Whenonelookedoutthewindownowitwasimpossibletoseeasfarasthewallwhichcutoffthegardenfromthestreet.Itwasdifficulttomakeouttheshapesofthetrees,totellatreefromashrub.Itmadethedaylightseemlikeduskinmuchthesamewaythefloodlightsthathadbeensetupontheothersideofthewallalmostmadenightintoday,thekindoffalse,electricdayofaneveningbaseballgame.Inshort,whenonelookedoutthewindowduring

thegarúaallonereallysawwasthegarúaitself,notdayornightorseasonorplace.Thedaynolongerprogressedinitsnormal,linearfashionbutinsteadeveryhourcircledbacktoitsbeginning,everymomentwaslivedoverandoveragain.Time,inthemannerinwhichtheyhadallunderstoodit,wasover.

SotorejointhestoryaweekafterMr.Hosokawa’sbirthdaypartyendedseemsasgoodaplaceasany.Thatfirstweekwasonlydetailsanyway,thetediumoflearninganewlife.Thingswereverystrictinthebeginning.Gunswerepointed,commandsweregivenandobeyed,peoplesleptinrowsontheliving-roomcarpetandaskedforpermissioninthemostpersonalofmatters.Andthen,veryslowly,thedetailsbegantofallaway.Peoplestoodontheirown.Theybrushedtheirteethwithoutasking,hadaconversationthatwasnotinterrupted.Eventuallytheywenttothekitchenandmadeasandwichwhentheywerehungry,usingthebacksofspoonstospreadthebutterontobreadbecauseallofthekniveshadbeenconfiscated.TheGeneralshadapeculiarfondnessforJoachimMessner(eveniftheydidnotdemonstratethisfondnesstohim)andinsistedthatnotonlywasheinchargeofnegotiationsbutthathemustbetheonetobringallsuppliestothehouse,tolugeveryboxalonethroughthegateanduptheendlesswalkway.SoitwasMessner,hisvacationlongsinceover,whobroughttheirbreadandbuttertothedoor.

Timecouldbarelypullthesecondhandforwardontheclockandyetlookatallthathadbeenaccomplished—coulditonlyhavebeenaweek?Tohavegonefromgunsbeingpushedintobackstomostofthegunsbeinglockedupinabroomclosetshouldhavetakennolessthanayear,butalreadythecaptorsknewthehostageswouldnotmountaninsurrectionandinreturnthehostagesknew,oralmostknew,theywouldnotbeshotbytheterrorists.Ofcoursetherewerestillguards.Twoboyspatrolledoutsideinthegardenandthreecircledtheroomsofthehouse,theirweaponspointedoutlikecanesfortheblind.TheGeneralscontinuedtogivethemorders.Oneoftheboys,fromtimetotime,wouldtakealittlepokeatoneoftheguestswiththemuzzleofhisgunandtellhimtogototheothersideoftheroomfornoreasonatallotherthanthepleasureofseeingthemmove.Atnightthereweresentries,butbytwelveo’clocktheyhadalwaysfallenasleep.Theydidnotwakewhentheirweaponsslippedfromtheirfingersandclatteredonthefloor.

FortheguestsofMr.Hosokawa’sbirthdayparty,mostofthedaywasspentwanderingfromwindowtowindow,maybeplayingahandofcardsorlookingatamagazine,asiftheworldhadbecomeagianttrainstationinwhicheverythingwasdelayeduntilfurthernotice.Itwasthisabsenceoftimethathadeveryoneconfused.GeneralBenjaminhadfoundaheavycrayonthatbelongedtoMarco,theyoungsonoftheVicePresident,andeverydayhemadeathickblueslashonthewallinthediningroom,sixslashesdownandthenoneacrosstoindicateaweekhadpassed.Heimaginedhisbrotherinsolitaryconfinement,Luis,forcedtomakescratchesagainstthebrickwithhisfingernailinordertorememberthedays.Ofcourse,inahousethereweremoretraditionalwaysofkeepingtrackoftime.Therewereseveralcalendars,adatebookandplannerinthekitchenbythephone,andmanyofthemenworewatcheswhichgavethedateaswellasthetime.Andifanyofthosemethodsweretofailtheycouldeasilyturnontheradioortelevisionandhearwhatdayitwaswhilelisteningtonewsofthemselves.ButstillGeneralBenjaminthoughtthattheold-fashionedwaywasthebest.Hesharpenedhiscrayonwithaguttingknifeandaddedanotherslashtohiscollectiononthe

wall.ItgalledRubenIglesiasnoend.Hewouldhavepunishedhischildrensharplyweretheytodosuchabarbaricthing.

Withoutexception,theseweremenwhowerelargelyunfamiliarwiththeconceptoffreetime.Theoneswhowereveryrichstayedattheirofficeslateintotheevening.Theysatinthebackseatsofcarsanddictatedletterswhiletheirdriversshepherdedthemhome.Theoneswhowereyoungandverypoorworkedjustashard,albeitatadifferentkindofwork.Therewaswoodtobecutorsweetpotatoestobedugoutoftheground.Thereweredrillstobelearnedwiththeguns,howtorun,howtohide.Nowagreat,unfamiliaridlenesshadfallenonthemandtheysatandtheystaredatoneanother,theirfingersdrummingincessantlyonthearmsofchairs.

ButinthisvastoceanoftimeMr.HosokawacouldnotseemtostartleupanyconcernforNansei.Whilehestaredattheweatherheneverwonderedifhisabductionhadaffectedstockprices.Hedidnotcarewhowasmakinghisdecisions,sittingathisdesk.Thecompanythathadbeenhislife,hisson,hadfallenawayfromhimasthoughtlesslyasacoinisdropped.Hetookasmallspiralnotebookfromthepocketofhistuxedojacketand,afterinquiringastothecorrectspellingfromGen,addedthewordgarúatohislist.Incentivewaskey.NomatterhowmanytimesMr.HosokawahadlistenedtohisItaliantapesinJapanhecouldremembernothingthatwasonthem.Nosoonerhadheheardthebeautifulwords,dimora,patrono,thantheyvanishedfrommemory.ButafteronlyoneweekofcaptivitylookatalltheSpanishhehadlearned!Ahorawasnow;sentarse,sit;ponersedepie,standup;sueño,sleep,andrequetebuenowasverygood,butitwasalwaysspokenwithacertaincoarsenessandcondescensionthattoldthelistenernotthathehaddonewellbutthathewastoostupidtomerithighexpectations.Anditwasn’tjustthelanguagethathadtobeovercome,therewereallthenamestolearnaswell,thoseofthehostages,thoseofthecaptorswhenyoucouldgetoneofthemtotellyouhisname.Thepeoplewerefromsomanydifferentcountriesthattherewerenoeasytricksofassociation,nofamiliartoeholdfromwhichtopulloneselfup.Theroomwasfullofmenhedidnotknowandshouldknow,thoughtheyallsmiledandnoddedtooneanother.Hewouldhavetoworkhardertointroducehimself.AtNanseihehadmadeapointoflearningthenamesofasmanyofhisemployeesaswaspossible.Herememberedthenamesofthebusinessmenheentertainedandthenamesoftheirwiveswhomheinquiredafterandnevermet.

Mr.Hosokawahadnotledastaticlife.Ashebuilthiscompany,helearned.Butthiswasadifferentsortoflearninghedidnow.Thiswasthelearningofchildhood.MayIsit?MayIstand?Thankyou.Please.Whatwasthewordforapple,forbread?Andherememberedwhattheytoldhimbecause,unliketheItaliantapes,inthiscaserememberingwasall.HecouldseenowthefullextenttowhichhehadreliedonGeninthepast,howmuchhereliedonhimnow,thoughnowheoftenhadtowaitwithhisquestionswhileGentranslatedsomethingfortheGenerals.TwodaysagoVicePresidentIglesiashadverykindlygivenMr.Hosokawathisnotebookandapenfromadrawerinthekitchen.“Here,”hesaid.“Consideritalatebirthdaypresent.”InthatnotebookMr.HosokawaprintedthealphabetandhadGenwriteoutthenumbersfromonetotenandeverydayheplannedtoaddmorewordsinSpanish.Hewrotethemoverandover,keepinghiswritingverysmallbecauseeventhoughpaperwasplentifulnow,itoccurredtohimthatatimecouldcomewhenhewouldhavetobecarefulwithsuch

things.Whenhadhelastwrittensomethingdown?Histhoughtswereentered,recorded,transmitted.Itwasinthissimplerepetition,therediscoveryofhisownpenmanship,thatMr.Hosokawafoundsolace.HebegantothinkaboutItalianagain,andthoughthemightaskGentoincludejustawordortwoeverydayfromthatlanguageaswell.ThereweretwoItaliansintheirgroupandwhenheheardthemspeakhecouldfeelhimselfstrainingtounderstandasifhewerelisteningtoabadphoneconnection.Italianwassoclosetohisheart.AndEnglish.HewouldenjoybeingabletospeaktoMissCoss.

Hesatdownandtappedthetipofhispencilagainsthispad.Tooambitious.Ifhetookontoomanywordshewouldwindupwithnothing.TenwordsofSpanishaday,tennounsactuallylearnedandthenoneverb,fullyconjugated,wasverylikelyasmuchashecouldmanageifhewastoreallyremembereachwordandcarrythemoverfromonedaytothenext.

Garúa.OftenwhenMr.Hosokawasatatthewindowhewonderedaboutthepeopleontheothersideofthewall,thepoliceandthemilitarywhowereatthispointmorelikelytousethephonethanthebullhorn.Weretheyconstantlydamp?Didtheysitinsidetheircarsdrinkingcoffee?TheGeneralssatinthecars,hewouldguess,whiletheboyswiththeirguns,thefootsoldiers,wouldstandatattention,thechilledrainrunningfreelydownthebacksoftheirnecks.

Thosesoldiers,theywouldnotbeunlikethechildrenwhopatrolledthelivingroomofthevice-presidentialestate,thoughperhapstherewassomeminimumagerequirementinthemilitary.Howyoungwerethesechildrenexactly?Theoneswhoappearedtobetheoldestwouldthenstepbeneaththebrightlightofalampanditwascleartheyweren’tolder,onlybigger.Theylopedaroundtheroombumpingintothings,unaccustomedtothesizetheyhadsorecentlyacquired.AtleastthoseboyshadAdam’sapples,asprinklingofnewhairsmixedinwiththeangrypimples.Theoneswhowereactuallytheyoungestwereterrifyingintheiryouth.Theirhairhadalltheweightandglossofchildren’shair.Theyhadthesmoothskinandsmallshouldersofchildren.Theystretchedtheirlittlehandsaroundthebuttsoftheirriflesandtriedtokeeptheirfacesblank.Thehostagesstaredattheterrorists,andthelongertheylooked,theyoungertheterroristsbecame.Couldthesebethesamemenwhoburstintotheirparty,thesamemaraudinganimals?Theyfellasleeponthefloorinlimppilesnow,theirmouthsopen,theirarmstwisted.Theysleptliketeenagers.Theysleptwithakindofsingle-mindedconcentrationthateveryadultintheroomhadforgottendecadesbefore.Someofthemlikedbeingsoldiers.Theycontinuedtocarrytheirguns.Theymenacedtheadultswiththeoccasionalshoveandhatefulglower.Thenitseemedthatarmedchildrenwereamuchmoredangerousbreedthanarmedadults.Theyweremoody,irrational,anxiousforconfrontation.Theothersspenttheirtimestaringatthedetailsofthehouse.Theybouncedonthebedsandtriedontheclothesinthedressers.Theyflushedthetoiletsagainandagainforthepleasureofwatchingthewaterswirlaway.Atfirsttherehadbeenarulethattheywerenottoaddresstheirprisonersbuteventhatwasgrowingslackforsomeofthem.Sometimesnowtheyspoketothehostages,especiallywhentheGeneralswerebusyconferring.“Whereareyoufrom?”wasthefavoritequestion,thoughtheanswersrarelyregistered.Finally,RubenIglesiaswenttohisstudyandbroughtbackalargeatlassotheycouldshowthemonmaps,andwhenthatdidn’tseemtomakethingsanyclearerhesentaguardtohisson’sroomtobringdowntheglobeonastand,aprettyblue-and-greenplanetthatspuneasilyonits

stationaryaxis.

“Paris,”SimonThibaultsaid,pointingtohiscity.“France.”

LotharFalkenshowedthemGermanyandRasmusNilsonputhisfingeronDenmark.AkiraYamamoto,whowasnotinterestedinplaying,turnedaway,andsoGenshowedthemJapan.RoxaneCosscoveredthewholeoftheUnitedStatesbeneathherpalmandthentappedonenailonthedotthatrepresentedChicago.Theboystooktheglobetothenextgroupofpeople,who,eveniftheydidn’tunderstandthequestion,knewthegame.“ThisisRussia,”theysaid.“ThisisItaly.”“ThisisArgentina.”“ThisisGreece.”

“Whereareyoufrom?”theboycalledIshmaelaskedtheVicePresident.HethoughtoftheVicePresidentashisownhostagebecausehehadbeentheonetobringtheicefromthekitchenwhentheVicePresidentwasfirstinjured.HestillbroughtRubenice,sometimesthreeandfourtimesaday,withouteverbeingasked.ItgavetheVicePresidentreliefashischeekhadbecomeinfectedandpersistedinitsswelling.

“Here,”theVicePresidentsaid,pointingtothefloor.

“Showme.”Ishmaelhelduptheglobe.

“Here.”Rubentappedhisfootonthecarpet.“Thisismyhouse.Iliveinthiscity.Iamfromthesamecountryyouarefrom.”

Ishmaellookedupathisfriend.IthadbeeneasiertogettheRussianstoplay.“Showme.”

SoRubensatdownonthefloorwiththeboyandtheglobeandidentifiedthehostcountry,whichinthiscasewasflatandpink.“Welivehere.”Ishmaelwastheverysmallestofallofthem,somuchaboywithaboy’swhiteteeth.Rubenwantedtopullthechildintohislap,tokeephim.

“Youlivethere.”

“No,notjustme,”Rubensaid.Wherewerehisownchildren?Whereweretheysleepingnow?“Bothofus.”

Ishmaelsighedandpushedhimselfupfromthefloor,disappointedinhisfriend’sthickheadedness.“Youdon’tknowhowtoplay,”hesaid.

“Idon’tknowhowtoplay,”Rubensaid,lookingatthedeplorableconditionoftheboy’sboots.Atanyminutetherightsolewouldfalloffcompletely.“Nowlistentome.Goupstairstothebiggestbedroomyoucanfindandopenallthedoorsuntilyouseeaclosetfulloflady’sdresses.Inthatclosetthereareahundredpairsofshoesandifyoulookyou’llfindsometennisshoesthatmightfityou.Therecouldevenbesomeboots.”

“Ican’twearlady’sshoes.”

Rubenshookhishead.“Thetennisshoesandbootsarenotforladies.Weonlykeepthemthere.Iknow,itmakesnosense,buttrustme.”

“Itisridiculousthatwesitherelikethis,”FranzvonSchullersaid.GentranslatedintoFrenchforSimonThibaultandJacquesMaitessierandthenintoJapaneseforMr.Hosokawa.ThereweretwootherGermansthereaswell.Thegroupofthemstoodbytheemptyfireplace,

drinkinggrapefruitjuice.Anenormoustreat,thegrapefruitjuice.ItwasbetterthanareallygoodScotch.Thesharpnesssettledovertheirtongues,makingthemfeelalive.Todaywasthefirsttimeithadbeenbroughtin.“Thesepeopleareamateurs.Theonesinhereaswellastheonesoutside.”

“Andyousuggest?”SimonThibaultsaid.Thibaultworehiswife’shugebluescarftiedaroundhisneckandhangingdownhisback,andthepresenceofthisscarfmadepeoplelesslikelytolistentohisopiniononseriousmatters.

PietroGenovesewalkedbyandaskedGentotranslatetheconversationtohimaswell.HeknewenoughFrenchbutnoGerman.

“Itisn’tasifthegunsarehiddenfromus,”vonSchullersaid,loweringhisvoiceeventhoughnooneseemedabletopickuptheGerman.TheywaitedforGen.

“Andsoweshootourwayout.Justliketelevision,”PietroGenovesesaid.“Isthatgrapefruitjuice?”Helookedboredbytheconversationeventhoughhehadjustwalkedintoit.Hebuiltairports.Asacountry’sindustryenlarges,somustitsairports.

Genhelduphishand.“Onemoment,please.”HewasstilltranslatingtheGermanintoJapanese.

“WewouldneedadozentranslatorsandarbitrationfromtheUNbeforewecoulddecidetooverthrowtheoneteenagerwithaknife,”JacquesMaitessiersaid,asmuchtohimselfasanyone,andheknewwhathewastalkingabout,havingoncebeentheFrenchambassadortotheUnitedNations.

“I’mnotsayingthateveryonewouldhavetoagree,”vonSchullersaid.

“You’llgiveitatryonyourown?”Thibaultsaid.

“Gentlemen,yourpatience,please.”GenwastryingtotranslateitallintoJapanese.Thatwashisfirstresponsibility.Hedidn’tworkforthegeneralconvenienceofthepeople,althougheveryonemanagedtoforgetthat.HeworkedforMr.Hosokawa.

Conversationsinmorethantwolanguagesfeltawkwardandunreliable,likespeakingwithamouthfulofcottonandNovocain.Noonecouldholdontotheirthoughtslongenoughandwaittheirturns.Thesewerenotmenwhowereaccustomedtowaitingorspeakingprecisely.Theypreferredtoexpound,torantwhennecessary.PietroGenovesewentofftoseeiftherewasmorejuiceinthekitchen.SimonThibaultsmootheddownhisscarfwiththeflatofhispalmandaskedJacquesMaitessierifhewouldbeinterestedinahandofcards.“MywifewouldkillmeifIwasinvolvedinanoverthrow,”ThibaultsaidinFrench.

ThethreeGermansspokerapidlyamongthemselvesandGenmadenoattempttolisten.

“Inevergettiredoftheweather,”Mr.HosokawasaidtoGenastheywalkedbacktothewindow.Theystoodsidebysideforawhile,clearingallthoseotherlanguagesfromtheirheads.

“Doyoueverthinkofrisingup?”Genasked.Hecouldseetheirreflections.Theywerestandingveryclosetotheglass.TwoJapanesemen,bothwearingglasses,onewastallerandtwenty-fiveyearsyounger,butinthisroomwherepeoplehadsolittleincommonGencould

seeforthefirsttimehowtheylookedverymuchthesame.

Mr.Hosokawakepthiseyesontheirreflection,ormaybehewaswatchingthegarúa.“Somethingwillriseupeventually,”hesaid.“Andthentherewillbenothingwecandotostopit.”Hisvoiceturnedheavyatthethought.

Thesoldiersspentmostoftheirdaysexploringthehouse,eatingthepistachionutstheyfoundinthepantry,sniffingthelavenderhandlotioninthebathroom.Thehouseofferedupnoendofcuriosities:closetsthesizeofsomehousestheyhadseen,bedroomswherenooneslept,cupboardsthatheldnothingbutrollsofcoloredpaperandribbon.AfavoriteroomwastheVicePresident’sstudy,whichwasattheendofalonghallway.Behindtheheavydraperies,thewindowsstoppedshortattwoupholsteredbenchseats,thekindofplacewhereapersoncouldtuckuphislegsandlookoutintothegardenforhours.Thestudyhadtwoleathersofasandtwoleatherchairsandallofthebookswerecoveredinleather.Eventhedeskset,thecupthatheldthepencilsandtheedgesoftheblotterwereleather.Theroomhadthecomfortingandfamiliarsmellofcowsstandinginthehotsun.

Therewasatelevisioninthisroom.Afewofthemhadseenatelevisionbefore,awoodenboxwithacurvedpieceofglassthatthrewbackyourreflectioninpeculiarways.Theywerealways,alwaysbroken.Thatwasthenatureoftelevisions.Therewastalk,bigstoriesaboutwhatatelevisiononcehaddone,butnoonebelieveditbecausenoonehadseenit.TheboycalledCesarputhisfaceclosetothescreen,pulledbackhislipsbyhookingafingerintoeithersideofhismouth,andenjoyedthepicture.Theotherswerewatching.Herolledbackhiseyesandshookhistongue.Thenhetookhisfingersoutofhismouth,crossedhishandsoverhischest,andbegantomimicasongherememberedRoxaneCosssingingthatfirstnighttheywerewaitingintheair-conditioningvents.Hewasn’tquitegettingthewords,buthewasclosetotheirsoundsandrightontheirpitch.Hewasn’tmocking,exactly,hewassingingandthenhewassingingverywell.Whenhecouldn’trememberwhatcamenext,hestoppedabruptlyandbowedatthewaist.Heturnedandwentbacktomakingfacesinthetelevision.

ItwasSimonThibaultwhoturnedthetelevisionon.Hehadn’tmeantanythingbyit.Hehadcomeintotheroombecauseheheardthesinging.Hethoughtthatsomeonewasplayingsomeoddandbeautifuloldrecordanditmadehimcurious.Thenhesawtheboydoingtheshow,amoderatelyfunnyboy,andthoughthewouldgetakickoutofthepicturecomingupsuddenlywherehisfacehadbeen.Simonpickeduptheremotecontrolfromwhereitsatbalancedonthearmofacomfortable-lookingleatherchairandpushedthepowerbutton.

Theyscreamed.Theyhowledlikedogs.Theycriedoutthenamesoftheircompatriots,“Gilbert!Francisco!Jesus!”inavoicethatwouldindicatefire,murder,thecomingofpolice.ThatbroughtthegreatmetalsnapofsafetiesbeingremovedfromgunsandtherushinginoftheothersoldiersandthethreeGeneralswhothrewSimonThibaultagainstthewallandcuthislip.

“Nothingfoolish,”Edithhadsaid,herlipslightlytouchinghisear.Butwhatwasincludedinfoolishness?Turningonatelevision?

Oneoftheboyswhorushedin,abigboynamedGilbert,puttheroundmuzzleofhisrifle

intoThibault’sthroat,pressingthebluesilkscarfintothesoftskinabovehistrachea.Hepinnedhimtherelikeabutterflytackeddownonacorkboard.

“Television,”Thibaultsaidwithgreatdifficulty.

Sureenough,inthecrowdedstudytheattentionhadturnedawayfromSimonThibault.Justasquicklyashehadbeenathreat,astar,theyturnedtheirgunsawayfromhim,lethimslumpdownthewallinashudderingcrumpleoffear.Theywerealllookingatthetelevisionnow.Anattractivewomanwithdarkhairwasholdinguparticlesofsoiledclothingtothecamerawithbothhands,shakingherheadinmilddisgustbeforeshovingthemintothewashingmachine.Herlipstickwasbrightredandthewallsbehindheravividyellow.“Thisisarealchallenge,”shesaidinSpanish.Gilbertcroucheddownonhistoestowatch.

SimonThibaultcoughedandrubbedhisthroat.

Certainly,theGeneralshadseentelevisionbefore,thoughnotintheyearssincetheyhadgonebacktothejungle.Theywereintheroomnow.Thiswasaverynicetelevision,colorwithatwenty-eight-inchscreen.TheremotecontrolhadfallenonthefloorandnowGeneralAlfredopickeditupandbeganpushingthebuttonstotakethemthroughthechannels:soccergame;amaninacoatandtiesittingatadeskreading;agirlinsilverpantssinging;adozenpuppiesinabasket.Therewasafreshburstofexcitement,acollectiveah,ateverynewpicture.

SimonThibaultlefttheroomwithoutbeingnoticed.Cesar ’ssingingdidnotevencrosshismind.

Mostdaysthehostageslongedforthiswholethingtobeover.Theylongedfortheircountries,theirwives,theirprivacy.Otherdays,honestly,theyjustwantedtobeawayfromallthesechildren,fromtheirsullennessandsleepiness,fromtheirchasinggamesandappetites.Howoldcouldtheyhavebeen?Whenasked,theyeitherliedandsaidtwenty-fiveortheyshruggedasiftheyhadn’ttheslightestideawhatthequestionmeant.Mr.Hosokawaknewhewasapoorjudgeofchildren.InJapan,heoftensawyoungpeoplewholookedtobenomorethantenbehindthewheelsofcars.Hisowndaughtersconstantlypresentedhimwithamathematicalimpossibility,oneminuterunningaroundthehousewearingpajamascoveredinimagesoftheblanklystaringHello,Kitty,thenextminuteannouncingtheyhaddateswhowouldbepickingthemupatseven.Hebelievedhisdaughterswerenotoldenoughtodateandyetclearlybythestandardsofthiscountrytheywereoldenoughtobemembersofaterroristorganization.Hetriedtopicturethem,theirplasticdaisybarrettesandshortwhitesocks,pickingatthedoorframewiththesharptipofaknife.

Mr.Hosokawacouldnotimaginehisdaughtersanyplacebutcurledintheirmother ’sbed,cryingforhisreturnwhiletheywatchedthenews.Andyettoeveryone’sgenuinesurprise,twoofthejuniorsoldiersturnedouttobegirls.Onewasrevealedquitesimply:somewherearoundthetwelfthdayshepulledoffhercaptoscratchherheadanddowncameabraid.Shedidnotbothertotwistitbackintoplacewhenthescratchingwasdone.Shedidnotseemtothinkthatherbeingagirlwasanysecretatall.HernamewasBeatriz.Shewasperfectlyhappytotellanyonewhoasked.Shewasnotblessedwithaprettyfaceoradelicatemannerandhadpassedverywellasaboy.Sheheldhergunasreadytoshootasanyoftheboysand

hereyesstayeddullevenafteritwasnolongeranecessity.Andyet,forallherextraordinaryaverageness,thehostageswatchedherasifsheweresomethingimpossibleandrare,alunamothlightinginasnowfield.Howcouldtherebeagirlamongthem?Howhadtheyallfailedtonotice?Theothergirlwasnotsohardtofigureout.Logicheldthatiftherewasonegirlthentherecouldjustaseasilybemorethanone,andeveryonelookedimmediatelytowardsthesilentboywhoneveransweredquestionsandhadseemedineverywayunnaturalfromthestart,muchtoobeautiful,toonervous.Hishairlinedippedontohisforeheadandmadehisfaceaperfectheart.Hismouthwasroundandsoft.Hiseyesstayedhalfclosedasiftheheavylashesseemedtoogreataburdentolift.Hesmelleddifferentfromtheotherboys,asweet,warmsmell,andhisneckwaslongandsmooth.HewastheonewhoseemedsoparticularlyinlovewithRoxaneCossandsleptonthehallwayflooroutsideherroomatnight,usinghisbodytopreventanydraftsfromcomingunderthedoor.Genlookedathim,theonewhohadmadehimfeelsouneasy,andtheanxiousnesshehadheldinsidehischestrolledoffofhiminalong,lowwave.

“Beatriz,”SimonThibaultsaid,“thatboyoverthere.Isheyoursister?”

Beatrizsnortedandshookherhead.“Carmen?Mysister?Youmustbecrazy.”

Atthesoundofhername,Carmenlookedupfromacrosstheroom.Beatrizspeakinghername.Therewasnosuchthingasasecretinthisworld.Carmenthrewdownthemagazineshehadbeenlookingat.(ItwasItalian,withanabundanceofglossypicturesofmoviestarsandroyalty.Thetextundoubtedlycontainedimportantinformationabouttheirmostpersonallivesthatshewasunabletoread.IthadbeenfoundinthedrawerofthenightstandbesidethebedwheretheVicePresident’swifeslept.)Carmentookherrevolverintothekitchenandshutthedoorandnoonefollowedher,avisiblyangryteenagedgirlwithagun.Therewasnowheretogoandeveryoneassumedthateventuallyshewouldcomeoutonherown.Theywantedtolookatheragain,toseeherwithouthercapon,tohavethetimetocontemplateherasagirl,buttheywerewillingtowait.Ifthiswasthedramaoftheafternoon,oneoftheterroriststakingherselfhostageforafewhours,thenthesuspensewasbetterthansingle-mindedlywatchingthedrizzle.

“Ishouldhaveknownshewasagirl,”RubensaidtoOscarMendoza,thecontractorwholivedonlyafewmilesaway.

Oscarshrugged.“Ihavefivedaughtersathome.Ineversawagirlinthisroom.”HestoppedtoreconsiderhispointandthenleanedintowardtheVicePresident.“Ijustsawonegirlinthisroom,youknow?Onewoman.Therecanonlybeonewomaninthisroom.”HetiltedhisheadmeaningfullytowardsthefarsideoftheroomwhereRoxaneCosssat.

Rubennodded.“Ofcourse,”hesaid.“Ofcourse.”

“IamthinkingtherewillneverbeabetteropportunitythanthistotellherIloveher.”Oscarrubbedhishandoverhischin.“Idon’tnecessarilymeanrightnow.Itdoesn’thavetobetoday,althoughitcouldbetoday.Thesedaysaresolongthatbysupperthetimecouldbeexactlyright.Youneverknowuntilitcomestoyou,youknow?Untilyouareexactlyinthatplace.”Hewasabigman,welloversixfeetandbroadthroughtheshoulders.Hehadstayedstrongbecauseeventhoughhewasacontractorhewasnotabovepitchinginandcarrying

boardsorputtingupSheetrock.Inthiswayheremainedafineexampletothemenwhoworkedforhim.OscarMendozahadtobendforwardsoastospeaksoftlyintotheVicePresident’sear.“ButIwilldoitwhilewearehere.Youmarkmywords.”

Rubennodded.RoxaneCosshadgivenuphereveninggowndaysagoandwasnowwearingapairoftanslacksthatbelongedtohiswifeaswellashiswife’sfavoritecardigan,anavysweaterofextremelyfinebabyalpacahehadboughtforherontheirsecondanniversary.Hehadrequestedaguardaccompanyhimupstairs.Hewenttotheclosethimselfandbroughtthesweaterdowntothesoprano.“Areyoucold?”hehadasked,andthendrapedthecardigangentlyaroundhershoulders.Wasitabetrayal,soquicklygivingupthesweaterhiswifeloved?Theclothingconflatedthetwowomenforhiminawaythatwasextraordinarilypleasing,hisbeautifulguestwearingtheclothesofhiswifewhomhesodearlymissed,thetracesofhiswife’sperfumestilllingeringinsidetheribbingofthesweatersothathecouldsmellbothwomentherewhenhepassedtheone.Ifthiswasn’tenoughtoask,Roxanewaswearingapairoffamiliarslippersthatbelongedtothegoverness,Esmeralda,becausehiswife’sshoeshadbeentoosmall.HowdelightfulithadbeentoputhisheadinsideEsmeralda’stiny,meticulouscloset!

“Areyougoingtotellheryouloveher?”thecontractorasked.“Itisyourhome.Iwouldcertainlydefertoyourrighttogofirst.”

Rubenconsideredhisguest’sthoughtfulinvitation.“It’sapossibility.”HewastryingnottostareatRoxane.Hewasfailing.Heimaginedtakingherhand,suggestinghecouldshowherthestarsfromthewidestoneverandathatwrappedaroundthebackofthehouse,thatis,hewouldhaveiftheyhadbeenallowedtogooutside.HewastheVicePresident,afterall,thatmightimpressher.Atleastshewasnotatallwoman.Shewasapixie,apocketVenus.Hewasgratefulforthat.“Itmightnotbeappropriate,givenmypositionhere.”

“What’sappropriate?”Oscarsaid.Hisvoicewaslightandunconcerned.“They’reboundtokillusintheend.Eithertheonesinsideortheonesoutside.Theshootingwillstart.Therewillbesometerriblemistake,youcanbankonit.Theonesoutsidecan’tletitlooklikewewerenotmistreated.Itwillbeimportanttothemwewindupdead.Thinkofthepeople,themasses.Youcan’thavethemgettingthewrongidea.You’rethegovernmentman.YouknowmoreaboutthesethingsthanIdo.”

“Itdoeshappen.”

“Thenwhat’sthepointofnottellingher?I,forone,wanttoknowthatinmylastdaysImadesomeeffort.I’mgoingtospeaktotheyoungJapaneseman,thetranslator.Whenthetimeisright,whenIknowwhatIwanttosay.Youcan’tapproachawomanlikethattooquickly.”

Rubenlikedthecontractor.Althoughtheyhadnevermetbefore,theveryfactthattheybothlivedinthesamecitymadethemfeellikeneighborsandthenoldfriendsandthenbrothers.“Whatdoyouknowaboutwomenlikethat?”

Oscarchuckledandputhishanddownonhisbrother ’sshoulder.“LittleVicePresident,”hesaid.“TherearesomanythingsthatIknow.”Itwasbigtalkbutinthisplacebigtalkseemedappropriate.Whilehehadlosteveryfreedomhewasmostaccustomedto,anew,smallersetoffreedomsbegantoraiseadimlightwithinhim:thelibertytothinkobsessively,theright

torememberindetail.Awayfromhiswifeandfivedaughtershewasnotcontradictedorcorrected,andwithoutthoseburdenshefoundhimselfabletodreamwithoutconstantrevision.HehadlivedhislifeasagoodfatherbutnowOscarMendozasawagainhislifeasaboy.Adaughterwasabattlebetweenfathersandboysinwhichthefathersfoughtvaliantlyandalwayslost.Heknewthatonebyoneeachofhisdaughterswouldbelost,eitherhonorablyintheceremonyofmarriageor,realistically,inacarpointedouttowardstheoceanwellafterdark.Inhisday,Oscarhimselfhadmadetoomanygirlsforgettheirbetterinstinctsandfinetrainingbybitingthemwithtenderpersistenceatthebaseoftheirskull,justwherethehairlinegrewindownywisps.Girlswerelikekittensinthisway,ifyougotthemrightatthenapeoftheirnecktheywenteasilylimp.Thenhewouldwhisperhissuggestions,allthethingstheymightdotogether,thewonderfuldarkexplorationsforwhichhewastobetheirguide.Hisvoicetraveledlikeadrugdrippeddownthespiralingcanalsoftheirearsuntiltheyhadforgotteneverything,untiltheyhadforgottentheirownnames,untiltheyturnedandofferedthemselvesuptohim,theirbodiessweetandsoftasmarzipan.

Oscarshudderedatthethought.Ashewasreadytoplaythepartoftheboyagainhecouldseethelinesofboysformingaroundhishouse,boysreadytoassuagetheawfulgriefofhisdaughtersnowthattheirfatherwasheldhostage.Pilar,howawfulthismustbeforyou.Isabelle,youmustn’tstayshutaway.Teresa,yourfatherwouldn’twantsuchsuffering.Lookatthis,Ibroughtyousomeflowers(orabird,askeinofyarn,acoloredpencil.ITMADENODIFFERENCE).Wouldhiswifehavethesensetolockthedoor?Shewouldneverhavesenseenoughtobelievethattheboysmeantthemanyharm.Shebelievedtheirliesnowjustasshehadbelievedhimthen,whenshewasagirlandhehadcometocallwhileherfatherlaydyingfromcancer.

Whatwashethinkingof,chasingafteranoperasinger?Whowerethosetwogirlsanyway,BeatrizandCarmen?Whatweretheydoinghere?Whereweretheirfathers?Probablygunneddowninsomecountrysiderevolution.Whatcouldsuchgirlsdotokeeptheboysawaywithoutfatherstoprotectthem?Everywhereinthishousetherewereboys,thoseawful,surlyboyswiththeirgreasyhairandbittenfingernails,hopingtotouchabreast.

“Youlookbad,”theVicePresidentsaid.“Allthistalkofloveisn’tagreeingwithyou.”

“Whenwillwegetoutofhere?”Oscarsaid.Hesatdownonthesofaanddroppedhisheadontohiskneesasifdizzy.

“Getoutofhere?You’retheonewhosaidwewouldbeshot.”

“I’vechangedmymind.Nooneisgoingtokillme.Imaykillsomeone,butnooneisgoingtokillme.”

Rubensatdownbesidehimandleanedhisgoodcheekagainsthisfriend’sbroadshoulder.“Iwon’tcomplainaboutyourinconsistencies.Ilikethistalkbetteranyhow.Let’sassumewe’lllive.”Hesatupagain.“Here,waithere.I’mgoingtothekitchentogetyousomeice.Youwon’tbelievehowmuchbettericecanmakeyoufeel.”

“Doyouplaythepiano?”RoxaneCosssaidtoGen.

Hehadn’tseenhercoming.Hisbackwastotheroomwhilehewatchedthegarúafromthe

baywindow.Hewaslearningtorelaxashewatchedit,tonotstrainhiseyes.Hewasbeginningtothinkhecouldseethings.Mr.HosokawalookedatGenexpectantly,clearlyanxioustoknowwhatshewassaying,andforaminuteGenwasconfusedastowhetherheshouldanswerherortranslatefirstasthequestionwasdirectedtohim.Hetranslatedandthentoldherno,hewassorrytosayhedidnot.

“Ithoughtyoumight,”shesaid.“Youseemtoknowhowtodosomanythings.”Shelookedtowardshiscompanion.“WhataboutMr.Hosokawa?”

Mr.Hosokawashookhisheadsadly.Untiltheircapture,hehadthoughtofhislifeintermsofachievementandsuccess.Nowitstruckhimasalonglistoffailures:hedidn’tspeakEnglishorItalianorSpanish.Hedidn’tplaythepiano.Hehadnevereventriedtoplaythepiano.HeandGendidn’thaveasinglelessonbetweenthem.

RoxaneCosslookedacrosstheroomasifshewerelookingforheraccompanist,buthewasalreadyhalfaworldaway,hisgravenowcoveredbyanearlySwedishfrost.“Ikeeptellingmyselfthatthisisgoingtobeoversoon,thatI’mjusttakingavacationfromwork.”ShelookedupatGen.“NotthatIthinkthisisavacation.”

“Ofcourse.”

“We’vebeeninthismiserableplacenearlytwoweeks.I’venevergoneaweekwithoutsingingunlessIwassick.I’mgoingtohavetostartpracticingsoon.”Sheleanedintowardsthetwoofthemandtheybenttowardsherreflexively.“Ireallydon’twanttosinghere.Idon’twanttogivethemthesatisfaction.Doyouthinkitwouldbeworthittowaitanothercoupleofdays?Doyouthinkthey’llletusgobythen?”Sheglancedovertheroomagaintoseeiftherewasaparticularlyelegantpairofhandsfoldedacrossalap.

“Surelysomeoneheremustplay,”Gensaid,notwantingtoaddresstheotherissue.

“Thepianoisverygood.Icanplayalittlebutnottoaccompanymyself.Isomehowdoubtthey’dgooutandkidnapanewaccompanistforme.”ThenshespokedirectlytoMr.Hosokawa.“Idon’tknowwhattodowithmyselfwhenI’mnotsinging.Idon’thaveanytalentforvacations.”

“Ifeelverymuchthesameway,”hesaid,hisvoicegrowingfainterwitheachword,“whenIamnotabletolistentoopera.”

ForthisRoxanesmiled.Suchadignifiedman.Intheothersshecouldseealookoffear,theoccasionalbrushofpanic.Notthattherewasanythingwrongwithpanicgiventheircircumstances,shehadcriedherselftosleepmostnights.ButitneverseemedtotouchMr.Hosokawa,orhemanagednottoshowit.Andwhenshestoodnearhimshesomehowdidnotfeelthepanicherself,thoughshecouldn’texplainit.Nearhim,itfeltlikeshewassteppingoutofaharshlightandintosomeplacequietanddark,likeshewaswrappingherselfupintheheavyvelvetofthestagecurtainswherenoonecouldseeher.“Youshouldhelpmefindanaccompanist,”shetoldhim,“andbothofourproblemswillbesolved.”

Allofhermakeupwasgonenow.Forthefirstfewdaysshebotheredtogotothelavatoryandputonlipstickfromthetubeshecarriedinhereveningbag.Thenherhairwentbackinatightelasticandshewaswearingsomeoneelse’sclothesthatdidnotexactlyfit.Mr.

Hosokawathoughtthateverydayshewaslovelier.Hehadwantedsomanytimestoaskhertosingbutheneverwouldhavesincesingingforhimwasthethingthathadbroughtherallthetroubleinthefirstplace.Hewasn’tabletoaskherforahandofcardsorforherthoughtsonthegarúa.HedidnotseekheroutatallandsoGendidnoteither.Infactbothofthemhadnoticedthat(withtheexceptionofthepriest,whomshecouldnotunderstand)allthemenintheirdesiretospeaktoherhaddecidedtoleaveheraloneasifitwassomesortofrespect,soaloneshesat,hourafterhour.Sometimesshecriedandothertimesshethumbedthroughbooksortooknapsonthesofa.Itwasapleasuretowatchhersleep.Roxanewastheonlyhostagetohavetheprivilegeofabedroomandherownguard,whosleptoutsideherdoor,thoughwhetherthatwastokeepherinortokeepotherpeopleoutnoonewasentirelysure.NowthattheyknewtheguardwasCarmen,theywonderedifshewasonlytryingtokeepherselfsafebystayingnearsuchanimportantperson.

“PerhapstheVicePresidentplays,”Mr.Hosokawasuggested.“Hehasafinepiano.”

GenwentofftofindtheVicePresident,whowasasleepinachair,hisgoodcheekpressedtohisshoulder,hisbadcheekturnedup,redandblueandstillfullofEsmeralda’sstitches.Theskinwasgrowinguparoundthem.Theyneededtocomeout.“Sir?”Genwhispered.

“Hmm?”Rubensaid,hiseyesclosed.

“Doyouplaythepiano?”

“Piano?”

“Theoneinthelivingroom.Doyouknowhowtoplayit,sir?”

“Theybroughtitinfortheparty,”Rubensaid,tryingnottolethimselfwakeupcompletely.HehadbeendreamingofEsmeraldastandingoverthesink,peelingapotato.“Therewasonethatwasherebeforebuttheytookitawaybecauseitwasn’tgoodenough.Itwasgood,ofcourse,mydaughtertakeslessonsonit,justnotgoodenoughforthem,”hesaid,hisvoicefullofsleep.“Thatpianoisn’tmine.Neitherpianoismine,really.”

“Butdoyouknowhowtoplayit?”

“Thepiano?”Rubenfinallylookedathimandthenstraighteneduphisneck.

“Yes.”

“No,”hesaid,andsmiled.“Isn’tthatashame?”

Genagreedthatitwas.“Youshouldtakethosestitchesout,Ithink.”

Rubentouchedhisface.“Doyouthinkthey’reready?”

“I’dsayso.”

Rubensmiledasifhehadaccomplishedsomethingbygrowinghisskinbacktogetheragain.HewentofftofindIshmaeltoaskhimtobringthemanicurekitfromthebathroomupstairs.Hopefully,thecuticlescissorshadnotbeenconfiscatedasaweapon.

Genwentoffonhisowntotryandfindanewaccompanist.Itwasn’tamatterofmuchlinguisticfinesse,aspianowasmoreorlesspianoinmanylanguages.SurelyRoxaneCoss

couldhavegottenthepointacrossherselfwithasmallamountofgesturing,butshestayedwithMr.Hosokawaandtogethertheystaredatthenothingnessthewindowoffereduptothem.

“Doyouplay?”Genasked,beginningwiththeRussians,whoweresmokinginthediningroom.Theysquintedathimthroughthebluehazeandthenshooktheirheads.“MyGod,”saidVictorFyodorov,coveringhisheartwithhishands.“WhatIwouldnotgivetoknow!TelltheRedCrosstosendinateacherandIwilllearnforher.”TheothertwoRussianslaughedandthrewdowntheircards.“Piano?”Genaskedthenextgroup.Hemadehiswaythroughthehouseaskingalloftheguests,skippingovertheircaptorsontheassumptionthatpianolessonswereanimpossibilityinthejungle.Genimaginedlizardsonthefootpedals,humiditywarpingthekeyboard,persistentvineswindingtheirwayuptheheavywoodenlegs.OneSpaniard,ManuelFlores;oneFrenchman,ÉtienneBoyer;andoneArgentinian,AlejandroRivas,saidtheycouldplayalittlebutdidn’treadmusic.AndreasEpictetussaidhehadplayedquitewellinhisyouthbuthadn’ttouchedapianoinyears.“Everydaymymothermademepractice,”hesaid.“ThedayImovedawayfromhomeIpiledupallthemusicinthebackofthehouseandIlitit,righttherewithherwatching.Ihaven’tlaidafingertoapianosince.”Therestofthemsaidno,theydidn’tplay.Peoplebeganrecountingstoriesofacoupleoflessonsorthelessonsoftheirchildren.Theirvoicesfelloveroneanotherandfromeverycorneroftheroomtherecametheword,piano,piano,piano.ItseemedtoGen(andheincludedhimselfinthisassessment)thatneverhadamoreunculturedgroupofmenbeentakenhostage.Whathadtheybeendoingalltheseyearsthatnoonehadbotheredwithsuchanimportantinstrument?Theyallwishedtheycouldplay,ifnotbeforethen,certainlynow.TobeabletoplayforRoxaneCoss.

ThenTetsuyaKato,avicepresidentatNanseiwhomGenhadknownforyears,smiledandwalkedtotheSteinwaywithoutaword.Hewasaslightlybuiltmaninhisearlyfiftieswithgrayinghairwho,inGen’smemory,rarelyspoke.Hehadareputationforbeingverygoodwithnumbers.Thesleevestohistuxedoshirtwererolledupabovehiselbowsandhisjacketwaslonggonebuthesatdownonthebenchwithgreatformality.Theonesinthelivingroomwatchedhimasheliftedthecoverofthekeyboardandranhishandsoncelightlyoverthekeys,soothingthem.Someoftheotherswerestilltalkingaboutthepiano,youcouldheartheRussians’voicescomingfromthediningroom.Then,withoutmakingarequestforanyone’sattention,TetsuyaKatobegantoplay.HestartedwithChopin’sNocturneopus9inEFlatmajorno2.Itwasthepiecehehadmostoftenheardinhisheadsincecomingtothiscountry,theoneheplayedsilentlyagainsttheedgeofthedining-roomtablewhennoonewaswatching.Athomehelookedathissheetmusicandturnedthepages.Nowhewascertainhehadknownthemusicallalong.Hecouldseethenotesinfrontofhimandhefollowedthemwithunerringfidelity.InhishearthehadneverfeltclosertoChopin,whomhelovedlikeafather.Howstrangehisfingersfeltaftertwoweeksofnotplaying,asiftheskinheworenowwasentirelynew.Hecouldhearthesoftestclickofhisfingernails,twoweekstoolong,ashetouchedthekeys.Thefelt-coveredhammerstappedthestringsgentlyatfirst,andthemusic,evenforthosewhohadneverheardthepiecebefore,waslikeamemory.Fromalloverthehouse,terroristandhostagealiketurnedandlistenedandfeltagreateasingintheirchests.TherewasadelicacyaboutTetsuyaKato’shands,asiftheyweresimplyrestinginoneplaceonthekeyboardandtheninanother.Thensuddenlyhisrighthandspunoutnoteslike

water,asoundsolightandhighthattherewasatemptationtolookbeneaththelidforbells.Katoclosedhiseyessothathecouldimaginehewashome,playinghisownpiano.Hiswifewasasleep.Hischildren,twounmarriedsonsstilllivingwiththem,wereasleep.ForthemthenotesofKato’splayinghadbecomelikeair,whattheydependedonandhadlongsincestoppednoticing.PlayingonthisgrandpianonowKatocouldimaginethemsleepingandheputthatintothenocturne,hissons’steadybreathing,hiswifeclutchingherpillowwithonehand.Allofthetendernesshefeltforthemwentintothekeys.Hetouchedthemasifhemeantnottowakethem.Itwastheloveandlonelinessthateachofthemfelt,thatnoonehadbroughthimselftospeakof.Hadtheaccompanistplayedsowell?Itwouldhavebeenimpossibletoremember,histalentwastobeinvisible,toliftthesopranoup,butnowthepeopleinthelivingroomofthevice-presidentialmansionlistenedtoKatowithhungerandnothingintheirliveshadeverfedthemsowell.

Mostofthementheredidnotknowhim.Mostofthemhadnodistinctmemoryofhavingnoticedhimuptothispoint,sothatinawayitfeltthathehadcomeinfromtheoutsideworldtoplayforthem.Noneofthemenwhodidknowhimknewthatheplayed,thathecontinuedhislessonsandpracticedforanhoureverymorningbeforeboardingthetrainforwork.IthadbeenimportanttoKatotohaveanotherlife,asecretlife.Nowthesecrecyofitdidnotstrikehimasimportantatall.

Theywereallatthepiano,RoxaneCossandMr.HosokawaandGenandSimonThibaultandthepriestandtheVicePresidentandOscarMendozaandlittleIshmaelandBeatrizandCarmen,wholeftherguninthekitchenandcameandstoodwiththerest.AlloftheRussianswerethere,andtheGermanswhohadspokenofarevolt,andtheItalians,whowereweeping,andthetwoGreekswhowereolderthantherestofthem.Theboyswerethere,PacoandRanatoandHumbertoandBernardoandalltherest,thegreatandmenacinghulkofboyfleshthatseemedtosoftenwitheverynote.EventheGeneralscame.Everylastoneofthemcame,untiltherewerefifty-eightpeopleintheroom,andwhenhefinishedTetsuyaKatobowedhisheadwhiletheyapplauded.HadtherenotbeenaneedforapianisttherewaslittlechancethatKatowouldhavesatdownthatafternoontoplay,thoughhehadwatchedthepianothewaytheothermenwatchedthedoor.Hewouldnothavechosentodrawattentiontohimself,andwithouthisplayingthestorymighthavemissedhimaltogether.Buttherewasaneed,aspecificrequest,andsohesteppedforward.

“Fine,fine,”GeneralBenjaminsaid,feelinggoodtothinktheaccompanistthathadbeenlostwasnowreplaced.

“Verywelldone,”Mr.Hosokawasaid,soproudthatitwasaNanseimansteppingupforthejob.TwentyyearshehadknownKato.Heknewhiswifeandthenamesofhischildren.Howwasitpossiblehedidnotknowaboutthepiano?

ForamomenttheroomwasveryquietandthenCarmen,whohadsorecentlybecomeagirltothem,saidsomethinginalanguagethatnotevenGenwassureof.

“Encore,”thepriestsaidtoher.

“Encore,”Carmensaid.

KatobowedhisheadtoCarmen,whosmiled.Whocouldhaveevermistakenherforoneof

thoseboys?Evenbeneathhercapshewaswhollylovely.Sheknewthatpeoplewerelookingatherandsheclosedhereyes,unabletogobacktothekitchenthewayshewantedto,unabletoleavethenestingcurveofthepiano’sside.Whenheplayedshecouldfeelthevibrationsofthestringsassheleanedonehipagainstthewood.Noonehadeverbowedhisheadtoherbefore.Noonehadlistenedtoherrequest.Certainly,noonehadeverplayedapieceofmusicforherbefore.

Katoplayedanotherandthenanotheruntileveryoneintheroomforgotthattheybadlywantedtobesomeplaceelse.Whenhewasfinallyfinishedandcouldnotmeettherequestofanotherencorebecausehishandsweretremblingwithexhaustion,RoxaneCossshookhishandandbowedherhead,whichestablishedapactthatinthefutureshewouldsingandhewouldplay.

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genwasabusyman.HewasneededbyMr.Hosokawa,whowantedanothertenwordsandtheirpronunciationstoaddtohisbook.Hewasneededbytheotherhostages,whowantedtoknowhowtosay,“Areyoufinishedwiththatnewspaper?”inGreekorGermanorFrench,thenhewasneededtoreadthenewspapertothemiftheydidnotreadinSpanish.HewasneededbyMessnereverydaytotranslatethenegotiations.Mostly,hewasneededbytheGenerals,whohadconvenientlymistakenhimasMr.Hosokawa’ssecretaryinsteadofhistranslator.Theyappropriatedhisservices.Theylikedtheideaofhavingasecretary,andsoontheywerewakingGenupinthemiddleofthenight,tellinghimtositwithapencilandpadwhiletheydictatedtheirlatestlistofdemandsforthegovernment.WhattheywantedseemedtoGentobeunformed.IftheirplanhadbeentokidnapthePresidentinordertooverthrowthegovernment,theyhadn’tbotheredtothinkanyfurtherthanthat.Nowtheytalkedingeneralitiesaboutmoneyforthepoor.Theydredgedupthenamesofeverypersontheyhadeverknownwhowasinjail,whichseemedtoGentobeaninexhaustiblelist.Lateatnight,indeliriumsofpowerandgenerosity,theydemandedthateveryonebesetfree.Theymovedbeyondthepoliticalprisoners.Theyrememberedthecarthievestheyhadknownfromboyhood,thepettyrobbers,menwhostolechickens,ahandfulofdrugtraffickerswhowerenotentirelybadsortsonceyouknewthem.“Don’tforgethim,”Alfredosaid,andgaveGenanirritatingpokeontheshoulder.“Youhavenoideahowthatmanhassuffered.”TheyadmiredGen’sneatpenmanship,andwhentheyfoundatypewriterinthebedroomoftheVicePresident’solderdaughter,theywereimpressedwithGen’sabilitytotype.Sometimes,inthemiddleoftranscription,Hectorwouldsay,“InEnglish!”andthenAlfredo,“InPortuguese!”Howamazingitwastowatchoverhisshoulderwhilehetypedonindifferentlanguages!Itwaslikehavinganincrediblyfascinatingtoy.Sometimes,whenitwasverylate,GenwouldtypeupeverythinginSwedishwithoutbenefitofumlautsinanattempttoamusehimself,buthedidnotfeelamusedanymore.AsfarasGencouldtell,therewereonlytwohostageswhowerenotfabulouslywealthyandpowerful:himselfandthepriest,andtheyweretheonlytwowhoweremadetowork.Ofcourse,theVicePresidentworked,butnotbecauseanyonehadaskedhimto.Heseemedtothinkthatthecomfortofhisguestswasstillhisresponsibility.Hewasalwaysservingsandwichesandpickingupcups.Hewashedthedishesandsweptandtwiceadayhemoppedupthefloorsinthelavatories.Withadishtowelknottedaroundhiswaist,hetookonthequalitiesofacharminghotelconcierge.Hewould

ask,wouldyoulikesometea?Hewouldask,woulditbetoomuchofanimpositiontovacuumbeneaththechairinwhichyouweresitting?EveryonewasveryfondofRuben.EveryonehadcompletelyforgottenthathewastheVicePresidentofthecountry.

RubenIglesiasdeliveredamessagetoGenwhilehewaitedfortheGeneralstomakeuptheirmindsastowhattheywantedtosaynext:hewasneededatthepiano.RoxaneCossandKatohadagreatdealtodiscuss.CouldtheyspareGenatthisparticularmoment?Theywereallinfavorofkeepingthesopranohappyandpossiblyhearinghersingagain,andsotheyconsentedtoletGengo.Genfeltlikehewasaschoolboycalledoutofclass.Herememberedhisneatboxofpencils,thecleanpadofpaper,theluckofhavingadesknexttothewindowsimplybecauseofwherehisnamefellinthealphabet.Hewasagoodstudent,andyetherememberedateverymomenthowdesperatelyhewishedtoleavetheroom.RubenIglesiastookhisarm.“Isupposetheproblemsoftheworldwillhavetowait,”hewhispered,andthenhelaughedinawaythatnoonecouldhearhimatall.

Mr.HosokawastayedatthepianowithKatoandRoxane.ItwasapleasuretohearsomuchtalkofoperatranslatedintoJapanese,tohearRoxaneCoss’sconversationinJapanese.Itwasdifferenttolistentowhatshesaidtohimandwhatshesaidwhenshewasspeakingtosomeoneelse,speakingtosomeoneaboutmusic.Therewasaregulareducationtobehadfromeavesdropping.Somuchofwhatwaslearnedwasaccidentallyoverheard,justhalfasentencecaughtwhenwalkingthroughthedoor.Sincetheyhadbeentakenhostage,Mr.Hosokawahadfeltthefrustrationofthedeaf.EvenashediligentlystudiedhisSpanish,itwasonlyoccasionallythatheheardawordherecognized.Allhislifehehadwantedmoretimetolisten,andwhenfinallytherewastimetherewasnothingtolistento,onlythepatterofvoiceshecouldnotunderstand,theoccasionalscreechingofthepolicebeyondthewall.TheVicePresidenthadastereosystembutheseemedonlytohaveatasteforlocalmusic.AllofhisCDswereofbandsplayinghigh-pitchedpipesandcrudedrums.ThemusicgaveMr.Hosokawaaheadache.TheGenerals,however,founditinspiringandwouldnotgrantrequestsfornewCDs.

ButnowMr.Hosokawapulledhischairuptothepianoandlistened.Everyonestayedinthelivingroom,hostagesandterroristsalike,inhopesthatKatomightbepersuadedtoplayagainor,betterstill,thatRoxaneCossmightsing.CarmenseemedespeciallyintentonwatchingRoxane.SheconsideredherselftobeRoxane’sbodyguard,herpersonalresponsibility.Shestoodinthecornerandstaredattheirpartywithunwaveringconcentration.Beatrizchewedontheendofherbraidforawhile,makingtalkwiththeboysherownage.Whennomusicseemedtobeimmediatelyforthcoming,sheandafewofhercohortssnuckofftowatchtelevision.

OnlyMr.HosokawaandGenwereinvitedtositwiththetwoprincipalplayers.“Iliketosingscalesfirstthinginthemorning,”Roxanesaid.“Afterbreakfast.I’llworkonsomesongs,Bellini,Tosti,Schubert.IfyoucanplaytheChopin,youcanplaythose.”Roxaneranherfingersoverthekeys,placingherhandsfortheopeningofSchubert’s“DieForelle.”

“Ifwecangetthemusic,”Katosaid.

“Ifwecangetdinnerbroughtinwecangetsheetmusic.I’llhavemymanagerputaboxtogetherandsenditdown.Someonecanflyitdown.Tellmewhatyouwant.”Roxanelooked

aroundforapieceofpaperandMr.Hosokawawasabletoproducehisnotebookandpenfromtheinsidepocketofhisjacket.Heopenedittoablankpagetowardsthebackandhandedittoher.

“Ah,Mr.Hosokawa,”Roxanesaid.“Imprisonmentwouldbesomethingelsealtogetherwithoutyou.”

“Surelyyou’vebeengivennicergiftsthanapadofpaperandapen,”Mr.Hosokawasaid.

“Thequalityofthegiftdependsonthesincerityofthegiver.Italsohelpsifthegiftissomethingthereceiveractuallywants.Sofaryou’vegivenmeyourhandkerchief,yournotebook,andyourpen.AllthreethingsIwanted.”

“ThelittleIhavehereisyours,”hesaidwithasinceritythatdidn’tmatchherlightness.“Youcouldhavemyshoes.Mywatch.”

“Youhavetosavesomethingforthefuturesoyoucansurpriseme.”Roxanetoreoffasheetofpaperandhandedthenotebookback.“Keepupwithyourstudies.Ifwestayherelongenoughwe’llbeabletocutGenoutoftheloop.”

Gentranslatedandthenadded,“I’llputmyselfoutofbusiness.”

“Youcanalwaysgobacktothejunglewiththem,”Roxanesaid,lookingoverhershoulderattheGenerals,whospenttheirfreetimewatchingher.“Theyseemtowanttogiveyouajob.”

“Iwouldnevergivehimup,”Mr.Hosokawasaid.

“Sometimes,”Roxanesaid,touchingMr.Hosokawa’swristforjustasecond,“thesemattersareoutofourcontrol.”

Mr.Hosokawasmiledather.Hewasreelingwiththenaturalnessoftheirdiscourse,thesuddeneasewithwhichtheypassedthetime.Imagineifithadn’tbeenKatowhoplayedthepiano!ItcouldhavebeenoneoftheGreeksoraRussian.Thenhewouldhavebeenlockedoutagain,listeningtoEnglishtranslatedtoGreekandGreekintoEnglish,knowingthatGen,histranslator,wouldnothavethetimetothenrepeateverysentenceinJapanese.KatosaidhewouldlikesomeFauréifitwouldn’tbetoomuchtrouble,andRoxanelaughedandsaidthatnothingcouldbetroubleatthispoint.WonderfulKato!Hescarcelyseemedtonoticeher.Itwasthepianohecouldn’ttakehiseyesoff.Hehadalwaysbeenatirelessworkerandnowhewastheherooftheday.Therewouldbeahealthyraisewhenallofthiswasover.

Messnercameinasusualateleveninthemorning.Twooftheyoungsoldierspattedhimdownatthedoor.Theymadehimtakeoffhisshoesandtheypeeredinsidethem,lookingfortinyweapons.Theypattedhislegsandfriskedbeneathhisarms.Itwasaridiculoushabitthathadgrownnotoutofsuspicionbutoutofboredom.TheGeneralsstruggledtokeeptheirsoldiersinthemind-setofbattle.MoreandmoretheteenagerssprawledontheleathersofaintheVicePresident’sdenandwatchedtelevision.Theytooklongshowersandtrimmedeachother ’shairwithapairofelegantsilverscissorstheyfoundinthedesk.AndsotheGeneralsdoubledthenightwatchandguardduty.Theymadetheirsoldierspatrolthehouseinpairsandsenttwomoreoutsidetowalkalongtheedgeoftheyardinthedrizzlingrain.Whentheywent,theycarriedtheirriflesloadedandheldthemupasiftheywerelookingtoshootarabbit.

Messnersubmittedtothisdrillwithpatience.Heopenedhisbriefcaseandslippedoffhisshoes.Heheldhisarmsoutstraighttoeithersideandmovedhissockfeetwideapartsothatthestrangelittlehandscouldrummagearoundhisbodyastheysawfit.Once,oneofthemtickledhimontheribsandMessnerbroughthisarmdownsharply.“¡Basta!”hesaid.Hehadneverseensuchanunprofessionalgroupofterrorists.Itwasacompleteanduttermysterytohimhowtheyhadevermanagedtoovertakethehouse.

GeneralBenjaminswattedRanato,theboywhohadtickledMessner,andtookhisgunawayfromhim.Allhehadhopedforwassomesemblanceofmilitaryorder.“Thereisnocallforthat,”hesaidsharply.

Messnersatdowninachairandretiedhisshoes.Hewasirritatedwiththewholelotofthem.Bynowthistripshouldbeforgotten,thesnapshotsdeveloped,shared,andplacedintoanalbum.HeshouldbebackinhisoverpricedapartmentinGenevawiththegoodviewandtheDanishModernfurniturehehadsocarefullycollected.Heshouldbetakingapacketofmailfromthecoolhandsofhissecretaryinthemorning.Insteadhewenttowork,inquiringhowthegroupwasdoing.HehadbeenpracticinghisSpanish,andeventhoughhekeptGencloseby,forasenseofsecurityasmuchasabackupforhisvocabulary,hewasabletoconductmuchoftheinformalconversationonhisown.

“Wearegrowingtiredofthis,”theGeneralsaid,andranhishandsbackoverhishead.“Wewanttoknowwhyyourpeoplecannotfindresolution.Mustwestartkillinghostagestogetyourattention?”

“Well,firstoff,theyarenotmypeople.”Messnerpulledthelacestight.“Norisitmyattentionyoushouldbetryingfor.Don’tkillanyoneformybenefit.Youhavemycompleteattention.Ishouldhavegonehomeaweekago.”

“Weallshouldhavegonehomeaweekago,”GeneralBenjaminsighed.“Butwehavetoseeourbrothersreleased.”ForGeneralBenjamin,ofcourse,thismeantbothhisphilosophicalcomradesandhisliteralbrother,Luis.Luis,whohadcommittedthecrimeofdistributingflyersforapoliticalprotestandwasnowburiedaliveinahigh-altitudeprison.Beforehisbrother ’sarrest,Benjaminhadnotbeenageneralatall.Hehadtaughtgradeschool.Hehadlivedinthesouthofthecountryneartheocean.Hehadneverhadamoment’stroublewithhisnerves.

“Thatistheissue,”Messnersaid,lookingovertheroom,doingaquicktallyofallpresent.

“Andisthereprogress?”

“NothingI’veheardoftoday.”Hereachedintohiscaseandtookoutasheafofpapers.“Ihavetheseforyou.Theirdemands.Ifthere’sanythingnewyouwantmetorequest—”

“SeñoritaCoss,”GeneralBenjaminsaid,hitchinghisthumbinherdirection.“There’ssomethingshewants.”

“Ah,yes.”

“ThereisalwayssomethingforSeñoritaCoss,”theGeneralsaid.“Kidnappingwomenisadifferentbusinessentirelyfromthekidnappingofmen.Ihadn’tthoughtofitbefore.Forourpeople,freedom.Forher,somethingelse,dressespossibly.”

“I’llseeaboutit,”Messnersaid,andtippedhishead,buthedidn’tgetuptoleaverightaway.“IsthereanythingIcangetforyou?”Heindicatednothingdirectlybuthewaswonderingabouttheshingles,whicheverydayseemedtocasttheircoarserednetanothermillimeteracrosstheGeneral’sfaceandwouldsoonbedippingtheirfingersintothecoolwaterofhislefteye.

“ThereisnothingIrequire.”

Messnernoddedandexcusedhimself.HepreferredBenjamintotheothertwo.Hefoundhimtobeareasonableman,possiblyevenintelligent.Still,heworkedhardtopreventanyfeelingofrealfondnessforhim,foranyofthem,captorsorhostages.Fondnessoftenpreventedonefromdoingthemosteffectivejob.Besides,Messnerknewhowthesestoriesusuallyended.Itseemedbettertoavoidmuchpersonalinvolvement.

ButnosensiblerulesappliedtoRoxaneCoss.Mostdaystherewassomethingshewanted,andwhiletheGeneralscouldcarelessabouttherequestsoftheotherhostagestheywerequicktogiveintoher.Everytimesheaskedforsomething,Messnerwouldfeelhisheartquickenslightly,asifitwashimshewantedtosee.Onedayitwasdentalfloss,onedayamuffler,thensomeherbalthroatlozengesthatMessnerwasproudtonotecamefromSwitzerland.OtherhostageshadgottenintothehabitofaskingRoxanewhentherewassomethingthattheyneeded.Whensheaskedformen’ssocksorsailingmagazines,sheneverblinked.

“Haveyouheardthegoodnews?”Roxanesaid.

“There’sgoodnewsnow?”Messnertriedtoberational.Hetriedtounderstandwhatitwasabouther.Standingnexttoher,hecouldlookdownontheplacewhereherhairparted.Shewasjustliketherestofthem,wasn’tshe?Except,perhaps,forthecolorofhereyes.

“Mr.Katoplaysthepiano.”

Atthementionofhisname,KatostoodupfromthepianobenchandbowedtoMessner.Theyhadnotbeenintroducedbefore.AllofthehostagesgreatlyadmiredMessner,bothforhiscalmdemeanorandhisseeminglymagicabilitytogoinandoutofthefrontdooratwill.

“AtleastI’mgoingtobeabletopracticeagain,”Roxanesaid.“Ontheoffchancethatweevergetoutofhere,Istillwanttobeabletosing.”

Messnersaidhehopedhewouldhaveanopportunitytoheartherehearsals.Forabrief,disquietingmomentMessnerfeltsomethingthatwasnotunlikejealousy.Thehostageswerethereallthetime,soifshedecidedtosingfirstthinginthemorningorinthemiddleofthenight,theywouldbeabletohearher.HehadboughthimselfaportableCDplayerandasmuchofhermusicashecouldfind.Atnighthelayinhistwo-starhotelroompaidforbytheInternationalRedCrossandlistenedtohersingNormaandLaSonnambula.Hewouldbelyingaloneinhisuncomfortablebedlookingatthespiderycracksintheceilingandtheywouldallbethereinthegrandlivingroomofthevice-presidentialestatewhileshesang“CastaDiva.”

Enough,Messnersaidtohimself.

“I’vealwayshadclosedrehearsals,”Roxanesaid.“Idon’tbelievethatanyoneisentitledto

hearmymistakes.ButIdoubttherewouldbemuchpointintryingtoarrangethathere.Icanhardlymarchthemalluptotheattic.”

“Theycouldhearyouintheattic.”

“I’dmakethemstuffcottonintheirears.”RoxanelaughedatthisandMessnerwasmoved.Everythinginthehouseseemedmoretolerablesincethisnewaccompanisthadsteppedforward.

“SowhatcanIdoforyou?”IfGenhadbeenturnedintoasecretary,thenMessnerhadbecometheerrandboy.InSwitzerlandhewasamemberofanelitearbitrationteam.Atforty-twohehadhadaverysuccessfulcareerwiththeRedCross.Hehadnotpackedaboxoffoodsuppliesordrivenblanketstoafloodsightinalmosttwentyyears.Nowhewasscouringthecityfororange-flavoredchocolateandcallingafriendinParistosendanexpensiveeyecreamthatcameinasmallblacktub.

“Ineedmusic,”shesaid,andhandedoverherlist.“Callmymanagerandtellhimtosendthisovernight.Tellhimtoflyitdownhimselfifhethinkstherecouldbeanyproblem.Iwantthisbytomorrow.”

“Youmighthavetobealittlemorereasonablethantomorrow,”Messnersaid.“It’salreadydarkinItaly.”

MessnerandRoxanespokeinEnglish,withGendiscreetlytranslatingtheirprivateconversationintoJapanese.FatherArguedassidleduptothepiano,notwantingtointerferebutwantingverymuchtoknowwhatwasbeingsaid.

“Gen,”hewhispered.“Whatdoessheneed?”

“Sheetmusic,”Gensaid,andthenrememberedthequestionhadbeenaskedinSpanish.“Partitura.”

“DoesMessnerknowwhotospeakto?Doesheknowwheretogo?”

Genlikedthepriestanddidn’tmeantobeannoyedbutMr.HosokawaandKatoclearlymeanttofollowwhatwasbeingsaidinJapaneseandhewasfallingbehindontheconversationtakingplaceinEnglish.“They’llcontactherpeopleinItaly.”GenturnedhisbackonFatherArguedasandreturnedtotheworkathand.

ThepriesttuggedatGen’ssleeve.Genhelduphishandtoaskhimtowait.

“ButIknowwherethemusicis,”thepriestpersisted.“Nottwomilesfromhere.ThereisamanthatIknow,amusicteacher,adeaconinourparish.Heloansmerecords.Hehasallthemusicyouwouldneed.”Hisvoicewasbecomingloud.FatherArguedas,whohaddevotedhislifetodoinggoodworks,wasnearlyfranticforthewantofsomegoodworkstodo.HehelpedRubenwiththelaundryandinthemorninghefoldedalltheblanketsandstackedthemwiththepillowsinneatrowsagainstthewall,buthelongedtoprovideassistanceandguidanceofamoreprofoundnature.Hecouldn’thelpbutfeelhestayedjustontheedgeofbotheringpeopleratherthancomfortingthem,whenallthathewanted,theonlythingthatmattered,wastobehelpful.

“Whatisithe’ssaying?”Roxaneasked.

“Whatareyousaying?”Genaskedthepriest.

“Themusicishere.Youcouldcall.Manuelwouldbringitover,anythingyouneed.Iftherewassomethinghedidn’thave,andIcan’timagineit,hewouldfinditforyou.AllyouneedtosayisthatitisforSeñoritaCoss.Youwouldn’tevenhavetosaythat.HeisaChristianman.Ifyoutellhimyouneeditforanyreason,Ipromisehewillhelpyou.”Hereyesweredazzlingintheiragitation.Hishandsleaptinfrontofhischestasifhewastryingtoofferuphisownheart.

“HewouldhaveBellini?”Roxaneaskedafterlisteningtothetranslation.“Ineedsongs.Ineedtohaveentireoperascores,Rossini,Verdi,Mozart.”Sheleanedtowardsthepriestandaskedfortheimpossiblestraighton.“Offenbach.”

“Offenbach!LesContesd’Hoffmann!”Thepriest’spronunciationoftheFrenchwasdiscernibleifnotgood.Hehadonlyseenitwrittenoutontherecord.

“Hewouldhavethat?”shesaidtoGen.

Genrepeatedthequestionandthepriestreplied,“Ihaveseenhisscores.Callhim,thenameisManuel.IwouldbemostgratefultoplacethecallifIwereallowed.”

BecauseGeneralBenjaminwaslockedinaroomupstairsholdingaheatingpadtohisinflamedfaceandcouldnotbedisturbed,MessnermadetherequesttotheGeneralsHectorandAlfredo,whogranteditwithboredindifference.

“ForSeñoritaCoss,”Messnerexplained.

GeneralHectornoddedandwavedhimawaywithoutlooking.WhenMessnerwasalmostoutoftheroom,GeneralAlfredobarked,“Onlyonecall!”thinkingtheyhadn’tshownproperauthoritybyagreeingsoquickly.Theywereintheden,watchingthePresident’sfavoritesoapopera.Theheroine,Maria,wastellingherlovershedidnotlovehimanymoreinhopesthathewouldleavetownindesperationandthusbeprotectedfromhisownbrother,who,inhisloveforMaria,soughttomurderhim.Messnerstoodinthedoorwayforamomenttowatchthegirlontelevisioncry.Socompletelyconvincingwashergriefthatitwasdifficultforhimtoturnaway.

“CallManuel,”hesaid,comingbacktothelivingroom.RubenwenttothekitchenandbroughtbackthetelephonedirectoryandMessnergavethepriesthiscellularphoneandshowedhimhowtodialout.

Onthethirdringtherewasananswer.“Alo!”

“Manuel?”thepriestsaid.“Manuel,hello?”Hefelthisvoicechokewithemotion.Someoneoutsidethehouse!Itwaslikeseeingaghostfromhisformerlife,asilveryshadowwalkingdowntheaisletowardsthealtar.Manuel.Hehadnotbeenincaptivitytwofullweeksbutuponhearingthatvoicethepriestfeltasifheweredeadtotheworld.

“Whoisthis?”Thevoicewassuspicious.

“Itisyourfriend,FatherArguedas.”Thepriest’seyesfilledwithtearsandhehelduphishandtoexcusehimselffromthecrowdandsteppedintothecorner,intothelustrousfoldsofthedraperies.

Therewasalongsilenceontheotherend.“Isthisajoke?”

“Manuel,no,I’mcalling.”

“Father?”

“Iamin—”hesaid,butthenfaltered.“Ihavebeendetained.”

“Weknowallaboutthat.Father,areyouwell?Dotheytreatyouallright?Theyletyoumakephonecallsthere?”

“Iamwell.Iamfine.Thecall,no,itisaspecialcircumstance.”

“Wesaythemassforyoueveryday.”Nowitwashisfriend’svoicethatwasbreaking.“Ionlycamehomeforlunch.Ihaveonlyjustwalkedinthedoor.IfyouhadcalledfiveminutesbeforeIwouldn’thavebeenhere.Areyousafe?Wehearterriblethings.”

“Theysaythemassforme?”FatherArguedaswrappedhishandaroundtheheavydraperiesandrestedhischeekagainstthesoftcloth.Tothebestofhisknowledge,hehadbeenrememberedinthemassalongwithtwenty-threeothersontheSundaybeforehetookhisholyorders,andthatwasall.Tothinkofthosepeople,thepeopleheprayedfor,prayingforhim.TothinkthatGodheardhisnamefromsomanyvoices.“Theymustprayforallofushere,thehostagesandcaptorsalike.”

“Wedo,”Manuelsaid.“Butthemassisofferedinyourname.”

“Ican’tbelievethis,”hewhispered.

“Doeshehavethemusic?”RoxaneaskedandthenGenaskedthepriest.

FatherArguedasrememberedhimself.“Manuel.”Hecoughedtotryandcleartheemotionfromhisvoice.“I’mcallingtoaskyouforafavor.”

“Anything,myfriend.Dotheywantmoney?”

Thepriestsmiledtothinkwithallthesewealthymenarounditwouldbeputtohimtoaskamusicteacherformoney.“Nothinglikethat.Ineedsheetmusic.Thereisasingerhere—”

“RoxaneCoss.”

“Youknoweverything,”hesaid,takingcomfortinhisfriend’sconcern.“Sheneedsmusictopracticewith.”

“Iheardheraccompanistwasdead.Murderedbytheterrorists.Iheardtheycutoffhishands.”

FatherArguedaswasshocked.Whatelsedidpeoplesayaboutthemnowthattheyweregone?“Itwasnothinglikethat.Hediedallonhisown.Themanwasadiabetic.”Shouldhedefendthepeoplewhokeptthem?Surely,theyshouldnotbefalselyaccusedofcuttingthehandsoffapianist.“Itisn’tsobadhere.Idon’tmindit,really.We’vefoundanotheraccompanist.Someonewhoisherewhoplaysverywell,Ithink,”hesaid,droppinghisvoicetoawhisper.“Perhapsevenbetterthanthefirstone.Shewantsthingsinawiderange,operascores,Bellinisongs,Chopinfortheaccompanist.Ihavealist.”

“ThereisnothingsheneedsthatIdon’thave,”Manuelsaidconfidently.

Thepriestcouldhearhisfriendrummagingforpaper,apen.“Itoldherthat.”

“YouspokeofmetoRoxaneCoss?”

“Ofcourse.That’swhyI’mcalling.”

“She’sheardmyname?”

“Shewantstosingfromyourmusic,”thepriestsaid.

“Evenwhenyouarelockedawayyoumanagetodogoodwork.”Manuelsighed.“Whatanhonorforme.Iwillbringthemnow.Iwillskiplunchcompletely.”

ThetwomenconferredaboutthelistandthenFatherArguedasdouble-checkeditwithGen.Wheneverythingwassettled,thepriestaskedhisfriendtoholdtheline.HehesitatedandthenheheldoutthephonetoRoxane.“Askhertosaysomething,”hesaidtoGen.

“What?”

“Anything.Itdoesn’tmatter.Askhertosaythenamesoftheoperas.Wouldshedothat?”

GenmadetherequestandRoxaneCosstookthesmallphonefromthepriest’shandandheldittoherear.“Hello?”shesaid.

“Hello?”ManuelparrotedinEnglish.

Shelookedatthepriestandshesmiled.Shelookedrightathimwhileshesaidthenamesintothephone.“LaBohème,”shesaid.“Cosìfantutti.”

“DearGod,”Manuelwhispered.

“LaGioconda,ICapuletieiMontecchi,MadamaButterfly.”

Itwasasifawhitelightfilledupthepriest’schest,ahotsortofbrightnessthatmadehiseyeswaterandhisheartbeatlikeadesperatemanpoundingonthechurchdooratnight.Hadhebeenabletoliftuphishandstotouchherhecouldnotbesurehecouldhavestoppedhimself.Butitdidn’tmatter.Hewasparalyzedbyhervoice,themusicofspeaking,therhythmicloopsofthenamesthatpassedthroughherlips,intothephone,andthenintoManuel’searsometwomilesaway.Thepriestknewthenforsurethathewouldsurvivethis.ThattherewouldcomeadaywhenhewouldsitatManuel’skitchentableinhissmallapartmentclutteredwithmusicandtheywouldshamelesslyrecountthepleasureofthisexactmoment.Hewouldhavetoliveifonlytohavethatcupofcoffeewithhisfriend.Andwhiletheywouldremember,trytoplaceinorderthenamesthatshespoke,FatherArguedaswouldknowthathehadbeenthemorefortunateofthetwobecauseitwashewhomshehadlookedatwhenshespoke.

“Givemethephone,”SimonThibaultsaidtoMessnerwhentheyweredone.

“Hesaidonecall.”

“Icouldn’tcarelesswhathesaid.Givemethegoddamnphone.”

“Simon.”

“They’rewatchingtelevision.Givemethephone.”Theterroristshadremovedallthecordsfromthephones.

Messnersighedandhandedhimthephone.“Oneminute.”

“Iswearit,”Simonsaid.Hewasalreadydialingthenumber.Thephonerangfivetimesandthentheansweringmachinepickeduptheline.Itwashisownvoice,sayingfirstinSpanishandthenagaininFrenchthattheywereout,sayingtheywouldreturnthecall.Whyhadn’tEdithrecordedthemessage?Whathadhebeenthinkingof?Heputhishandoverhiseyesandbegantocry.Thesoundofhisownvoicewasalmostunbearabletohim.Whenitstoppedtherewasalong,dulltone.“Jet’adore,”hesaid.“Jet’aime,Jet’adore.”

***

Everyonewasscatteringnow,wanderingofftotheirchairstonaporplayahandofsolitaire.AfterRoxanewalkedawayandKatoreturnedtotheletterhehadbeenwritingtohissons(hehadsomuchtotellthemnow!)GennoticedthatCarmenwasstillinherplaceontheothersideoftheroomandthatshewasn’twatchingthesingerortheaccompanistanymore.Shewaswatchinghim.Hefeltthatsametightnesshefeltwhenshehadlookedathimbefore.Thatface,whichhadseemedprettytoadisadvantagewhenitwasassignedtoaboy,didnotblinkormoveorevenappeartobreathe.Carmendidnotwearhercap.HereyeswerelargeanddarkandfrozenontoGen,asifbylookingawayshewouldbeadmittingthatshehadbeenlookinginthefirstplace.

Gen,inhisgeniusforlanguages,wasoftenatalossforwhattosaywhenleftwithonlyhisownwords.IfMr.HosokawahadstillbeensittingtherehemighthavesaidtoGen,Goandseewhatthatgirlwants,andGenwouldgoandaskherwithouthesitation.Ithadoccurredtohiminhislifethathehadthesoulofamachineandwasonlycapableofmotionwhensomeoneelseturnedthekey.Hewasverygoodatworkingandhewasverygoodatbeingbyhimself.Sittingaloneinhisapartmentwithbooksandtapes,hewouldpickuplanguagesthewayothermenpickedupwomen,withsmoothtalkandthenlater,passion.Hewouldscatterbooksonthefloorandpickthemupatrandom.HereadCzeslawMiloszinPolish,FlaubertinFrench,ChekhovinRussian,NabokovinEnglish,ManninGerman,thenheswitchedthemaround:MiloszinFrench,FlaubertinRussian,ManninEnglish.Itwaslikeagame,ashowyparlortrickheperformedonlyforhimself,inwhichtheconstantswitchingkepthismindsharp,butitwashardlythesamethingasbeingabletoapproachapersonwhowaslookingatyouintentlyfromacrossaroom.PerhapstheGeneralswererightabouthimafterall.

Carmenworeawideleatherbeltaroundhernarrowwaistandintotherightsideshehadstuckapistol.HergreenfatigueswerenotdirtythewaythefatiguesofhercompatriotswereandthetearinthekneeofherpantshadbeenneatlysewntogetherwiththesameneedleandthreadEsmeraldahadusedtostitchtogethertheVicePresident’sface.EsmeraldahadleftthespoolwiththeneedlestickingoutofitonthesidetablewhenshehadfinishedherworkandCarmenhadsurreptitiouslydroppedthemintoherpocketthefirstchanceshegot.Shehadbeenhopingtospeaktothetranslatorsincesherealizedwhatitwashedid,butcouldn’tfigureoutawaytospeaktohimwithoutlettinghimknowshewasagirl.ThenBeatriztookcareofthatandnowtherewasnosecret,noreasontowait,exceptforthefactthatsheseemedtobestuckagainstthewall.Hehadseenher.Hewaslookingathernow,andthat

seemedtobeasfarasthingswereabletoprogress.Shecouldnotwalkawayandshewasequallyunabletowalktowardshim.Lifecouldverywellbelivedoutinthatspot.Shetriedtorememberheraggressiveness,allthethingstheGeneralshadtaughtherintraining,butitwasonethingtotakewhatyoumustforthegoodofthepeopleandquiteanothertoaskforsomethingforyourself.Sheknewnothingatallaboutasking.

“DearGen,”Messnersaid,clappingahanddownonhisshoulder.“I’veneverseenyousittingalone.Youmustfeelattimesthateveryonehassomethingtosayandnooneknowshowtosayit.”

“Attimes,”Gensaidabsently.Hefeltifheweretoblowinherdirectionshewouldbeliftedupinthecurrentofairandwouldsimplybobawaylikeafeather.

“Wearethehandmaidensofcircumstance,youandI.”MessnerspoketoGeninFrench,thelanguagehespokeathomeinSwitzerland.“Whatwouldbethemaleequivalenttohandmaiden?”

“Esclave,”Gensaid.

“Yes,slave,ofcourse,butitdoesn’tsoundasnice.IthinkI’llstaywithhandmaidens.Idon’tmindthat.”MessnersatdownnexttoGenonthepianobenchandlethiseyesfollowthecourseofGen’sstare.“MyGod,”hesaidquietly.“Isn’tthatagirlthere?”

Gentoldhimitwas.

“Wheredidshecomefrom?Therewerenogirls.Don’ttellmethey’vefoundawaytogetmoreoftheirtroopsinside.”

“Shewasalwayshere,”Gensaid.“Twoofthem.Wejustdidn’tnotice.That’sCarmen.Beatriz,theotherone,isinwatchingtelevision.”

“Wedidn’tnoticeher?”

“Apparentlynot,”Gensaid,feelingquitesurehehadnoticed.

“Iwasjustintheden.”

“ThenyouoverlookedBeatrizagain.”

“Beatriz.AndthisoneisCarmen.Well,”Messnersaid,standingup.“Thenthere’ssomethingwrongwiththewholelotofus.Bemytranslator.Iwanttospeaktoher.”

“YourSpanishisfine.”

“MySpanishishaltingandmyverbsareimproperlyconjugated.Getup.Lookather,Gen.She’sstaringrightatyou.”Itwastrue.SofearfulhadCarmenbecomewhenshesawthatMessnermeanttocometowardsherthatshehadlostherabilitytoevenblink.Shewasnowstaringinmuchthesamewayafigurestaresfromaportrait.SheprayedtoSaintRoseofLimatograntherthatrarestofgifts:tobecomeinvisible.“Eithershe’sbeencommandedtowatchyouonthepenaltyofherdeathorshehassomethingtosay.”

Gengotup.Hewasatranslator.HewouldgoandtranslateMessner ’sconversation.Still,hefeltapeculiarflutteringinhischest,asensationthatwasnotentirelydissimilartoanitchbut

waslocatedjustbeneathhisribs.

“Sucharemarkablethingandnooneevenmentionedit,”Messnersaid.

“Wewereallthinkingaboutthenewaccompanist,”Gensaid,hiskneesfeelinglooserwitheverystep.Femur,patella,tibia.“Wehadalreadyforgottenaboutthegirls.”

“Isupposeit’sterriblysexistofmeassumingthatalloftheterroristsweremale.It’samodernworld,afterall.Oneshouldsupposeagirlcangrowuptobeaterroristjustaseasilyasaboy.”

“Ican’timagineit,”Gensaid.

Whentheywerethreefeetaway,Carmenfoundthestrengthtoputherrighthandonhergun,whichimmediatelystoppedthemfromcominganycloser.

“Doyoumeantoshootus?”MessnersaidinFrench,asimplesentencehecouldn’tsayinSpanishbecausehedidn’tknowthewordforshoot,awordheimaginedheshouldmakeapointtolearn.Gentranslatedandhisvoicesoundeduncertain.Carmen,wide-eyed,herforeheaddamp,saidnothing.

“ArewecertainshespeaksSpanish?Arewecertainshespeaks?”MessnersaidtoGen.

GenaskedherifshespokeSpanish.

“Poquito,”shewhispered.

“Don’tshoot,”Messnersaidwithgoodnature,andpointedtothegun.

Carmenpulledherhandawayandcrossedherarmsoverherchest.“Idon’t,”shesaid.

“Howoldareyou?”

Shesaidthatshewasseventeenandtheyassumedshewastellingthetruth.

“Whatisyourfirstlanguage?”Messneraskedher.

Genaskedherwhatshespokeathome.

“Quechua,”shesaid.“WeallspeakQuechuabutweknowSpanish.”Andthen,inherfirstattempttoaddresswhatshewanted,shesaid,“IshouldknowSpanishbetter.”Thewordscameoutinadullcroak.

“YourSpanishisgood,”Gensaid.

Theexpressiononherfacechangedwiththiscompliment.Noonecouldstretchthetruthsomuchastocallitasmile,buthereyebrowsliftedandherfacetilteduptowardsthemacentimeterorsoasifitwasdrawntowardssunlight.“Iamtryingtolearnbetter.”

“Howdidagirllikeyougettiedupwithabunchlikethis?”Messnersaid.GenfoundthequestionoverlydirectbutcertainlyMessnerknewenoughSpanishtocatchhimifheweretoaskheranotherquestionentirely.

“Iworktofreethepeople,”shesaid.

Messnerscratchedthebackofhisneck.“It’salways‘FreethePeople.’Ineverknowexactly

whichpeopletheymeanorwhatitistheywanttofreethemfrom.Icertainlyrecognizetheproblemsbutthereissuchavaguenessto‘FreethePeople.’It’seasiertonegotiatewithbankrobbers,really.Theyonlywantthemoney.Theywanttotakethemoneyandfreethemselvesandthepeoplebedamned.There’ssomethingmuchmorestraightforwardaboutthat,don’tyouthink?”

“Areyouaskingmeorher?”

MessnerlookedatCarmenandapologizedinSpanish.“Thatisrudeofme,”hesaidtoGen.“MySpanishisverypoor,”MessnersaidtoCarmen,“butI’mtryingtoimproveaswell.”

“Sí,”shesaid.Sheshouldnotbetalkingtothemlikethis.TheGeneralscouldcomein.Anyonecouldseeher.Shewastoomuchoutintheopen.

“Areyoubeingtreatedwell?Areyouingoodhealth?”

“Sí,”shesaidagain,althoughshewasn’tsurewhyhewasasking.

“She’sreallyaverylovelygirl,”hesaidtoGeninFrench.“Shehasaremarkableface.It’salmostaperfectheart.Don’ttellherthat,though.Shelookslikethekindthatcoulddieofembarrassment.”ThenheturnedtoCarmen.“Ifthere’sanythingyouneed,youletoneofusknow.”

“Sí,”shesaid,justbarelyabletomakeasoundcomeoutwiththeshapeoftheword.

“Youdon’tseemanyshyterrorists,”MessnersaidinFrench.Theyallstoodthereasifitwasapainfulmomentatalong,dullcocktailparty.

“Youlikethemusic,”Gensaid.

“Verybeautiful,”shewhispered.

“ItwasChopin.”

“KatoplayedChopin?”Messnersaid.“Thenocturnes?I’msorryImissedthat.”

“Chopinplayed,”Carmensaid.

“No,”Gensaid.“ThemanwhoplayedwasSeñorKato.ThemusicheplayedwaswrittenbySeñorChopin.”

“Verybeautiful,”shesaidagain,andsuddenlyhereyeswelledupwithtearsandshepartedherlipsslightlynottospeakbuttobreathe.

“Whatisthematter?”Messnersaid.Hewasgoingtotouchhershoulderandthenthoughtbetterofit.ThebigboynamedGilbertcalledtoherfromtheothersideoftheroomandhearinghernameitwasasifherpowerofmovementwasrestored.Shequicklyrubbedhereyesandsteppedaroundthetwomenwithoutsomuchasnodding.Theyturnedandwatchedherdartoffacrossthewideexpanseofthelivingroomandthendisappeardownthehallwiththeboy.

“Perhapsthemusicwasgettingtoher,”Messnersaid.

Genstoodwatchingtheemptyplacewhereshehadbeen.“Itwouldbehardonagirl,”hesaid.

“Allofthis.”

AndwhileMessnerstartedtosayitwashardonthemallheknewwhatGenmeantandfrankly,heagreed.

WheneverMessnerlefttherewasalingeringsadnessinthehousethatcouldlastforhours.Itwasveryquietinsideandnoonelistenedtothetediousmessagesthepolicecontinuedtobroadcastfromtheothersideofthewall.Hopeless,Surrender,WillNotNegotiate.Itdronedonuntilthewordssimplybrokedownintoadullbuzz,theangrysoundofhornetsscouringthenest.Theyimaginedwhatprisonersfeltlikewhenthevisitinghourwasoverandtherewasnothinglefttodobutsitintheircellandwonderifitwasdarkyetoutside.Theywerestilldeepintheirafternoonboutofdepression,stillthinkingaboutalltheelderlyrelativestheyneverwenttovisit,whenMessnerknockedagain.SimonThibaultliftedhisfacefromthebluescarfthathungaroundhisneckandGeneralBenjaminmotionedfortheVicePresidenttoanswerthedoor.Rubentookamomenttountiethedishtowelfromhiswaist.Thepeoplewiththegunsmotionedforhimtohurry.ItwasMessner,theyknewit.OnlyMessnercametothedoor.

“Whatalovelysurprise,”theVicePresidentsaid.

Messnerwasstandingonthefrontsteps,strugglingtoholdaheavyboxinhisarms.

TheGeneralshadthoughtthatthisknockoutofscheduleindicatedabreakthrough,achancetoputthisthingtorest.Theywerethathopeless,thathopeful.Whentheysawitwasonlyanotherdeliverytheyfeltacrushofdisappointment.Theywantednoneofit.“Thisisn’thistime,”GeneralAlfredosaidtoGen.“Heknowswhattimesheisallowedtocome.”GeneralAlfredohadfallenasleepinhischair.HehadsufferedfromterribleinsomniaeversincetheirarrivalattheVicePresident’sestateandanyonewhowokehimfromthelittlesleephemanagedwouldlivetoregretit.Healwaysdreamedofbulletszippingpasthisears.Whenhewokeuphisshirtwasdrenched,hisheartwasracing,andhewasalwaysmoreexhaustedthanhehadbeenbeforeheslept.

“Itseemedtometobeaspecialcircumstance,”Messnersaid.“Themusichasarrived.”

“Weareanarmy,”Alfredosaidsharply.“Notaconservatory.Comeatyourtimetomorrowandwewilldiscusstheissueofallowingmusic.”

RoxaneCossaskedGenifitwashermusic,andwhenhetoldheryesshewasonherfeet.Thepriestapproachedthedooraswell.“ThesearefromManuel?”

“He’sjustontheothersideofthewall,”Messnersaid.“Hesentthisallforyou.”

FatherArguedaspressedhisfoldedhandstohislips.Ever-powerfulandmercifulGod,wedowellalwaysandeverywheretogiveYouthanksandpraise.

“Bothofyou,sitdown,”GeneralAlfredosaid.

“I’llputthisinsidethedoor,”Messnersaid,andstartedtobenddown.Itwassurprisinghowmuchmusiccouldweigh.

“No,”Alfredosaid.Hehadaheadache.Hewassicktodeathofgivinginonthings.Thereneededtobesomeordertothisbusiness,somerespectforauthority.Wasn’thethemanwith

thegun?Didn’tthatcountforsomething?Ifhesaidtheboxwouldnotcomeinsidethentheboxwouldnotcomeinside.GeneralBenjaminwhisperedsomethinginAlfredo’searbutAlfredosimplyrepeatedhispoint.“No.”

RoxanepulledonGen’sarm.“Isn’tthatmine?Tellthemthat.”

GenaskediftheboxbelongedtoMissCoss.

“NothingbelongstoSeñoritaCoss!Sheisaprisonerliketherestofyou.Thisisnotherhome.Thereisnospecialmailservicethatappliesonlytoher.Shedoesnotreceivepackages.”ThetoneofAlfredo’svoicemadeallthejuniorterroristsstandupstraightandlookmenacing,formanyofthemallthistookwastoputtheirhandsontheirguns.

Messnersighedandshiftedtheweightinhisarms.“ThenIwillcomebacktomorrow.”HespokeinEnglishnow,hespoketoRoxaneandletGentranslatefortheGenerals.

Hehadnotleft,hehadbarelystartedtoturnawayfromthehousewhenRoxaneCossclosedhereyesandopenedhermouth.Inretrospect,itwasariskythingtodo,bothfromtheperspectiveofGeneralAlfredo,whomighthaveseenitasanactofinsurrection,andfromthecareoftheinstrumentofthevoiceitself.Shehadnotsungintwoweeks,nordidshegothroughasinglescaletowarmup.RoxaneCoss,wearingMrs.Iglesias’sslacksandawhitedressshirtbelongingtotheVicePresident,stoodinthemiddleofthevastlivingroomandbegantosing“OMioBabbinoCaro”fromPuccini’sGianniSchicchi.Thereshouldhavebeenanorchestrabehindherbutnoonenoticeditsabsence.Noonewouldhavesaidhervoicesoundedbetterwithanorchestra,orthatitwasbetterwhentheroomwasimmaculatelycleanandlitbycandles.Theydidnotnoticetheabsenceofflowersorchampagne,infact,theyknewnowthatflowersandchampagnewereunnecessaryembellishments.Hadshereallynotbeensingingallalong?Thesoundwasnomorebeautifulwhenhervoicewaslimberandwarm.Theireyescloudedoverwithtearsforsomanyreasonsitwouldbeimpossibletolistthemall.Theycriedforthebeautyofthemusic,certainly,butalsoforthefailureoftheirplans.Theywerethinkingofthelasttimetheyhadheardhersingandlongedforthewomenwhohadbeenbesidethemthen.Alloftheloveandthelongingabodycancontainwasspunintonotmorethantwoandahalfminutesofsong,andwhenshecametothehighestnotesitseemedthatalltheyhadbeengivenintheirlivesandalltheyhadlostcametogetherandmadeaweightthatwasalmostimpossibletobear.Whenshewasfinished,thepeoplearoundherstoodinstunnedandshiveringsilence.Messnerleanedintothewallasifstruck.Hehadnotbeeninvitedtotheparty.Unliketheothers,hehadneverheardhersingbefore.

Roxanetookadeepbreathandrolledhershoulders.“Tellhim,”shesaidtoGen,“that’sit.Eitherhegivesmethatboxrightnoworyouwillnothearanothernoteoutofmeorthatpianoforthedurationofthisfailedsocialexperiment.”

“Really?”Genasked.

“Idon’tbluff,”thesopranosaid.

SoGenrelatedthemessageandalleyesturnedtoGeneralAlfredo.Hepinchedthebridgeofhisnoseandtriedtopushdowntheheadachebutitdidn’twork.Themusichadconfusedhimtothepointofsenselessness.Hecouldnotholdontohisconvictions.Nowhewasthinkingof

hissisterwhohaddiedofscarletfeverwhenhewasjustaboy.Thesehostageswereliketerriblechildren,alwayswantingmoreforthemselves.Theyknewnothingofwhatitmeanttosuffer.Hewouldhavebeengladtowalkoutofthehouseatthatmomentandtakewhateverfatewaswaitingforhimontheothersideofthewall,alifetimeinprisonorabulletinthehead.Withsolittlesleephewasinnoconditiontomakedecisions.Everypossibleconclusionseemedlikemadness.Alfredoturnedandlefttheroom,walkingdownthelonghallwaytowardstheVicePresident’sstudy.AfteratimethefaintvoicesoftelevisionnewscouldbeheardandGeneralBenjamintoldMessnertogetinsideandsharplyinstructedhissoldierstocheckthoroughlythecontentsoftheboxforanythingthatwasnotmusic.Hetriedtomakeitsoundasifitwashisdecision,thathewastheoneincharge,butevenhecouldseethiswasnolongertrue.

ThesoldierstooktheboxfromMessnerandemptieditoutonthefloor.Therewereloosescoresandboundbooks,hundredsofpagescoveredinthealphabetofsong.Theysiftedthroughthemandseparatedthem,shakingouthandfulsasiftheremightbemoneycaughtbetweenthepages.

“Amazing,”Messnersaid.“Iwatchedthepolicetearthroughthemoutsideandnowwehavetogothroughitallagain.

Katowentandkneltdownbesidetheboys.Oncetheyhadcheckedapieceofpaper,Katotookitfromthem.HecarefullyseparatedRossinifromVerdi,putChopinwithChopin.Sometimeshewouldstopandreadapageasifitwerealetterfromhome,hisheadswayingwiththetimedbeat.WhenhefoundsomethingofparticularinteresthewouldtakeittoRoxaneandhandittoher,bowingfromthewaist.HedidnotaskforGentotranslate.Everythingsheneededtoknowwasthere.

“Manuelsendsyouhisbestregards,”MessnertoldFatherArguedas.“Hesaidifthereisanythingelsethatisneededhewillfinditforyou.”

Thepriestknewhecommittedthesinofprideandstillhewasoverjoyedathavingbeenabletoplayaroleinbringinginthemusic.HewasstilltoodizzyfromthesoundofRoxane’svoicetoexpresshimselfproperly.Helookedtoseeifthewindowswereopen.HehopedthatManuelhadbeenabletohearaline,anote,fromwherehestoodonthesidewalk.Whatablessinghehadreceivedinhiscaptivity.ThemysteriesofChrist’slovehadneverbeenclosertohim,notwhenhesaidthemassorreceivedcommunion,notevenonthedayhetookholyorders.Herealizednowhewasonlyjustbeginningtoseethefullextenttowhichitwashisdestinytofollow,towalkblindlyintofateshecouldneverunderstand.Infatetherewasreward,inturningoverone’shearttoGodtherewasamagnificencethatlaybeyonddescription.Atthemomentoneissurethatallislost,lookatwhatisgained!

RoxaneCossdidnotsingagainthatday.Hervoicehadbeenaskedtodoenough.Nowshecontentedherselftolookthroughthescores,sittingonthesmallcouchbythewindowwithMr.Hosokawa.WhenoneofthemhadsomethingtosaytheywouldcalltoGen,butwhatwassurprisingwashowrarelytheyneededhim.Hewasacomforttoher.Intheabsenceoflanguage,shebelievedthatheagreedwithhercompletely.Shewouldhumalittleofthescoresquietlysothatheknewwhatshewaslookingatandthentheywouldlookatthepagestogether.Mr.Hosokawacouldnotreadmusicbutheacceptedthat.Hedidnotspeakthe

languageofthelibretto,thesinger,orthehost.Hewasbeginningtofeelmoreateasewithallhehadlost,allhedidn’tknow.Instead,hewasastonishedbywhathehad:thechancetositbesidethiswomaninthelateafternoonlightwhilesheread.Herhandbrushedhisasshesetthepagesdownonthecouchbetweenthem,andthenherhandrestedontopofhishandwhileshecontinuedtoread.

AfterawhileKatoapproachedthem.HebowedtoRoxaneandthenbowedagaintoMr.Hosokawa.“DoyouthinkitwouldbeallrightifIplayed?”Katoaskedhisemployer.

“Ithinkitwouldbefine,”Mr.Hosokawasaid.

“Youdon’tthinkitwoulddisturbherreading?”

RoxanewatchedwhileMr.HosokawapantomimedplayingthepianoandthennoddedtoKato.

“Yes,”shesaid,nodding.Sheheldoutherhandforthemusic.

Katohandedittoher.“Satie,”hesaid.

“Satie.”Shesmiledandnoddedagain.Katowenttothepianoandheplayed.Itwasn’tlikethelasttimehehadplayed,whennoonecouldbelievethatsuchatalenthadbeenintheroomamongthemwithoutanyoneknowingit.ItwasnothinglikeRoxanesinging,whereitseemedthateveryone’sheartwouldhavetowaituntilshehadfinishedbeforeitcouldbeatagain.TheSatiewasonlymusic.Theycouldhearitsbeautywithoutbeingparalyzedbyit.ThemenwereabletoreadtheirbooksorlookoutthewindowwhileKatoplayed.Roxanecontinuedtoleafthroughthescores,thougheverynowandthenshestoppedandclosedhereyes.OnlyMr.Hosokawaandthepriestcompletelyunderstoodtheimportanceofthemusic.Everynotewasdistinct.Itwasthemeasurementofthetimewhichhadgottenawayfromthem.Itwastheinterpretationoftheirlivesintheverymomenttheywerebeinglived.

Therewasoneotherpersontherewhounderstoodthemusic,butshewasnotaguest.Standinginthehallway,lookingaroundthecornertothelivingroom,wasCarmen,andCarmen,thoughshedidnothavethewordsforit,understoodeverythingperfectly.Thiswasthehappiesttimeofherlifeanditwasbecauseofthemusic.Whenshewasachilddreamingonherpalletatnight,sheneverdreamedofpleasureslikethese.Noneofherfamily,leftbehindinthemountains,couldhaveunderstoodthattherewasahousemadeofbricksandsealedglasswindowsthatwasnevertoohotortoocold.Shecouldnothavebelievedthatsomewhereintheworldtherewasavastexpanseofcarpetembroideredtolooklikeameadowofflowers,orthatceilingscametippedingold,orthattherecouldbepalemarblewomenwhostoodoneithersideofafireplaceandbalancedthemantelpieceontheirheads.Andthatwouldhavebeenenough,themusicandthepaintingsandthegardenwhichshepatrolledwithherrifle,butinadditiontherewasfoodthatcameeveryday,somuchfoodthatsomewasalwayswastednomatterhowhardtheytriedtoeatitall.Thereweredeepwhitebathtubswithanendlesssupplyofhotwaterpouringoutofthecurvedsilverspigots.Therewerestacksofsoftwhitetowelsandpillowsandblanketstrimmedinsatinandsomuchspaceinsidethatyoucouldwanderoffandnoonewouldknowwhereyouhadgone.Yes,theGeneralswantedsomethingbetterforthepeople,butweren’ttheythepeople?Woulditbetheworstthingintheworldifnothinghappenedatall,iftheyallstayedtogetherinthisgenerous

house?Carmenprayedhard.Sheprayedwhilestandingnearthepriestinhopesitwouldgiveherrequestextracredibility.Whatsheprayedforwasnothing.SheprayedthatGodwouldlookonthemandseethebeautyoftheirexistenceandleavethemalone.

***

ItwasCarmen’snightforwatch.Therewasalongwaitbeforeeveryonehadgonetosleep.Someofthemreadwithflashlights,otherstossedandstretchedinthegreatroomwheretheyallbeddeddowntogether.Theywerelikechildren,upanddownforwaterandthenthebathroom.Butoncetheywereallstill,shecreptaroundtheirbodiesandwenttolookatGen.Hewasinhisusualplace,sleepingonhisbackonthefloornexttothesofawherehisemployerslept.Genhadtakenhisglassesoffandinhissleepheheldthemlightlyinonehand.Hehadapleasantface,afacethatstoredawondermentofknowledge.Shecouldseehiseyesmovingquicklybackandforthbeneaththesmooth,thinskinofhiseyelids,butifhewasdreaming,everythingelsewasstill.Hisbreathingwasquietandsteady.Carmenwishedthatshecouldseeinsidehismind.Shewonderedifitwouldlookcrowdedwithwords,compartmentsoflanguagecarefullyfittedontopofeachother.Herownbrain,bycomparison,wouldbeanemptycloset.Hecouldrefuseherandwhatwouldbetheharminthat?Shewouldn’thaveanythinglessthanwhatshehadnow.Allshehadtodowasask.Allshehadtodowassaythewordsandyetthethoughtofitclosedherthroatentirely.WhatexperiencedidshehaveofpianomusicandpaintingsoftheMadonna?Whatexperiencedidshehaveofasking?CarmenheldherbreathandstretchedoutonthefloornexttoGen.Shewasassilentaslightontheleavesoftrees.Shelayonhersideandputhermouthnearhissleepingear.Shehadnotalentforaskingbutshewasageniusatbeingquiet.WhentheypracticedtheirdrillsinthewoodsitwasCarmenwhocouldrunforamilewithoutbreakingatwig.ItwasCarmenwhocouldwalkuprightbehindyouandtapyouontheshoulderwithoutmakingasound.Shewastheonetheysentinfirsttounscrewthecoversfromtheair-conditioningventsbecausenoonewouldnoticeher.Noonewouldhearathing.ShesaidaprayertoSaintRoseofLima.Sheaskedforcourage.Aftersomanyprayersofferedforthegiftofsilence,shenowaskedforsound.

“Gen,”shewhispered.

GenwasdreamingthathewasstandingonabeachinGreecelookingatthewater.Somewherebehindhiminthedunessomeonewassayinghisname.

Herheartwasstutteringinherchest.Therushofherbloodmadearoarinherears.Whatsheheardwhenshestrainedtolistenwasthevoiceofthesaint.“Nowornever,”SaintRosetoldher.“Iamwithyouonlyforthismoment.”

“Gen.”

AndnowthevoicethatwascallingwaswalkingawayandGenleftthebeachtofollowit,followedthevoicefromsleeptowaking.Itwasalwayssoconfusing,wakingupintheVicePresident’shouse.Whathotelroomwasthis?Whywasheonthefloor?Thenherememberedandallatonceheopenedhiseyes,thinkingitwasMr.Hosokawawhoneededhim.Helookeduptothesofabutthenhefeltahandonhisshoulder.Whenheturnedhishead,thebeautifulboywasthere.Nottheboy.Carmen.Hernoseverynearlytouchinghis

nose.Hewasstartledbutnotafraid.Howoddthatshewaslyingdown,wasallhethought.

Themilitaryhadrecentlygivenuponthefloodlightsthathadragedforsolongoutsidethewindowsandnowthenightlookedlikenightagain.“Carmen?”hesaid.Messnershouldseeherlikethis,inthemoonlight.Hehadbeensorightaboutherface,herheart-shapedface.

“Veryquiet,”shesaiddeepintohisear.“Listen.”Butwherewerethewords?Shewassothankfultobelyingdown.Theracingofherheartwasunbearable.Couldheseeherlikethisinthedarkness,shaking?Couldhefeelhervibrationdeepinthewoodofthefloor?Couldhehearherskinrustlinginsidetheclothesshewore?

“Closeyoureyes,”SaintRosetoldher.“Sayyourprayertome.”

Allatoncetherewasenoughairtofillherlungs.“Teachmetoread,”shesaidquickly.“TeachmetomakemylettersinSpanish.”

Genlookedather.Hereyeswereclosed.Itwasasifhehadcometoliedownbesideherandnottheotherwayaround.Herlasheswereheavyanddarkagainsttheblushofhercheek.Wassheasleep?Wasshetalkinginhersleep?Hecouldhavekissedherwithoutmovinganinchandthenhestruckthethoughtfromhismind.

“YouwanttoreadinSpanish,”Genrepeated,hisvoiceassmallasherown.

Heaven,shethought.Heknowshowtobequiet.Heknowslikemehowtospeakwithoutmakingasound.Shetookabreathandthenblinkedherdarkeyesopen.“AndEnglish,”shewhispered.Shesmiled.Shecouldnotcontainit.Shehadmanagedtoaskhimforeverythingshewanted.

ShyCarmen,alwayshangingbackfromtheothers,whoknewshecouldsmile?Butatthesightofthatsmilehewouldhavepromisedheranything.Hewasjustbarelyawake.Ormaybehewasnotawakeatall.Hadhewantedherandnotknownit?Hadhewantedhersomuchthathedreamedshewaslyingbesidehimnow?Thethingsourmindskeepfromus,Genthought.Thesecretswekeepevenfromourselves.“Yes,”hesaid,“English.”

Shewasrecklessandbrave,sogreatwasherjoy.Shetookherhandandputitoverhiseyes.Shegentlybrushedhiseyesclosedagain.Herhandwascoolandsoft.Itsmelledofmetal.“Gobacktosleep,”shesaid.“Gobacktosleep.”

six

yearslaterwhenthisperiodofinternmentwasrememberedbythepeoplewhowereactuallythere,theysawitintwodistinctperiods:beforetheboxandafterthebox.

Beforethebox,theterroristscontrolledtheVicePresident’shome.Thehostages,evenwhennotbeingdirectlythreatened,mulledovertheinevitabilityoftheirowndeaths.Evenifbysomestrokeofgreatgoodfortunenooneshotthemintheirsleep,theynowunderstoodexactlywhatwasinthecards,beitbeforetheirreleaseorafter.Theywouldeachandeveryoneofthemdie.Surelytheyhadalwaysknownthis,butnowdeathcameandsatontheirchestsatnight,peeredcoldandhungryintotheireyes.Theworldwasadangerousplace,notionsofpersonalsafetywereafairystorytoldtochildrenatbedtime.Allanyonehadtodowasturnthewrongcornerandeverythingwouldbegone.Theythoughtaboutthesenseless

deathofthefirstaccompanist.Theymissedhim,andyetlookhowsimply,howbrilliantlyhehadbeenreplaced.Theymissedtheirdaughtersandtheirwives.Theywerealiveinthishousebutwhatdifferencediditmake?Deathwasalreadysuckingtheairfromthebottomoftheirlungs.Itleftthemweakandlistless.Powerfulheadsofcorporationscollapsedintochairsnearthewindowandstared,diplomatsflippedthroughmagazineswithoutnoticingthepictures.Somedaystherewasbarelyenoughstrengthtoturnthepages.

ButafterMessnerbroughttheboxintothehouseeverythingchanged.Theterroristscontinuedtoblockthedoorsandcarryguns,butnowRoxaneCosswasincharge.Shestartedthemorningatsixo’clockbecauseshewokeupwhenthelightcameinthroughherwindowandwhenshewokeupshewantedtowork.ShetookherbathandhadtwopiecesoftoastandacupofteathatCarmenmadeforher,broughtuponayellowwoodentraythattheVicePresidenthadpickedoutforthispurpose.NowthatRoxaneknewCarmenwasagirlshelethersitonthebedwithheranddrinkoutofhercup.ShelikedtobraidCarmen’shair,whichwasasshinyandblackasapoolofoil.SomemorningstheweightofCarmen’shairbetweenherfingerswastheonlythingthatmadeanysenseatalltoher.Therewascomfortinpretendingthatshehadbeendetainedinordertobraidthehairofthisyoungwoman.ShewasMozart’sSusanna.CarmenwastheCountessRosina.Thehairfoldedandloopedintoheavyblackribbons,perfectlyordered.Therewasnothingtheycouldsaytoeachother.WhenRoxanewasfinished,Carmenwouldgoandstandbehindher,brushingRoxane’shairuntilitshined,thentwistitintoanidenticalbraid.Inthisway,onlyforthelittletimetheyhadtogetherinthemornings,theyweresisters,girlfriends,thesame.Theywerehappytogetherwhenitwasjustthetwoofthemalone.TheyneverthoughtofBeatriz,whoshotdiceagainstthepantrydoorinthekitchenwiththeboys.

Atseveno’clockKatowaswaitingforRoxaneatthepiano,hisfingersrunningsilentlyupanddownthekeys.Shehadlearnedtosaygoodmorning,OhayoGozaimasu,inJapanese,andKatoknewahandfulofphraseswhichincluded,goodmorning,thankyou,andbye-bye.Thatconstitutedtheextentoftheirabilitiesineachother ’slanguage,sothattheysaidgoodmorningagainwhenitwastimetostopforabreakorwhentheypassedeachotherinthehallwaysbeforebedtime.Theyspoketooneanotherbyhandingleavesofmusicbackandforth.Whiletheirrelationshipwasbynomeansademocracy,Kato,whoreadthemusicthepriest’sfriendhadsentwhilelyingonthepileofcoatshesleptonatnight,wouldsometimespickoutpieceshewantedtohearorpiecesthathefeltwouldbewellsuitedtoRoxane’svoice.Hemadewhathefelttobewildpresumptionsinhandingoverhissuggestions,butwhatdiditmatter?Hewasavicepresidentinagiantcorporation,anumbersman,suddenlyelevatedtobetheaccompanist.Hewasnothimself.Hewasnoonehehadeverimagined.

Atquarterpastseventhescalesbegan.Onthefirstmorningtherewerestillpeoplesleeping.PietroGenovesewassleepingbeneaththepiano,andwhenthechordswerestruckhethoughthewashearingthebellsofSt.Peter ’s.Noneofthatmattered.Itwasnowtimeforwork.Toomuchtimehadbeenspentweepingonthesofaorstaringoutthewindow.Nowtherewasmusicandanaccompanist.RoxaneCosshadriskedhervoiceonGianniSchicchiandfoundthathervoicewasstillthere.“We’rerotting,”shehadtoldMr.HosokawathroughGenonlythedaybefore.“Allofus.I’vehadenoughofit.IfanyoneisgoingtoshootmetheywillhavetoshootmewhileI’msinging.”InthiswayMr.Hosokawaknewshewouldbesafe,asnoone

couldshootherwhileshesang.Byextensiontheywereallsafe,andsotheypressedinclosetothepianotolisten.

“Stepback,”Roxanesaid,andshooedthemawaywithherhands.“I’mgoingtowantthatair.”

ThefirstthingshesangthatmorningwastheariafromRusalka,whichsherememberedwastheoneMr.Hosokawahadrequestedthatshesingforhisbirthday,beforesheknewhim,beforesheknewanything.Howshelovedthatstory,thespiritofthewaterwholongstobeawomanwhocanholdherloverinrealarmsinsteadofcoolwaves.Shesangthisariaatnearlyeveryperformanceshegave,thoughshehadneverinfuseditwiththecompassionandunderstandingthatshegavetoitthismorning.Mr.Hosokawaheardthedifferenceinhervoice,anditbroughttearstohiseyes.

“ShesingsCzechlikeshewasborntoit,”hewhisperedtoGen.

Gennodded.Hewouldneverrefutethebeautyofhersinging,thewarmandliquidqualityofhervoicethatsowellmatchedthewateryRusalka,buttherewasnopointintellingMr.HosokawathatthiswomandidnotknowawordofCzechoslovakian.Shesangthepassionofeverysyllable,butnoneofthesyllablesactuallymanagedtoformthemselvesintorecognizablewordsofthelanguage.Itwasquiteobviousthatshehadmemorizedtheworkphonetically,thatshesangherloveforDvořákandherloveforthetranslatedstory,butthattheCzechlanguageitselfwasastrangerwhichpassedherbywithoutamoment’srecognition.Notthatthiswasanysortofcrime,ofcourse.Whowouldevenknowexceptforhim?TherewerenoCzechsamongthem.

RoxaneCosssangrigorouslyforthreehoursinthemorningandsometimessangagaininthelateafternoonbeforedinnerifhervoicefeltstrong,andforthosehoursnoonegaveasinglethoughttotheirdeath.Theythoughtabouthersingingandaboutthesong,thesweetradianceofherupperregister.Soonenoughthedaysweredividedintothreestates:theanticipationofhersinging,thepleasureofhersinging,andthereflectiononhersinging.

Ifthepowerhadshiftedawayfromthem,theGeneralsdidn’tseemtomind.Theutterhopelessnessoftheirmissionseemedlessoverbearingtothemnowandmanynightstheysleptalmostinpeace.GeneralBenjamincontinuedtomarkoffthedaysonthedining-roomwall.Theyhadmoretimetoconcentrateonnegotiations.Amongthemselvestheyspokeasifthesinginghadbeenpartoftheirplan.Itcalmedthehostages.Itfocusedthesoldiers.Italsohadtheremarkableeffectofquellingtheracketthatcamefromtheothersideofthewall.Theycouldonlyassumethatwiththewindowsopenthepeopleonthestreetscouldhearherbecausetheconstantscreechofbullhornedmessageswouldstopassoonassheopenedhermouthtosing,andafterafewdaysthebullhorndidnotcomebackatall.Theyimaginedthestreetoutside.Itwaspackedwithpeople,notoneofthemeatingchipsorcoughing,allofthemstrainingtolistentothevoicetheyhadheardonlyonrecordsandintheirdreams.ItwasadailyconcerttheGeneralshadarranged,orsotheyhadcometobelieve.Agifttothepeople,adiversiontothemilitary.Theyhadkidnappedherforareason,afterall.

“Wewillmakehersingmore,”GeneralHectorsaidinthedownstairsguestsuitethattheyhadtakenoverastheirprivateoffices.Hestretchedacrossthecanopiedbed,hisbootsnestingontopoftheembroideredivorycomforter.BenjaminandAlfredosatinmatching

chairscoveredinenormouspinkpeonies.“Thereisnoreasonshecouldn’tsingafewmorehoursaday.Andwewillrearrangehertimestokeepthemofftheirguard.”

“Wewilltellherwhattosingaswell,”Alfredosaid.“SheshouldsinginSpanish.AllthisItalian,itisnotwhatwestandfor.Besides,forallweknowshecouldbesingingoutmessages.”

ButGeneralBenjamin,despitehisoccasionalparticipationinthedelusionsathand,knewthatwhatevertheygotfromRoxaneCosswassomethingtobegratefulfor.“Idon’tthinkweshouldask.”

“Wewon’tbeasking,”Hectorsaid,reachingbacktoplumpthepillowsbeneathhishead.“Wewillbetelling.”Hisvoicewasevenandcold.

GeneralBenjaminwaitedamoment.Shewassingingnowandheletthesoundofhervoicewashoverhimwhilehesoughtawaytoexplain.Isn’titobvious?hewantedtosaytohisfriends.Can’tyouhearthat?“Music,Ibelieve,isdifferent.That’swhatIunderstand.Wehavesetthisupexactlyright,butifweweretopush...”Benjaminshrugged.Heraisedahandtotouchhisfaceandthenthoughtbetterofit.“Wecouldwindupwithnothing.”

“Ifweputaguntoherheadshewouldsingallday.”

“Tryitfirstwithabird,”GeneralBenjaminsaidgentlytoAlfredo.“Likeoursoprano,theyhavenocapacitytounderstandauthority.Thebirddoesn’tknowenoughtobeafraidandthepersonholdingthegunwillonlyenduplookinglikealunatic.”

WhenRoxannewasfinishedsinging,Mr.Hosokawawenttogetherglassofwaterhimself,coolwithnoice,thewayshelikedit.RubenIglesiashadrecentlymoppedthekitchenfloorandrubbeditdownwithahardwaxbyhandsothatthewholeroomshimmeredlikelightontheflatsurfaceofalake.CouldMr.Hosokawasay,pickingupthepotofwaterhehadboiledandcooledthismorningforthisverypurpose,thatthiswasthehappiesttimeinhislife?Surelythatcouldnotbethecase.Hewasbeingheldagainsthiswillinacountryhedidnotknowandeverydayhefoundhimselflookingdownthebarrelofsomechild’sgun.Hewaslivingonadietoftoughmeatsandwichesandsodapop,sleepinginaroomwithmorethanfiftymen,andalthoughtherewereirregularprivilegesatthewashingmachine,hewasthinkingofaskingtheVicePresidentifhecouldkindlyextendtohimasecondpairofunderwearfromhisownbureau.Thenwhythissuddensenseoflightness,thisgreataffectionforeveryone?Helookedoutthelargewindowoverthesink,staredintothemistofbadweather.Therehadnotbeenpovertyinhischildhoodbuttherewasagreatdealofstruggle:hismother ’sdeathwhenhewasten;hisfatherholdingon,broken,untilhejoinedhertheyearKatsumiHosokawawasnineteen;histwosistersdisappearingintothedistantlivesoftheirmarriages.No,thatfamilyhadnotbeenagreaterhappiness.TheearlyyearshehadspentbuildingNanseiwerelikeahurricaneinhismemory,ahuge,overbearingwindintowhicheveryloosethingwassucked.Hesleptwithhisheadonhisdeskmostnights,hemissedholidays,birthdays,entireseasonsoftheyear.Fromhisendlessworkhadcomeagreatindustry,greatpersonalgain,buthappiness?Itwasawordhewouldhavepuzzledover,unabletounderstanditsimportanceevenwhileitsmeaningwasevident.

Andsothatlefthisownfamily,hiswifeandtwodaughters.Theywerethequestion.Ifhehad

notdrawnhappinessfromthemthenthefaultwascompletelyhisown.Hiswifehadbeenthedaughterofhisuncle’sfriend.Thecountrywaspasttheageofarrangedmarriagesandyetessentiallyawifehadbeenfoundforhimbecausetherewasnotimeforhimtofindhisown.Theysatinherparents’livingroomduringtheircourtship,eatingcandy,speakinglittle.Hewassotiredthen,alwaysworking,andevenaftertheymarriedsometimeshewouldforgethehadawifeatall.Hewouldcomehomeatfourinthemorningandbestartledtoseeherthereinthebed,herlongdarkhairspillingoverhispillows.Sothisismywife,hewouldthinktohimself,andfallasleepbesideher.Notthatthingshadstayedthatway.Theyhadcometodependononeanother.Theywereafamily.Shewasanexcellentwife,anexcellentmother,andsurelyhehadlovedherinhisownfashion,buthappiness?Thatwasnotsomethinghethoughtofwhenherememberedhiswife.Evenashecouldpictureherwaitingforhimtocomehomefromwork,adrinkpoured,themailopenedandsorted,itwasnothappinessforeitherofthemthathesawbutakindofefficiencythatmadetheirlivesrunsmoothly.Shewasanhonorablewoman,adutifulwife.Hehadseenherreadingmysterynovelsbutsheneverspokeofthem.Shewrotebeautifulcards.Shewasacomforttotheirchildren.Hewonderedsuddenlyifheknewheratall.Hewonderedifhehadevermadeherhappy.Hishappinesswassomethingkeptapart,afterhehadcomeinfromdinnermeetingsandtherewastimetospendwithhisstereo.Happiness,ifhewasrighttousethatword,wassomethingthatuntilnowhehadonlyexperiencedinmusic.Hewasstillexperiencingitinmusic.Thedifferencewasthatnowthemusicwasaperson.Shesatbesidehimonthesofareading.Sheaskedhimtositbesideheratthepiano.Onoccasionshetookhishand,agesturesostartlingandwonderfulthathecouldbarelyinhale.Sheaskedhim,doyoulikethispiece?Sheaskedhim,whatwouldyoulikemetosing?Thesewerethingshenevercouldhaveimagined:thewarmthofapersonandthemusictogether.Yes,hervoice,morethananythinghervoice,buttherewerealsoherfinehandstoconsider,thebrightropeofherhairlyingacrosshershoulder,thepale,softskinofherneck.Therewasherenormouspower.Hadheeverknownabusinessmanwhocommandedsuchrespect?Morethanallofitwasthemysteryofwhyshehadchosenhimtositnextto.Coulditbepossiblethatsuchhappinesshadexistedintheworldallalongandhehadneveronceheardmentionofit?

Mr.Hosokawarememberedhimself.Hefilledhisglass.Whenhecameback,RoxanewassittingatthepianowithGen.“I’vekeptyouwaitingtoolong,”hesaid.

Shetooktheglassandlistenedtothetranslation.“That’sbecausethewaterisperfect,”shesaid.“Perfecttakesalongertime.”

Genexchangedtheirsentenceslikeabanktellerpushingstacksofcurrencybackandforthoverasmoothmarblecountertop.Heonlyhalflistenedtowhattheyweresaying.Hewasstilltryingtopuzzleouthisnight.Itwasnotadream.Hedidn’thavethosekindsofdreams.Thegirlhehadwatched,thegirlnamedCarmen,hadaskedhimaquestionandhehadagreed,butwherewasshenow?Allmorninghehadn’tseenher.Hehadtriedtolookdiscreetlyinthehallsbuttheboyswithgunskeptcorrallinghimbackintothelivingroom.Somedaystheywereopentohostageswanderingaroundandotherdaystheyseemedtothinklife’sgreatestpleasurewasnudgingpeoplebackwardswithagun.Wherewashesupposedtomeetherandwhen?Hehadn’taskedanyquestions.Despiteherclearinstructions,hehadn’tbeenabletogobacktosleepaftersheleftlastnight.Hecouldn’tstopwonderinghowagirllikethathad

comethroughtheair-conditionerventswithcriminals.Butwhatdidheknow?Maybeshehadkilledpeoplebefore.PerhapssherobbedbanksorthrewMolotovcocktailsthroughembassywindows.MaybeMessnerwasright,theseweremoderntimes.

BeatrizcameupandgaveGentwohardtapsontheshoulder,interruptingbothMr.Hosokawa’sconversationwithRoxaneandhisownprivatethoughts.“IsittimeforMariayet?”shesaid,notwantingtobelateforthesoapopera.Assoonasshehadspoken,sheslippedthedampendofherbraidbackintohermouthandbegantheseriousbusinessofnibblingagain.Genimaginedaknottedtumorofhairgrowinginherstomach.

“Fifteenminutes,”hesaid,lookingathiswatch.Likesomanyotherthings,thebeginningofthesoapoperahadbecomehisresponsibility.

“Comeandtellmewhen.”

“Isthisaboutherprogram?”Roxaneasked.

GennoddedtoherandthensaidtoBeatrizinSpanish,“I’llshowyouontheclock.”

“Idon’tcareabouttheclock,”Beatrizsaid.

“Youaskmeeveryday.Youaskmefivetimes.”

“Iaskotherpeople,too,”shesaidsharply.“It’snotjustyou.”Hersmalleyesgrewsmallerasshepuzzledwhetherornotshewasbeinginsulted.

Gentookoffhiswatch.“Holdoutyourwrist.”

“You’regoingtogiveittoher?”Mr.Hosokawaasked.

“Why?”Beatrizsaidsuspiciously.

GensaidinJapanese,“I’mbetteroffwithoutit.”ThenhesaidtoBeatriz,“I’mgoingtomakeyouapresent.”

Shelikedtheideaofpresentseventhoughshe’dhadalmostnoexperienceofthempersonally.Ontheprogram,Maria’sboyfriendgaveherapresent,aheart-shapedlocketwithhisownpictureinside.Heputitaroundherneckbeforeshesenthimaway.Butoncehehadgonesheheldittoherlipsandcriedandcried.Apresentseemedlikeawonderfulgesture.BeatrizheldoutherwristandGenfastenedonthewatch.

“Lookatthebighand,”hesaid,tappingthecrystalwithhisnail.“Whenitgetstothetwelvehereatthetopthenyouknowit’stime.”

Shestudiedthewatchclosely.Itwasbeautiful,really,theroundglass,thesoftbrownleatherband,thehandthatwasnobiggerthanahairthatdidaslowandconstantsweepacrosstheface.Aspresentswent,shethoughtthiswasthenicest,bettereventhanthelocketbecausethewatchactuallydidsomething.“Thisone?”shesaid,pointingoutoneofthethreehands.Threehands,howqueer.

“Theminutehandontwelveandthehourhand,thelittleone,onone.That’seasyenough.”

Butitwasn’tquiteeasyenoughandBeatrizwasafraidshewouldforget.Shewasafraidshewouldreaditwrongandthenmisstheshowaltogether.Shewasafraidshewouldgetit

wrongandhavetoaskagain,inwhichcaseGenwassuretomakefunofher.Itwasbetterwhenhejusttoldheritwastime.Thatwashisjob.Shehadalotofworktodoandallthehostageswerelazy.“I’mnotinterestedinthis,”shesaid,andtriedtoundothestrap.

“Whatistheproblem?”Mr.Hosokawasaid.“Doesn’tshelikeit?”

“Shethinksit’stoocomplicated.”

“Nonsense.”Mr.HosokawaputhishandoverBeatriz’swristtostopher.“Lookatthis.It’sverysimple.”Heheldouthiswristandshowedherhisownwatch,whichwasdazzlingcomparedtoGen’s,abrightcoinofrose-coloredgold.“Twohands,”hesaid,takingholdofbothherhands.“Justlikeyou.Verysimple.”Gentranslated.

“Threehands,”Beatrizsaid,pointingouttheonlyonethatseemedtomove.

“Thosearetheseconds.Sixtysecondsinaminute,oneminute,onecircle,pushingthebighandforwardoneminute.”Mr.Hosokawaexplainedtime,secondstominutestohours.Hecouldnotrememberwhenhehadlastlookedathiswatchorwonderedaboutthehouroftheday.

Beatriznodded.SheranherfingeraroundthefaceofGen’swatch.“It’salmostnow,”shesaid.

“Sevenmoreminutes,”Gensaid.

“I’llgoandwait.”Sheconsideredthankinghimbutshewasn’tsureifitwastherightthingtodo.Shecouldhavetakenthewatchfromhim.Shecouldhavedemandedit.

“DoesCarmenwatchtheprogram?”Genasked.

“Sometimes,”Beatrizsaid.“Butthensheforgets.Sheisn’ttruetoitlikeIam.Shehasdutyoutsidetoday,soshewon’tbewatchingitunlessshestandsatthewindow.WhenIhavedutyoutsideIstandatthewindow.”

GenglancedtowardsthetallFrenchdoorsattheendoftheroomthatledoutontothegarden.Therewasnothingthere.Onlythegarúaandtheflowerswhichwerestartingtoovergrowtheirbeds.

Beatrizknewwhathewaslookingforandshewasangry.ShelikedGenalittleandheshouldhavelikedherbecausehehadgivenherapresent.“Takeyourturn,”shesaidbitterly.“Theboysareallwaitingatdifferentwindows.They’reallwatchingforher,too.Maybeyoushouldgoandstandwiththem.”Itwasn’ttrue,ofcourse.Therewasnodatingallowedintheranksandthatwasarulethatwasneverbroken.

“Shehadaskedmeaquestion,”Genstarted,buthisvoicedidn’tsoundnaturalandsohedecidedtoforgetit.Itwasn’tasifheowedBeatrizanysortofexplanation.

“I’lltellheryougaveyourwatchtome.”Shelookedatherwrist.“Fourmoreminutes.”

“Youshouldrun,”Gensaid.“You’llloseyourspotonthecouch.”

Beatrizleftbutshedidn’trun.Shewalkedawaylikeagirlwhoknewexactlyhowmuchtimeshehad.

“Whatdidshesay?”Mr.HosokawaaskedGen.“Wasshehappywiththewatch?”

GentranslatedthequestionintoEnglishforRoxaneandthenansweredthemboththattherewouldbenowaytotellifshewashappyornot.

“Ithinkyou’resmarttogiveittoher,”Roxanesaid.“She’llbelesslikelytoshootsomeonewho’sgivenhersuchanicegift.”

Butwho’stosaywhatkeptapersonfromshooting?“Wouldyouexcuseme?”

Mr.HosokawaletGengo.ItusedtobethathewantedGenwithhimallthetimeincasehethoughtofsomethingtosay,buthewaslearningtofindsomecomfortinthequiet.Roxaneputherhandsonthepianoandpickedouttheopeninglinesof“ClairdeLune.”ThenshetookoneofMr.Hosokawa’shandsandtappedthenotesagain,veryslowandbeautifulandsad.Hefollowedheragainandagainuntilhecoulddoitquitewellonhisown.

Genwenttothewindowandwatched.Thedrizzlingrainhadstoppedbuttheairwasstillheavyandgrayasifitweredusk.Genglancedathiswatch,knowingitwastooearlytobedark,andfoundhiswatchgone.Whywashewaitingforher?Becausehewantedtoteachhertoread?Hehadplentytodowithouttakingthatonaswell.Everypersonintheroomhadathoughtthatwasinneedoftranslation.Hewasluckytofindaminutealone,aminutetolookoutofthewindow.Hedidn’tneedanotherjob.

“Ihavewatchedoutthiswindowforhours,”amansaidtohiminRussian.“Nothingevercomes.Icanpromiseyouthat.”

“Sometimesit’senoughjusttolook,”Gensaid,keepinghiseyesstraightahead.HealmostneverhadtheopportunitytospeakinRussian.ItwasalanguageheusedforreadingPushkinandTurgenev.Itsoundedgoodtohearhisownvoicemanagingsomanysharpconsonantsevenifheknewhisaccentwaspoor.Heshouldpractice.Itwasanopportunityifonechosetoseeitthatway,somanynativespeakersinoneroom.VictorFyodorovwasatallmanwithlargehandsandagreatwallofachest.ThethreeRussians,Fyodorov,Ledbed,andBerezovsky,mostlykepttothemselves,playingcardsandsmokingfromaseeminglyinexhaustiblesupplyofcigarettes,thesourceofwhichnoonewasexactlysure.WhiletheFrenchcouldmakeoutafewwordsofSpanishandtheItaliansrememberedsomeoftheirschoolFrench,Russian,likeJapanese,wasanislandofalanguage.Eventhesimplestphrasesweremetwithblankexpressions.

“Youstaysobusy,”Fyodorovsaid.“Ienvyyouattimes.Wewatchyou,upanddown,upanddown,everyoneneedingyourattention.Nodoubtyouenvyusdoingnothing.Youwouldlikealittlemoretimetoyourself,yes?Timetolookoutthewindow?”WhattheRussianwassayingwasthathewassorrytobeanotherbother,anothersentenceinneedofconversion,andthathewouldn’taskwereitnotimportant.

Gensmiled.Fyodorovhadgivenupthepleasantriesofshavingandinalittlemorethantwoweekshadcomeupwithanimpressivebeard.BythetimetheyweresprungfromthisplacehewouldlooklikeTolstoy.“IhaveplentyoftimeevenwhenI’mbusy.Youknowyourselfthesearethelongestdaysinhistory.Look,Igaveupmywatch.IthoughtIwasbetteroffnotknowing.”

“ThatIadmire,”theRussiansaid,staringatGen’sbarewrist.Hetappedtheskinwithoneheavyforefinger.“Thatshowsrealthinking.”

“Sodon’tthinkyou’retakingupmytime.”

Fyodorovtookoffhisownwatchanddroppeditintohispocketinagestureofsolidarity.Hecircledhisgreathandtoenjoythenewfreedom.“Nowwecantalk.Nowthatwehavedoneawaywithtime.”

“Absolutely,”Gensaid,butassoonashesaidit,twofigureswalkednearthewallofthegardenholdingupguns.TheirjacketsandcapswerewetfromtheearlierrainandtheykepttheirheadsdowninsteadoflookingaroundthewayGenimaginedtheyshouldiftheyweresupposedtobewatchingforsomething.ItwashardtotellwhichonewasCarmen.Fromsofarawayintherainshewasaboyagain.Hehopedthatshewouldlookupandseehim,thatshemightthinkthathewaswatchingforhereventhoughherecognizedtheidiocyofthis.Still,hehadbeenwaitingtoseeherandhefeltbettersomehow,assumingitwasherinthefirstplaceandnotjustanotherangryteenagedboy.

FyodorovwatchedGenandwatchedthetwofiguresoutsidethewindowuntiltheyhadpassed.“Youkeepaneyeonthem,”hesaidinalowvoice.“That’ssmartthinking.Igetlazy.Inthebeginning,Ikeptaccountofthem,buttheyareeverywhere.Likerabbits.Ithinktheybringinmoreofthematnight.”

Genwantedtopointandsay,That’sCarmen,buthedidn’tknowwhathewouldbeexplaining.Insteadhenoddedinagreement.

“Butlet’snotwasteourtimeonthem.Ihavebetterwaystowasteyourtime.Doyousmoke?”heasked,pullingoutasmallbluepackageofFrenchcigarettes.“No?Doyoumind?”

ItseemedthatnosoonerhadhestruckhismatchthantheVicePresidentarrivedwithanashtraythatheplacedonasmalltableinfrontofthem.“Gen,”hesaid,noddingpolitely.“Victor.”Hebowedtothem,apleasantryhehadpickedupfromtheJapanese,andthenmovedon,notwantingtointerrupttheconversationhecouldnotunderstand.

“Awonderfulman,RubenIglesias.ItalmostmakesmewishIwasacitizenofthiswretchedcountrysothatIcouldvoteforhimforPresident.”Fyodorovpulledthesmokethroughthecigaretteandthenexpelleditslowly.Hewastryingtofindtherightwaytobeginhisrequest.“Youcanimagine,wehavebeenthinkingagreatdealaboutopera,”hesaid.

“Ofcourse,”Gensaid.

“Whoknewthatlifecouldbesounexpected?Ithoughtwewouldbedeadbynow,orifnotdeadthenregularlybeggingforourlives,butinsteadIsitandIconsideropera.”

“Noonecouldhavepredicted.”GenleanedforwardimperceptiblytoseeifhecouldcatchsightofCarmenbeforeshepassedcompletelyfromview,buthewastoolate.

“Ihavealwaysbeenveryinterestedinmusic.OperainRussiaisveryimportant.Youknowthat.Itisvirtuallyasacredthing.”

“Icanimagine.”Nowhewishedhehadhiswatch.Ifhedidhewouldbeabletotimeher,toseehowmanyminutesittookforhertogopastthewindowagain.Shecouldbecomeher

ownsortofclock.HethoughtaboutaskingFyodorovbutclearlyFyodorovhadhismindonotherthings.

“OperacametoRussialate.InItalythelanguagelentitselftothiskindofsingingbutforusittooklonger.Itis,youknow,acomplicatedlanguage.ThesingerswehavenowinRussiaareverygreat.Ihavenocomplaintsaboutthetalentourcountrypossesses,butasIlivenowthereisonlyonetruegenius.Manygreatsingers,brilliantvoices,butonlyonegenius.ShehasneverbeentoRussiathatIknowof.Wouldn’tyousaythechancesoffindingoneselftrappedinahousewithtruegeniusareremarkablysmall?”

“Iwouldagree,”Gensaid.

“Tofindmyselfherewithherandtobeunabletosayanythingitis,well,unfortunate.No,honestly,itisfrustrating.Whatifwewerereleasedtomorrow?ThatiswhatIprayforandyet,wouldn’tIsaytomyselffortherestofmylife,youneverspoketoher?Shewasrightthereintheroomwithyouandyoudidn’tbothertomakearrangementstosaysomething?Whatwoulditmeantolivewithsuchregret?Isupposeitdidn’tbothermemuchbeforesheresumedhersinging.Iwaspreoccupiedwithmyownthoughts,thecircumstancesathand,butnowwiththemusiccomingsoregularlyeverythinghaschanged.Don’tyoufindthattobetrue?”

AndGenhadtoagree.Hehadn’tthoughtaboutitinexactlythosetermsbeforebutitwastrue.Therewassomedifference.

“Andwhatarethechances,giventhatIamahostageinacountryIdonotknowwithawomanIsosincerelyadmirethattherewouldalsobeamansuchasyourselfwhohasagoodheartandspeaksbothmylanguageandhers?Tellmewhatthechancesare?Theyareinthemillions!Thisis,ofcourse,whyIhavecometoyou.Iaminterestedinengagingyourservicesoftranslation.”

“It’snothingasformalasthat,”Gensaid.“I’mhappytospeaktoMissCoss.Wecangonow.I’lltellherwhateveryouwanttosay.”

AtthatthegreatRussianpaledandtookthreenervouspuffsoffhiscigarette.Somassivewerethisman’slungsthatthelittlecigarettewasallbutfinishedoffbyhissuddenburstofattention.“Thereisnorushforthis,myfriend.”

“Unlesswe’rereleasedtomorrow.”

Henoddedandsmiled.“Youletmeescapefromnothing.”Hepointedhissmoked-outcigaretteatGen.“Youarethinking.Youaretellingmeitistimetodeclaremyself.”

Genthoughthemighthavemisunderstoodtheverbtodeclare.Itcouldhaveothermeanings.HecouldspeakRussian,buthisunderstandinglackednuance.“I’mnottellingyouanythingotherthanthatMissCossisrightthereifyouwanttospeaktoher.”

“Let’scallittomorrow,shallwe?I’llspeakinthemorning”—heclappedahanddownonGen’sshoulder—“incasewearesofortunate.Isthemorningfinewithyou?”

“I’llbehere.”

“Justaftershesings,”hesaid.Thenheadded,“Butwithoutrushingherany.”

Gentoldhimthatsoundedreasonable.

“Good,good.Thatwillgivemetimetopreparemythoughts.Iwillbeawakeallnight.Youareverygood.YourRussianisverygood.”

“Thankyou,”Gensaid.HehadhopedthatmaybetheycouldtalkforawhileaboutPushkin.TherewerethingshewantedtoknowaboutEugeneOneginandTheQueenofSpades,butFyodorovwasgone,lumberingbacktohiscornerlikeafighterreadyforthesecondround.TheothertwoRussianswerewaitingforhim,smoking.

TheVicePresidentwasstandinginthekitchenlookingintoaboxofvegetables,crooknecksquashanddarkpurpleeggplants,tomatoesandsweetyellowonions.Hetookthisasabadsignthatthepeoplewhosurroundedthehouseweregrowingboredwiththeirkidnapping.Howlongdidthesecriseseverlast?Sixhours?Twodays?Afterthattheylobbedinsometeargasandeveryonesurrendered.Butsomehowthesecut-rateterroristshadthwartedanyrescue.Maybeitwasbecausethereweresomanyhostages.Maybeitwasthewallaroundthevice-presidentialhouse,ortheirfearofaccidentallykillingRoxaneCoss.Forwhateverreason,theirsituationhadalreadycrawledpastitssecondweek.Itwascompletelyconceivablethattheywerenolongeronthefrontpageofthepaperorthattheyhadalreadyfallentothesecondoreventhethirdstoryontheeveningnews.Peoplehadgottenonwiththeirlives.Amorepracticalstandwasbeingtaken,asevidencedbythefoodinfrontofhim.TheVicePresidentimaginedhisgroupthesurvivorsofashipwreckwhowatchedhelplesslywhilethelastsearch-and-rescuehelicopterspunnorthtowardsthemainland.Theevidencewasinthefood.Atfirstithadallbeenprepared,sandwichesorcasserolesofpulledchickenandrice.Thenitcameinneedingsomeassembly,breadandmeatandcheesewrappedonseparatetrays.Butthis,thiswassomethingelseentirely.Fifteenrawchickens,pinkandcold,theirstomachsgreasingthecounter,boxesofvegetables,bagsofdriedbeans,tinsofshortening.Certainlyitwasenoughfood,thechickensappearedtohavebeenrobust,butthequestionwashowdidoneeffectthetransformation?Howdidwhatwasherebecomedinner?Rubenbelievedthequestionwashisresponsibilitytoanswerbutheknewnothingofhisownkitchen.Hedidnotknowwherethecolanderwas.Hedidnotknowmarjoramfromthyme.Hewonderedifhiswifewouldhaveknown.Truthfully,theyhadbeentakencareoffortoolong.Hehadrealizedthatinthesepastweeksashesweptthefloorsandfoldedupthebedding.Perhapshehadbeenusefulinsociety,butasfarashouseholdmatterswereconcernedhehadbecomesomekindoffancylapdog.Asaboyhehadreceivednodomestictraining.Hehadneveroncebeenaskedtosetatableorpeelacarrot.Hissistersmadehisbedandfoldedhisclothes.Ithadtakenastateofcaptivitytoforcehimtofigureouttheoperationofhisownwasheranddryer.Everydaytherewasanever-endinglistofthingsthatneededtobeattendedto.Ifheworkedwithoutstopfromthemomenthewokeupinthemorninguntilhefellintoanexhaustedheaponhispileofblankets,hecouldnotkeepthehouseinthemannertowhichhehadbeenaccustomedtoseeingit.Howthishousehadsungjustashortwhileago!Therewasnotellinghowmanygirlscameandwent,dustingandbuffing,ironingshirtsandhandkerchiefs,moppingthemostimperceptiblecobwebsfromthecornersofhisceiling.Theypolishedthebrassstripsatthebaseofthefrontdoor.Theykeptthepantryfilledwithsweetcakesandpickledbeets.Theyleftthevaguestscentoftheirownbathpowder(whichhiswifeboughteachofthemfortheirbirthdayseveryyear,agenerousroundcontainerwith

afatdownpuffontop)behindthemintheroomsandsoeverythingsmelledlikeafistfulofhyacinthsprinkledwithtalc.Notonethinginthehousedemandedhisattention,notoneobjectaskedforhisintercession.Evenhisownchildrenwerebathedandbrushedandputtobedbylovelyhiredhands.Itwasperfect,alwaysandcompletelyperfect.

Andhisguests!Whowerethesemenwhonevertooktheirdishestothesink?Atleasttheterroristshecouldforgive.Theywereforthemostpartchildren,andbesides,theyhadbeenraisedinthejungle.(Atthishethoughtofhisownmother,whowouldcalltohimwhenheforgottoclosethefrontdoor,“Ishouldsendyoutoliveinthejunglewhereyouwouldn’tbebotheredbythingslikedoors!”)Thehostageswereaccustomedtovaletsandsecretaries,andwhiletheyhadcooksandmaidstheyprobablyneversawthem.Notonlyweretheirhouseholdsrunforthem,theywererunsosilently,soefficiently,thattheyneverhadtoencountertheoperations.

OfcourseRubencouldhaveletitallgo.Itwasn’treallyhishouse,afterall.Hecouldhavewatchedthecarpetsmolderinpoolsofspilledsodapopandsteppedaroundthetrashthatcircledtheoverfullwastebaskets,buthewasfirstandforemostthehost.Hefeltasenseofresponsibilitytokeepsomesemblanceofapartyrunning.Butwhathesoonfoundwasthatheenjoyedit.Notonlydidheenjoyithebelieved,withallmodesty,thathehadacertainknackforit.Whenhegotonhishandsandkneesandwaxedthefloors,thefloorsdidshineinresponsetohisattentions.Ofallthemanyjobsthereweretodo,theonehelikedthebestwasironing.Itwasamazingtohimthattheyhadn’ttakentheironaway.Ifproperlywieldedhewassureitwasasdeadlyasagun,soheavy,soincrediblyhot.Whilehepressedtheshirtsofshirtlessmenwhostoodwaiting,hethoughtofthedamagehecoulddo.Certainly,hecouldn’ttakethemallout(Couldanirondeflectbullets?hewondered),buthecouldclankdowntwoorthreebeforetheyshothim.Withaniron,Rubencouldgodownfightingandthethoughtofitmadehimfeellesspassive,morelikeaman.Henosedthepointysilvertipintoapocketandthensliditdownasleeve.Hepuffedoutcloudsofsteamthatmadehimpourwithsweat.Thecollar,hehadquicklycometorealize,wasthekeytoeverything.

Ironingwasonething.Ironingwaswithinhisgrasp.Butwhererawfoodwasconcernedhewasataloss,andhestoodandhestaredatallthatnowlaybeforehim.Hedecidedtoputthechickensintherefrigerator.Avoidwarmmeat,thatmuchhewassureabout.Thenhewenttolookforhelp.

“Gen,”hesaid.“Gen,IneedtospeaktoSeñoritaCoss.”

“You,too?”Genasked.

“Me,too,”theVicePresidentsaid.“What,istherealine?ShallItakeanumber?”

GenshookhisheadandtogethertheywalkedovertoseeRoxane.“Gen,”shesaid,andheldoutherhandsasifshehadn’tseenthemindays.“Mr.VicePresident.”Shehadchangedsincethemusichadarrived,orshehadchangedback.Shenowmorecloselyresembledthefamoussopranowhohadbeenbroughttoapartyatenormousexpensetosingsixarias.Sheonceagainputoutakindoflightthatbelongsonlytotheveryfamous.Rubenalwaysfeltslightlyweakwhenhestoodthisclosetoher.Shewaswearinghiswife’ssweaterandhiswife’sblacksilkscarfcoveredinjewel-coloredbirdstiedaroundherthroat.(Oh,howhiswifeadoredthatscarf,whichhadcomefromParis.Sheneverworeitmorethanonceortwiceayearandshekeptitcarefullyfoldedinitsoriginalbox.HowquicklyRubenhadservedupthistreasuretoRoxane!)Hewasovercomebythesuddenneedtotellherhowhefeltabouther.Howmuchhermusicmeanttohim.Hecontrolledhimselfbycallingthosebarechickenstomind.“Youmustforgiveme,”theVicePresidentsaid,hisvoicebreakingwithemotion.“Youdosomuchforallofusasitis.Yourpracticinghasbeenagodsend,thoughhowyoucancallitpracticingIdon’tknow.Itimpliesthatyoursingingcouldimprove.”Hetouchedhisfingerstohiseyesandshookhishead.Hewastired.“Thisisn’twhatIcametosaytoyou.IwonderifImaybotheryouforafavor?”

“Istheresomethingyouwouldlikemetosing?”Roxanestrokedtheedgesofthescarf.

“ThatIwouldneverpresumetoknow.WhateversongyouchooseisthesongIhavebeenwantingtohear.”

“Veryimpressive,”GensaidtohiminSpanish.

Rubengavehimalookthatmadeitclearhehadnointerestineditorials.“Ineedsomeadviceinthekitchen.Somehelp.Don’tmistakeme,Iwouldneveraskyoutodoanywork,butifyoucouldgivemethesmallestamountofguidanceinthepreparationofourdinner,Iwouldbegreatlyindebtedtoyou.”

RoxanelookedatGenandblinked.“Youmisunderstoodhim.”

“Idon’tthinkso.”

“Tryagain.”

Spanishwastolinguistswhathopscotchwastotriathletes.IfhewasmanaginginRussianandGreek,chanceswerehewouldnothavemisunderstoodasentenceofSpanish.Asentenceregardingthepreparationoffoodandnotthestateofthehumansoul.Spanishwas,afterall,whathewastranslatinginandoutofallday.Itwastheclosestthingavailabletoacommonlanguage.“Pardonme,”GensaidtoRuben.

“TellherIneedsomehelpwithdinner.”

“Cookingdinner?”Roxaneasked.

Rubenthoughtaboutthisforamoment,assuminghewasnotaskingforhelpservingdinneroreatingdinner,thenyes,cookingdinnerwaswhatwasleft.“Cooking.”

“WhywouldhethinkIknowhowtocook?”sheaskedGen.

Ruben,whoseEnglishwasbadbutnothopeless,pointedoutthatshewasawoman.“Thetwogirls,Ican’timaginetheywouldknowathingexceptfornativedishesthatmightnotbetoothers’liking,”hesaidthroughGen.

“ThisissomesortofLatinthing,don’tyouthink?”shesaidtoGen.“Ican’tevenreallybeoffended.It’simportanttobeartheculturaldifferencesinmind.”ShegaveRubenasmilethatwaskindbutrelayednoinformation.

“Ithinkthat’swise,”Gensaid,andthenhetoldRuben,“Shedoesn’tcook.”

“Shecooksalittle,”Rubensaid.

Genshookhishead.“Iwouldthinknotatall.”

“Shewasn’tbornsingingopera,”theVicePresidentsaid.“Shemusthavehadachildhood.”Evenhiswife,whohadgrownuprich,whowasapamperedgirlwithmostavailableluxuries,wastaughttocook.

“Possibly,butIimaginesomeonecookedherfoodforher.”

Roxane,nowoutoftheconversationalloop,leanedbackagainstthegoldsilkcushionsofthesofa,heldherhandsup,andshrugged.Itwasacharminggesture.Suchsmoothhandsthathadneverwashedadishorshelledapea.“Tellhimhisscarislookingsomuchbetter,”shesaidtoGen.“Iwanttosaysomethingnice.ThankGodthatgirlofhiswasstillaroundwhenithappened.Otherwisehemighthaveaskedmetosewhisfaceupforhim,too.”

“ShouldItellhimyoudon’tsew?”Gensaid.

“Betterhehearsitnow.”Thesopranosmiledagainandwavedgood-byetotheVicePresident.

“Doyouknowhowtocook?”RubenaskedGen.

Genignoredthequestion.“I’veheardSimonThibaultcomplainagreatdealaboutthefood.Hesoundslikeheknowswhathe’stalkingabout.Anyway,he’sFrench.TheFrenchknowhowtocook.”

“TwominutesagoIwouldhavesaidthesamethingaboutwomen,”Rubensaid.

ButSimonThibaultprovedtobeabetterbet.Hisfacelitupatthementionofrawchickens.“Andvegetables?”hesaid.“PraiseGod,somethingthathasn’talreadybeenruined.”

“Thisisyourman,”Gensaid.

Togetherthethreeofthemwalkedtothekitchen,makingtheirwaythroughthemazeofmenandboyswholoiteredinthegreathallofthelivingroom.Thibaultimmediatelywenttothevegetables.Hetookaneggplantoutoftheboxandrolleditinhishands.Hecouldalmostmakeouthisownreflectioninitsshinyskin.Heputhisnosetothedeeppurplepatentleather.Itdidn’tsmelllikemuchandyettherewassomethingvaguelydarkandloamy,somethingalivethatmadehimwanttobitedown.“Thisisagoodkitchen,”hesaid.“Letmeseeyourpans.”

SoRubenopenedupthedrawersandcabinetsandSimonThibaultbeganhissystematicinventory,wirewhisksandmixingbowls,lemonsqueezers,parchmentpaper,doubleboilers.Everyimaginablepotineveryimaginablesize,allthewayuptosomethingthatweighedthirtypoundsemptyandcouldhaveconcealedasmall-bonedtwo-year-oldchild.Itwasakitchenthatwasaccustomedtococktailsuppersforfivehundred.Akitchenbracedtofeedthemasses.“Wherearetheknives?”Thibaultsaid.

“Theknifesareinthebeltsofthehoodlums,”theVicePresidentsaid.“Theyplantoeitherhackusupwiththemeatcleaverorsawustodeathwiththebreadknife.”

Thibaultdrummedhisfingersonthesteelcountertops.Itwasanicelook,butintheirhomeinParisheandEdithhadmarble.Whatabeautifulpastrycrustonecouldmakeonmarble!“It’snotabadidea,”hesaid,“notbad.I’djustassoontheykeeptheknives.Gen,goandtelltheGeneralswewillhavetocookourfoodoreatourchickensraw,notthattheywouldbalkatarawchicken.Tellthemweunderstandwearemorallyunqualifiedtohandlethecutleryandweneedsomeguards,twoorthree,tosliceanddice.Askthemtosendthegirlsandmaybethatverysmallboy.”

“Ishmael,”Rubensaid.

“That’saboywhocantakeresponsibility,”Thibaultsaid.

Theguardshadchangedtheirshifts,oratleasthesawtwomoreyoungsoldierspullontheircapsandheadoutside,butGendidn’tseeCarmen.Ifshehadcomeinshewasoffsomewhereinapartofthehousethatwasoff-limitstohostages.Discreetly,helookedforhereveryplacehewasallowedtogo,buthehadnoluck.“GeneralBenjamin,”hesaid,findingtheGeneral

goingoverthenewspaperwithapairofscissorsinthediningroom.Hewascuttingoutthearticlesthatconcernedthem,asifhecouldkeeptheminthedarkbyeditingthepaper.Thetelevisionstayedonallhoursbuttheguestswerealwaysdrivenoutoftheroomwhenthenewscameon.Still,theyheardbitsandpiecesfromthehall.“Therehasbeenachangeinthefood,sir.”EventhoughThibaultwasthediplomat,Genbelievedthatheprobablyhadabetterchanceofgettingwhattheywanted.Itwasthedifferenceintheirnatures.TheFrenchhadverylittleexperienceinbeingdeferential.

“Andthatchange?”TheGeneraldidnotlookup.

“Itisn’tcooked,sir.They’vesentinboxesofvegetables,somechickens.”Atleastthechickenswereplucked.Atleasttheyweredead.Itwasprobablyonlyamatteroftimebeforedinnerwalkedthroughthedooronitsown,thattheirmilkshowedupstilltuckedwarmlyinsideitsgoat.

“Socookit.”Hesnippedastraightlineupthemiddleofthethirdpage.

“TheVicePresidentandAmbassadorThibaultareplanningtodothatbuttheyneedtorequestsomeknives.”

“Noknives,”theGeneralsaidabsently.

Genwaitedforamoment.GeneralBenjamincrumpledupthearticleshehadremovedandsettheminapileoftightlittleballsofpaper.“Unfortunately,that’saproblem.IknowverylittleaboutcookingmyselfbutIunderstandthatknifesareimperativeforthepreparationoffood.”

“Noknives.”

“Perhapstheniftheknivescamewithpeople.Ifyoucouldrequisitionafewsoldierstodothechopping,thentherewouldbecontrolovertheknives.It’sagreatdealoffood.Therearefifty-eightpeopleafterall.”

GeneralBenjaminsighed.“Iknowhowmanypeoplearehere.Iwouldappreciatenothavingtohearitfromyou.”Hesmoothedoutwhatwasleftofthepaperandfoldeditupagain.“Tellmesomething,Gen.Doyouplaychess?”

“Chess,sir?Iknowhowtoplay.Iwouldn’tsayIwasverygood.”

TheGeneraltentedhisfingersandpressedthemtohislips.“I’llsendyouthegirlstohelpinthekitchen,”hesaid.Theshingleshadjustbeguntocloseinonhiseye.Itwasclear,evenatthisearlystage,thattheresultswouldbedisastrous.

“Ifwecouldhaveonemore.MaybeIshmael.He’saverygoodboy.”

“Twoisenough.”

“Mr.Hosokawaplayschess,”Gensaid.HeshouldnotbeofferinghisemployerupforanyservicesinexchangeforanextraboytochopbutthefactwasthatMr.Hosokawawasquitebrilliantwherechesswasconcerned.HewasalwaysaskingGentoplaywithhimonlongflightsandwasalwaysdisappointedthatGencouldnotlastmorethantwentymoves.HethoughtthatMr.HosokawamightenjoythegameasmuchasGeneralBenjamin.

Benjaminlookedup,hisswollenredfaceseemedtoshowpleasure.“Ifoundasetinthelittleboy’sroom.It’sgoodtothinkthattheywouldteachthegameofchesstosoyoungaboy.Ithinkitisaremarkabletoolforcharacter.Itaughtallofmychildrentoplaychess.”

ThatwassomethingGenhadneverconsidered,thatGeneralBenjaminhadchildren,thathehadahomeorawifeoranykindofexistenceoutsideofthegroupthatwashere.Genhadneverstoppedtothinkaboutwheretheylived,butwouldn’titbeinatentsomewhere,hammocksstrungbetweenthemuscularlimbsofjungletrees?Orwasitaregularjobtobearevolutionary?Didhekisshiswifegood-byeinthemorning,leavehersittingatthetableinherbathrobedrinkingcocatea?Didhecomehomeintheeveningandsetupthechessboardwhilehestretchedhislegsandsmokedacigarette?“IwishIwerebetteratthegame.”

“Well,possiblyIcouldteachyousomething.Ican’timaginewhatIwouldhavetoteachyou.”GeneralBenjamin,allofthesoldiers,hadanenormousrespectforGen’sabilitieswithlanguages.TheyimaginedthatifhecouldspeakinRussianandEnglishandFrench,hecouldprobablydoanything.

“Iwouldappreciatethat,”Gensaid.

Benjaminnoddedhishead.“PleaseaskyourMr.Hosokawaifhewouldcomeathisconvenience.Therewouldbenoneedfortranslation.Here,writedownthewordsforcheckandcheckmateinJapanese.Icouldtroublemyselftolearnthatmuchifhewouldcomeforagame.”GeneralBenjamintookoneofthecrumpledsheetsofnewspaperandstraighteneditoutagain.HehandedGenapencilandabovetheheadlinesGenwrotethetwowords.TheheadlinehesawsaidPocoEsperanza.LittleHope.

“I’llsendinsomehelpfordinner,”theGeneralsaid.“Theywillcomedirectly.”

Genbowedhishead.Perhapsitwasmorerespectthanwasdeservedbuttherewasnoonetheretoseehimdoit.

Itwouldappearthatalltheirchoiceshadbeentakenaway,lockedinahousewithanarmedteenagedboypressedsullenlyagainsteverydoor.Nofreedom,notrust,notevenenoughfreedomortrusttodeserveaknifewithwhichtocutupachicken.Thesimplestthingstheybelieved,thattheyhadtherighttoopenadoor,thattheywerefreetostepoutside,werenolongertrue.Butthiswastrueinstead:GendidnotgofirsttoMr.Hosokawa.Gendidnotgoandtellhimaboutthechess.Ifhewaitedinsteaduntiltonightwhatdifferencecoulditmake?Mr.Hosokawawouldneverknowhehaddelayed.TherecertainlywasnooneelsewhospokebothSpanishandJapanesetotellhim.Onthefarsideoftheroom,Mr.HosokawasatwithRoxaneCossontherosewoodpianobench.Leavehimthere.Hewasgladtobewithher.Shewasteachinghimsomethingonthepiano,herhandsandthenhishandstracingoverthekeys.Thestark,repetitivenotesmadebackgroundmusicfortheroom.ItwastoosoontosayanythingforsurebutheseemedtoshowmorepromiseformusicthanhedidforlearningSpanish.Leavehimtherefornow.EvenfromthisdistanceGencouldseethewaysheleanedagainsthimwhenshereachedthelowerkeys.Mr.Hosokawawashappy,Gendidnotneedtoseehisfacetoknowthat.Hehadknownhisemployertobeintelligent,driven,reasonable,andwhileGenhadneverthoughthimanunhappymanhehadneverthoughthetookanyparticularpleasureinhislife.Sowhynotleavethispleasureundisturbed?Gencouldsimply

makethedecisionhimselfandthenMr.HosokawacouldpracticeuninterruptedandGencouldgobacktothekitchenwhereVicePresidentIglesiasandAmbassadorThibaultwerediscussingsauces.

I’llsendyouthegirlstohelpinthekitchen,waswhatGeneralBenjaminhadsaid.

ThewordsloopedthroughGen’sheadliketheplucked-outrefrainof“ClairdeLune.”Hewenttothekitchenandwhenhepushedthroughtheswingingdoorheheldupbothhishands,aprizefighterafteraneffortlessknockout.

“Ah,lookatthat!”theVicePresidentcried.“Thegeniusboyreturnstriumphant.”

“We’rewastinghimonkitchenhelpandknives,”ThibaultsaidinthegoodSpanishhehadacquiredwhenhefirstthoughthewouldbetheFrenchambassadortoSpain.“WeshouldsendthisyoungmantoNorthernIreland.WeshouldsendhimtotheGazaStrip.”

“WeshouldgivehimMessner ’sjob.Thenmaybewe’dgetoutofhere.”

“Itwasonlyafewknives,”Gensaidhumbly.

“DidyougettospeaktoBenjamin?”Rubenasked.

“OfcoursehespoketoBenjamin.”Thibaultwasflippingthroughacookbookfromthestackinfrontofhim.Thewayhisfingerquicklytracedbackandforthacrossthelinesheappearedtobespeed-readingit.“Hewassuccessful,wasn’the?YouknowAlfredoandHectorwouldhaveinsistedonrawchicken.Bettertotoughenupthemen.Whatdidthegoodcomradesay?”

“Thathewouldsendinthegirls.HesaidnotoIshmaelbutIwouldn’tbesurprisedifheturnsup.”Gentookacarrotoutoftheboxandrinseditoffinthesink.

“Metheyhitinthefacewithagun,”theVicePresidentsaidlightly.“Toyoutheygiveastaff.”

“Whataboutasimplecoqauvin?”Thibaultsaid.

“Theyconfiscatedallthevin,”Rubensaid.“WecouldalwayssendGenoutforanotherrequest.It’sprobablylockeduparoundheresomewhereunlesstheydrankitall.”

“Novin,”SimonThibaultsaidsadly,asifitweresomethingdangerous,asifitwereaknife.Howimpossible.InParisonecouldbecareless,onecouldaffordtorunoutcompletelybecauseanythingyouwantedwashalfablockaway,acase,abottle,aglass.AglassofBurgundyintheautumnatabacktableatBrasserieLipp,thelightwarmandyellowedwhereitreflectedoffthebrassrailingsaroundthebar.Edithinhernavysweater,herhairpulledbackandtwistedintoacasualknot,herpalehandscuppingthebowloftheglass.Howclearlyhecanseeit,thelight,thesweater,thedarkredofthewinebeneathEdith’sfingers.WhentheymovedtotheHeartofDarknesstheyhadthewineshippedtwodozencasesatatime,enoughwinetoquenchanentirecitythroughadrought.Thibaulttriedtomakeacellaroutofwhatwasmerelyawetdirtbasement.FrenchwinewasthecornerstoneofFrenchdiplomacy.Hehandeditoutlikepeppermints.Guestsstayedlaterattheirparties.Theystoodforeveronthewalkthatleddowntothegateandsaidgoodnight,goodnight,butneverseemedtoleave.Edithwouldfinallygoinsideandbringthemeachabottle,pressitintotheirresistinghands.Thentheyscatteredintothedarkness,eachbacktohisorhercaranddriver,holdingtheprize.

“Thisismyblood.”Thibaultraisedhisglasstohiswifewhentheguestshadfinallygone.“Itwillbeshedforyouandfornomen.”Togethertheywouldgothroughthelivingroompickingupcrumplednapkins,stackingplates.Theyhadsentthehousekeeperhomelongago.Thiswasanactofintimacy,apureexpressionoflove.Theywerealoneagain.Theyweresettingtheirhousetoright.

“Isn’ttheresomekindofcoqsansvin?”Rubenleanedforwardtolookatthebook.Allofthesebooksinhishomethathehadneverseenbefore!Hewonderediftheybelongedtohimortothehouse.

ThibaultpushedEdith’sscarfoverhisshoulder.Hesaidsomethingaboutroastingandturnedhisheadawaytoread.Nosoonerhadhelookedatthepagethanthedoorswungopenagainandincamethree,Beatriz,thetallone,prettyCarmen,andthenIshmael,eachofthemwithtwoandthreeknivesapiece.

“Youaskedforus,didn’tyou?”BeatrizsaidtoGen.“I’mnotonanydutyatallnow.Iwasgoingtowatchtelevision.”

Genlookedattheclockonthewall.“It’spasttimeforyourprogram,”hesaid,tryingtokeephiseyesonher.

“Thereareotherthingson,”shesaid.“Therearelotsofgoodprograms.‘Sendthegirlstodoit.’That’salwaystheway.”

“Theydidn’tjustsendthegirls,”Ishmaelsaidinhisowndefense.

“Practically,”Beatrizsaid.

Ishmaelreddenedandherolledthewoodenhandleoftheknifebetweenhispalms.

“TheGeneralsaidweweretocomeandhelpwithdinner,”Carmensaid.ShespoketotheVicePresident.ShedidnotturnhereyestoGen,whodidnotlookather,sohowdiditseemthattheywerestaringatoneanother?

“Wearemostgrateful,”SimonThibaultsaid.“Weknownothingabouttheoperationofknives.Ifentrustedwithsomethingasdangerousasknivestherewouldbeabloodbathhereinamatterofminutes.Notthatwewouldbekillers,mindyou.We’dcutoffourownfingers,bleedtodeathrighthereonthefloor.”

“Stopit,”Ishmaelsaid,andgiggled.Hehadrecentlyreceivedoneoftheamateurhaircutsthathadbeengoingaround.Wherehisheadhadoncebeencoveredinheavyrollsofcurls,thehairwasnowsnippedwithirregularcloseness.Itbristledlikegrassinsomeplacesandlaydownneatlyinothers.Inafewplacesitwasallbutgoneandsmallpatchesofpinkscalpshonethroughliketheskinofanewlybornmouse.Hewastolditwouldmakehimlookolderbutreallyitjustmadehimlookill.

“Doanyofyouknowhowtocook?”Rubenasked.

“Alittle,”Carmensaid,studyingthepositionofherfeetontheblack-and-whitecheckerboardofthefloor.

“Ofcoursewecancook,”Beatrizsnapped.“Whodoyouthinkdoesourcookingforus?”

“Yourparents.That’sapossibility,”theVicePresidentsaid.

“We’readults.Wetakecareofourselves.Wedon’thaveparentslookingafteruslikechildren.”Beatrizwasonlyirritatedaboutmissingtelevision.Shehaddoneallofherwork,afterall,patrolledtheupstairsofthehouseandstoodwatchfortwohoursatthewindow.ShehadcleanedandoiledtheGenerals’gunsandherowngun.Itwasn’tfairthatshehadbeencalledintothekitchen.Therewasawonderfulprogramthatcameoninthelateafternoon,agirlwearingastar-coveredvestandafullskirtwhosangcowboysongsanddancedinhigh-heeledboots.

Ishmaelsighedandsethisthreeknivesonthecounterinfrontofhim.Hisparentsweredead.Hisfatherhadbeentakenfromthehouseonenightbyagroupofmenandnoonesawhimagain.Hismotherwentwithasimplefluelevenmonthsago.Ishmaelwasnearlyfifteen,evenifhisbodyproducednoevidencetosupportthisfact.Hewasnotachild,ifbeingachildmeantthatonehadparentstocookyoursupper.

“Soyouknowtheonion,”Thibaultsaid,holdingupanonion.

“Betterthanyoudo,”Beatrizsaid.

“Thentakethatdangerousknifeandchopupsomeonions.”Thibaultpassedoutcuttingboardsandbowls.Whyweren’tcuttingboardsconsideredweapons?Holdthetwoedgesfirmlyinyourhandsanditwasclearthatthesegreatslabsofwoodwerejusttherightsizeforhittingsomeoneonthebackofthehead.Andwhynotbowls,forthatmatter?Theheavyceramicinthecolorsofpastelmintsseemedharmlessenoughwhileholdingbananas,butoncetheywerebrokenhowweretheymuchdifferentfromtheknife?Couldn’tonedriveashardofpotteryintoahumanheartjustaseasily?ThibaultaskedCarmentomincethegarlicandslicethesweetpeppers.ToIshmaelheheldupaneggplant.“Peeled,seeded,chopped.”

Ishmael’sknifewasheavyandlong.Whichofthemwieldedaparingknifeforself-defense?Whohadtakenthegrapefruitknife?Whenhetriedtoremovetheskinhewoundupcuttingthreeinchesintothespongyyellowflesh.Thibaultwatchedhimforawhileandthenheldouthishands.“Notlikethat,”hesaid.“Therewillbenothingtoeat.Here,givethemhere.”

Ishmaelstopped,examinedhiswork,thenheheldoutthebutcheredvegetableandtheknife.HeheldthebladeouttoThibault.Whatdidheknowaboutkitchenmanners?ThenThibaulthadthemboth,theknifeandtheeggplant,oneineachhand.Deftly,quickly,hebegantopeelbacktheskin.

“Dropit!”Beatrizshouted.Oncallingoutshedroppedherownknife,thebladeslickwithonions,ashowerofmincedonionsscatteringontothefloorlikeawet,heavysnow.ShepulledhergunfromherbeltandraisedituptotheAmbassador.

“Jesus!”Rubensaid.

Thibaultdidnotunderstandwhathehaddone.Hethoughtatfirstshewasangrythathehadcorrectedtheboyonhispeeling.Hethoughttheproblemwaswiththeeggplantandsohelaidtheeggplantdownfirstandthentheknife.

“Keepyourvoicedown,”CarmensaidtoBeatrizinQuechua.“You’regoingtogetusallintrouble.”

“Hetooktheknife.”

Thibaultraiseduphisemptyhands,showedhissmoothpalmstothegun.

“Ihandedhimtheknife,”Ishmaelsaid.“Igaveittohim.”

“Hewasonlygoingtopeel,”Gensaid.Hecouldnotrecognizeawordofthislanguagetheyspoketooneanother.

“Heisn’tsupposedtoholdtheknife,”BeatrizsaidinSpanish.“TheGeneraltoldusthat.Doesn’tanyonelisten?”Shekepthergunaimed,herheavyeyebrowspointeddown.Hereyeswerestartingtowaterfromthefumesoftheonions,andsoonthereweretearswashingoverhercheeks,whicheveryonemisunderstood.

“Whataboutthis?”Thibaultbeganquietly,keepinghishandsup.“EveryonecanstandawayfrommeandIcanshowIshmaelhowtopeelaneggplant.YoukeepyourgunrightonmeandifitlookslikeI’mabouttodosomethingfunnyyoumayshootme.YoumayshootGen,too,ifIdosomethingterrible.”

Carmenputdownherknife.

“Idon’tthink—”Genstarted,butnoonewaspayingattentiontohim.Hefeltasmall,coldhardnessinhischest,likethepitofacherryhadslippedintohisheart.Hedidnotwanttobeshotandhedidnotwanttobeoffereduptobeshot.

“Icanshootyou?”Beatrizsaid.Itwasn’thisplacetogivepermission,wasit?Ithadnotbeenherintentiontoshootanyoneanyway.

“Goahead,”Ishmaelsaid,takingouthisowngunandpointingitattheAmbassador.Hewastryingtokeephisfaceseriousbuthewasn’thavingmuchluck.“I’llshootyou,too,ifIhaveto.Showmehowtopeeltheeggplant.I’veshotmenoverlessthananeggplant.”Berenjena,thatwasthewordinSpanish.Abeautifulword.Itcouldbeawoman’sname.

SoThibaultpickeduptheknifeandsetabouthiswork.Hishandsstayedremarkablysteadyashepeeledwithtwogunspointedonhim.Carmendidnotparticipate.Shewentbacktomincingthegarlic,hittingherknifeagainsttheboardinbrisk,angrystrokes.Thibaultkepthiseyesonthedeeplusterofthepurple-blackskin.“It’sdifficulttodowithaknifethislarge.Youwanttoslideitjustunderthesurface.Pretendthatyou’reskinningafish.Seethat.Veryfluid.It’sdelicatework.”Allthatwaslovelyabouttheeggplantfellintoribbonsonthefloor.

Therewassomethingsoothingaboutit,thewayitallcameoutsoneatly.“Okay,”Ishmaelsaid.“Iunderstand.Giveittomenow.”Heputdownhisgunandheldouthishands.Thibaultturnedtheknife,gavehimthesmoothwoodenhandleandanothereggplant.WhatwouldEdithsaywhensheheardhehadbeenshotoveraneggplantorturningonthetelevision?Ifhewasgoingtodiehehadhopedforalittlebitofhonorinhisdeath.

“Well,”Rubensaid,wipinghisfacewithadishtowel.“Nothingaroundhereisasmallevent.”

Beatrizmoppeduphertearsagainstthedarkgreensleeveofherjacket.“Onions,”shesaid,pushingthenewlyoiledgunbackintoherbelt.

“I’dbehappytodothemforyouifatanypointyoudeemmecapable,”Thibaultsaid,and

wenttowashhishands.

Genstoodnexttothesinktryingtodecidethebestwaytophrasehisquestion.Anywayitwasputitseemedimpolite.HespoketoThibaultinFrench.Hewhispered,“Whydidyoutellhershecouldshootme?”

“Becausetheywouldn’tshootyou.Theyalllikeyoutoomuch.Itwasaharmlessgestureonmypart.Ithoughtitgavememorecredibility.Tellinghershecouldshootme,nowthatwasarisk.Theycarenothingformeandtheythinktheworldofyou.It’snotlikeItoldthemtheycouldshootpoorRuben.ThatgirlmightwanttoshootRuben.”

“Still,”Gensaid.Hewantedtobefirmonthispointbuthefeltitslippingawayfromhim.Sometimeshesuspectedhewastheweakestpersonincaptivity.

“Ihearyougaveheryourwristwatch.”

“Whotoldyouthat?”

“Everybodyknows.Sheflashesitaroundeverychanceshegets.Wouldsheshootthemanwhogaveherhiswatch?”

“Well,that’swhatwedon’tknow.”

ThibaultdriedhishandsandloopedacarelessarmaroundGen’sneck.“Iwouldneverletthemshootyou,nomorethanI’dletthemshootmyownbrother.I’lltellyouwhat,Gen,whenthisisover,you’llcomeandvisitusinParis.ThesecondthisisoverI’mresigningmypostandEdithandIaremovingbacktoParis.Whenyoufeelliketravelingagain,youwillbringMr.HosokawaandRoxane.Youcanmarryoneofmydaughtersifyouwantto,thenyouwouldbemysonratherthanmybrother.”HeleanedforwardandwhisperedinGen’sear,“Thiswillallseemveryfunnytousthen.”

GeninhaledThibault’sbreath.Hetriedtotakeinsomeofthecourage,someofthecarelessness.HetriedtobelievethatonedaytheywouldallbeinParisintheThibaults’apartment,buthecouldn’tpictureit.ThibaultkissedGenbesidehislefteyeandthenlethimgo.Hewentoffinsearchofaroastingpan.

“SpeakinginFrench,”RubensaidtoGen.“That’sveryimpolite.”

“HowisFrenchimpolite?”

“BecauseeveryoneherespeaksSpanish.Ican’trememberthelasttimeIwasinaroomwhereeveryonespokethesamelanguageandthenyougooffspeakingsomelanguageIfailedinhighschool.”Anditwastrue,whentheyspokeinSpanishnooneinthekitchenwaitedforanythingtobeexplained,noonewasforcedtostarevacantlywhiletheotherstorethroughunintelligiblesentences.Noonewonderedsuspiciouslyifwhatwasbeingsaidwasinfactsomethinghorribleaboutthem.Ofthesixpeopleintheroom,SpanishwasafirstlanguageonlyforRuben.GenspokeJapanese,ThibaultFrench,andthethreewiththekniveshadfirstlearnedQuechuaintheirvillageandthenahybridofSpanishandQuechuatogetherfromwhichtheycouldcombouttheSpanishwithvaryingdegreesofsuccess.

“Youcouldtakethedayoff,”Ishmaelsaidtothetranslator,atoughrubberspiralofeggplantskindanglingfromhisknife.“Youdon’thavetostay.”

AtthatCarmen,whohadbeenkeepinghereyesonthegarlicshewaschopping,lookedup.Thenerve,whichshehadfoundsobrieflythenightbefore,hadbeenmissingalldayandallshehadmanagedtodowasavoidGen,butthatdidn’tmeanshewantedhimtogo.Shehadtobelieveshehadbeensenttothekitchenforareason.SheprayedtoSaintRosethattheshynesswhichcamedownonherlikeablindingfogwouldbeliftedassuddenlyasitlanded.

Genhadnointentionofleaving.“Icandomorethantranslate,”hesaid.“Icanwashvegetables.Icanstirsomethingifsomethingneededstirring.”

Thibaultcamebackluggingahugemetalroasterineachhand.Heheavedthemoneatatimeupontothestovetop,whereeachpancoveredthreeburners.“DidIhearleaving?IsGeneventhinkingaboutleaving?”

“Iwasthinkingaboutstaying.”

“Nooneisleaving!Dinnerforfifty-eight,isthatwhattheyexpect?Iwillnotloseonepairofhands,evenifthehandsbelongtotheveryvaluabletranslator.Dotheythinkwe’regoingtodothiseverynight,everymeal?DotheythinkI’macaterer?Hasshechoppedtheonionsyet?MayIinquireastothestateoftheonionsorwillyouthreatentoshootme?”

BeatrizwaggedherknifeatThibault.Herfacewaswetandredfromcrying.“IwouldhaveshotyouifIhadtobutIdidn’t,soyoushouldbegrateful.AndIchoppedyourstupidonions.Areyoufinishedwithmenow?”

“Doesdinnerlookfinishedtoyou?”Thibaultsaid,pouringoilintothepansandturningonthebrightblueflamesofgas.“Gowashthechickens.Gen,bringmetheonions.Sautétheseonions.”

“Whydoeshegettocooktheonions?”Beatrizsaid.“They’remyonions.AndIwon’twashthechickensbecausethatdoesnotinvolveaknife.Iwasonlysentinheretoworktheknives.”

“Iwillkillher,”ThibaultsaidinwearyFrench.

Gentookthebowlofonionsandhuggedittohischest.Itwasnevertherighttimeoritwasalwaystherighttime,dependingonhowyoulookedatit.Theycouldstandthereforhours,sixsquaresoftileapartfromeachotherandneversayanythingoroneofthem,eitherone,couldstepforwardandbegintospeak.GenwashopingitwouldbeCarmen,butthenGenwashopingtheywouldallbereleasedandneitherseemedlikelytohappen.GengavetheonionstoThibault,whodumpedthemintothetwopanswheretheyspatandhissedlikeBeatrizherself.Rallyingtheverysmallamountofbraveryhestillpossessed,Genwenttothedrawerbythetelephone,whichhungnakedonthewallwithoutitscord.Hefoundasmallpadofpaperandapen.Hewrotethewordscuchillo,ajo,chicaeachonitsownpieceofpaperandtookthemtoCarmenwhileThibaultarguedwithBeatrizoverwhowastostirtheonions.Hetriedtokeepinmindallthelanguageshehadspoken,allthecitieshehadbeento,alltheimportantwordsofothermenthathadcomethroughhismouth.Whatheaskedofhimselfwassmallandstillhecouldfeelhishandsshaking.“Knife,”hesaid,andputthefirstpiecedown.“Garlic.”Hesetthatoneontopofthegarlic.“Girl.”ThelastpiecehehandedtoCarmenandaftershelookedatitforaminutesheputitinherpocket.

Carmennodded,shemadeasound,somethinglike,“ah,”notquiteaword.

Gensighed.Itwasbetternowbutonlyslightly.“Doyouwanttolearn?”

Carmennoddedagain,hereyesfixedonadrawerhandle.ShetriedtoseeSaintRoseofLimaonthathandle,atinyblue-cloakedwomanbalancingonthecurvedsilverbar.Shetriedtofindhervoicethroughprayer.ShethoughtofRoxaneCoss,whoseveryhandshadbraidedherhair.Shouldn’tthatgiveherstrength?

“Idon’tknowthatI’mmuchofateacher.I’mtryingtoteachMr.HosokawaSpanish.Hewritesdownwordsinanotebookandmemorizesthem.Maybewecouldtrythesameforyou.”

Afteraminuteofsilence,Carmenofferedupthatsamesound,alittle“ah”thatgavenorealinformationotherthanthatshehadheardhim.Shewasanidiot.Afool.

Genlookedaround.Ishmaelwaswatchingthembuthedidn’tseemtocare.

“Theeggplantisperfect!”Rubensaid.“Thibault,didyouseethiseggplant?Everycubeisexactlythesamesize.”

“Iforgottotakeouttheseeds,”Ishmaelsaid.

“Theseedsdon’tmatter,”Rubensaid.“Theseedsareasgoodforyouasanythingelse.”

“Gen,areyougoingtosauté?”Thibaultsaid.

“Oneminute,”Gensaid,andhelduphishand.HewhisperedtoCarmen,“Haveyouchangedyourmind?Doyouwantmetohelpyou?”

AndthenitseemedthesaintgaveCarmenasharpblowbetweenhershoulderbladesandthewordthatwassotightlylodgedinherthroatdisengagedlikeatoughpieceofgristlecaughtinthewindpipe.“Yes,”shesaid,gasping.“Yes.”

“Sowe’llpractice?”

“Everyday.”Carmenpickedupthewords,knifeandgarlic,andsheputtheminherpocketalongwithgirl.“Ilearnedmyletters.Ihaven’tpracticedinawhile.Iusedtomakethemeverydayandthenwestartedtrainingforthis.”

Gencouldseeherupinthemountains,whereitwasalwayscoldatnight,sittingbythefire,herfaceflushedfromheatandconcentration,onepieceofdarkhairfallingfrombehindherearthewayitwasnow.Shehasacheaptablet,astubbypencil.Inhismindhestandsnexttoher,praisesthestraightlinesofherTandH,thedelicatesweepofherQ.Outsidehecanhearthelastcallofthebirdsastheycareentowardstheirnestsbeforedusk.Hehadthoughtoncethatshewasaboyanditterrifiedhim,thisfeeling.“We’llgoovertheletters,”hesaid.“We’llstartthere.”

“AmItheonlyonewhohastowork?”Beatrizcalledloudly.

“When?”Carmenonlymouthedtheword.

“Tonight,”Gensaid.Whathewantedthenwassomethinghecouldbarelybelieve.Hewantedtofoldherinhisarms.Hewantedtokissthepartingofherhair.Hewantedtotouchherlipswiththetipsofhisfingers.HewantedtowhisperthingstoherinJapanese.Maybe,ifthere

wastime,hecouldteachherJapaneseaswell.

“Tonightinthechinacloset,”Carmensaid.“Teachmetonight.”

seven

thepriestwasrightabouttheweather,eventhoughthebreakcamelaterthanhehadpredicted.BythemiddleofNovember,thegarúahadended.Itdidnotdriftaway.Itdidnotlessen.Itsimplystopped,sothatonedayeverythinghadthesaturatedqualityofabookdroppedintoabathtubandthenextdaytheairwasbrightandcrispandextremelyblue.ItremindedMr.HosokawaofcherryblossomseasoninKyotoanditremindedRoxaneCossofOctoberonLakeMichigan.Theystoodtogetherintheearlymorningbeforeshebeganhersinging.Hepointedoutapairofyellowbirdstoher,brightaschrysanthemums,sittingonthebranchofsomepreviouslyunseentree.Theypeckedforawhileatthespongybarkandthenflewoff,firstoneandthentheother,upandoverthewall.Onebyoneallthehostagesandalltheirkeeperswentuptothewindowsaroundthehouse,staredandblinkedandstaredagain.SomanypeopleputtheirhandsandnosesontheglassthatVicePresidentIglesiashadtocomeoutwitharagandabottleofammoniaandwipedowneachpane.“Lookatthegarden,”hesaidtonooneinparticular.“Theweedsareastallastheflowers.”Onewouldhavethoughtthatwithsomuchrainandsolittlelighttheforwardmarchofgrowthwouldhavebeensuspended,wheninfacteverythinghadthrived.Theweedsalongsidethedomesticatedbeddingplantssniffedatthedistantjungleintheairandstretchedtheirrootsdownandstretchedtheirleavesupinanattempttoturnthevice-presidentialgardenbackintoawildthing.Theydrankupeverybitoftherain.Theycouldhavesurvivedanotheryearofwetweather.Leftlongenoughtotheirowndevices,theywouldovertakethehouseandpulldownthegardenwall.Afterall,thisyardhadoncebeenapartofthecontinuum,thedenseandtwistedinterstateofvinesthatspreadrighttothesandyedgesoftheocean.Theonlythingthatpreventedthemfromtakingoverthehousewasthegardener,whopulledupwhateverhedeemedunworthy,burnedit,andthenclippedbacktherest.Butthegardenerwasnowonanindefinitevacation.

Thesunhadbeenupandshiningnomorethananhourandinthattimeseveraloftheplantshadgrownhalfacentimeter.

“I’llhavetodosomethingabouttheyard.”Rubensighed,notthatheknewwherehewouldfindthetimewithallthatneededtobedoneinthehouse.Notthattheywerelikelytolethimoutsideinthefirstplace.Notthattheywerelikelytogivehimthethingsheneeded:hedgeshears,trowels,pruningknives.Everythinginthegardenshedwasamurderweapon.

AsFatherArguedasopenedthewindowsinthelivingroom,hethankedGodforthelightandthesweetqualityoftheair.Thoughhewasinthehouse,acrossthegarden,andbehindthewall,hecouldhearmoreclearlytherustlingonthestreetwithouttheraintomufflethesound.Therewerenomoremessagesshoutedoverthewall,butstillhecouldimaginealargecrowdofmenandguns.Thepriestsuspectedthateithertheyhadnoplanofactionanymoreorthattheyhadaplansocomplexthatitnolongerexactlyincludedthem.WhileGeneralBenjamincontinuedtocutouteverymentionoftheircircumstancesfromthenewspaper,theyhadcaughtasnippetoftalkonthetelevisionthatatunnelwasbeingdug,that

thepolicewereplanningondiggingtheirwayupintothehouse,andsothecrisiswouldendmuchthewayithadstarted,withstrangerscrashingintotheroomandredirectingthecourseoftheirlives,butnoonebelievedthis.Itwastoofar-fetched,toomuchlikeaspymovietobereal.FatherArguedasstaredathisfeet,hischeapblacklace-upshoessettledonsuchexpensivecarpet,andhewonderedwhatwentondeepbeneaththeground.Heprayedfortheirsafedelivery,forthesafedeliveryofeachandeveryoneofthem,buthedidnotpraytoberescuedthroughatunnel.Hedidnotpraytoberescuedatall.HeonlyprayedforGod’swill,Hisloveandprotection.HetriedtoclearhisheartofselfishthoughtswhileatthesametimebeinggratefulforallthatGodhadgrantedhim.Takethemass,asonlyoneexample.Inhisformerlife(forthatwashowhethoughtofitnow)hewasonlyallowedtocelebratethemasswithhisparishionerswheneveryoneelsewasonholidayorsickandthenitwasthesixA.M.masstheygavetohimoramassonTuesday.Mainlyhisresponsibilitieswithinthechurchwerethesameastheoneshehadheldbeforehewasapriest:hedistributedthehosthehadnotblessedonthefarleft-handaisleofthechurchorhelitthecandlesorhesnuffedthemout.Here,aftermuchdiscussion,theGeneralsagreedtoallowMessnertobringintheimplementsofcommunion,andlastSundayinthediningroom,FatherArguedascelebratedthemasswithallofhisfriends.PeoplewhowerenotCatholicattendedandpeoplewhodidnotunderstandwhathewassayinggotdownontheirknees.Everyonewasmorelikelytopraywhentherewassomethingspecifictheywanted.Theyoungterroristsclosedtheireyesandbenttheirchinsdeeplytotheirchests,whiletheGeneralsstayedinthebackoftheroom.Itcouldhavebeensomethingelseentirely.Somanyoftheterroristorganizationsnowadayswantedtoabolishallreligion,especiallyCatholicism.HadtheybeentakenoverbyLaDirecciónAuténticainsteadofthemuchmorereasonableLaFamiliadeMartinSuarez,theywouldneverhavebeenallowedtopray.LDAwouldhavedraggedonehostageuptotheroofeverydayforthepresstosee,andthenshothimintheheadinanattempttospeednegotiations.FatherArguedasconsideredsuchthingswhilehelayontheliving-roomcarpetlateatnight.Theywerefortunate,really.Therewasnootherwaytolookatit.Wasn’ttherestillfreedominthedeepestsenseiftherewasthefreedomtopray?Athismass,RoxaneCosssang“AveMaria,”aneventofsuchstartlingbeautythat(andhedidnotwishtosoundcompetitive)itsimplycouldnotbetoppedatanychurch,anywhere,includingRome.Hervoicewassopure,solight,thatitopeneduptheceilingandcarriedtheirpetitionsdirectlytoGod.Itsweptoverthemlikethefeatherydustingofwings,sothateventheCatholicswhonolongerpracticedtheirfaith,andthenon-Catholicswhocamealongbecausetherewasnothingelsetodo,andallthosewhohadnoideawhathewassaying,andthestone-coldatheistswhowouldn’thavecaredanyway,becauseofhersingingtheyallwentawayfeelingmoved,feelingcomforted,feeling,perhaps,theslightesttremorsoffaith.Theprieststaredattheslightlyyellowedstuccowallthatprotectedthemfromwhateverwaswaitingtohappenoutside.Itmusthavebeentenfeethighandwascoveredinsomesectionswithivy.Itwasabeautifulwall,notunlikewhatmighthavesurroundedtheMountofOlives.Perhapsitwasnotimmediatelyobviousbutnowhesawhowonecouldconsidersuchawallablessing.

RoxanesangRossinithatmorning,inkeepingwiththeweather.Onesong,“Bellacrudele,”shesangseventimes.Clearly,shewastryingtoperfectsomething,tofindsomethinglodgedattheverycenterofthescorethatshefeltshehadnotreached.SheandKatocommunicatedintheirownway.Shepointedatalineofnotes.Heplayedit.Shetappedherfingersinlight

rhythmagainstthetopofthepiano.Heplayeditagain.Shesangthelineunaccompanied.Heplayeditwithouther.Shesangwhileheplayed.Theycircledeachother,eachoneoblivioustofeelings,eachcaringonlyforthemusic.Sheclosedhereyeswhilehemovedthroughtheopening,shenoddedherheadslightlyinapproval.Hemadesucheasyworkofthescore.Therewasnoshowybravadointhemovementsofhisarms.Hekeptthingssmallandlight,perfectforhervoice.Itwasonethingwhenheplayedforhimself,butwhenhewastheaccompanistheplayedlikeamanwhowastryingnottowaketheneighbors.

Roxanestoodsostraightthatonecouldeasilyforgethowshortshewas.Sherestedherhandonthepiano,thenshecrossedherpalmsoverherheart.Shesang.ShehadtakentofollowingtheexampleoftheJapaneseandhadgivenupwearinghershoes.Mr.Hosokawahadkeptthetraditionofhishostandhadwornhisshoesforthefirstweekoftheircaptivity,butastimewentonhefeltthathecouldnolongerbearit.Wearingshoesinthehousewasbarbaric.Therewasalmostasmuchindignityinwearingshoesinthehouseastherewasinbeingkidnapped.Whenhisshoescameoff,thensocameGen’s,andKato’s,andMr.Yamamoto’s,Mr.Aoi’s,Mr.Ogawa’s,andRoxane’s.ShepaddedaroundinapairofathleticsocksborrowedfromtheVicePresident,whosefeetwerenotmuchlargerthanherown.Shesangnowinthosesocks.Whenshegotthesongexactlyrightshetookitstraightthroughtotheendwithoutaflutterofhesitation.Itwasimpossibletosaythathersinginghadimproved,buttherewassomethinginherinterpretationofthelinesthathadshiftedalmostimperceptibly.Shesangasifshewassavingthelifeofeverypersonintheroom.Abreezemadethesheersatthewindowshiverforamomentbuteverythingelsewasstill.Therewasnotasoundfromthestreet.Therewasnotasoundfromthetwoyellowbirds.

Onthemorningthattherainsended,GenwaiteduntilthelastnotehadbeensungandthenwenttostandbesideCarmen.ItwasaparticularlygoodtimetotalkwithoutbeingnoticedaseveryonewanderedaroundinastateofstunnedconfusionafterRoxaneletgoofherfinalnote.Ifanyonehadthoughttosimplywalkoutthedoor,theymightnothavebeenstopped,butnoonewasthinkingaboutleaving.WhenMr.Hosokawawenttogetherwater,Roxanestooduptofollowhimandthenloopedherarmthroughhisarm.

“She’sinlovewithhim,”CarmenwhisperedtoGen.Hemisunderstoodherforthesmallestinstant,heardonlythewordlove.Thenhestoppedandmadehimselfrecalltheentiresentence.Hecoulddothat.Itwasasifhehadataperecorderinhishead.

“MissCoss?InlovewithMr.Hosokawa?”

Carmennodded,herheadmakingonlythesmallestgesture,buthehadlearnedtoreadher.Love?

Whathehadseen,anddonehisbesttooverlook,wasthatMr.HosokawawasinlovewithRoxane.ThenotionthattheoppositecouldbepossiblehadneveroccurredtohimandheaskedCarmenwhatshesaw.

“Everything,”Carmenwhispered.“Thewayshelooksathim,thewayshechooseshim.She’salwayssittingwithhimandtheycan’teventalk.He’ssopeaceful.Shewouldwanttobewithhim.”

“Didshetellyou?”

“Maybe.”Carmensmiled.“ShetalkstomesometimesinthemorningbutIdon’tknowwhatshesays.”

Ofcourse,Genthought.Hewatchedthemwalkaway,hisemployerandthesoprano.“Iwouldthinkthateveryonemustbeinlovewithher.Howcouldsheevenmakeachoice?”

“Areyouinlovewithher?”Carmenasked.Shemethiseyesinawaythatwouldneverhavebeenpossibleaweekago.ItwasGenwhohadtolookaway.

“No,”hesaid.“No.”GenwasinlovewithCarmen.Andthoughhemethereverynightinthechinaclosetandhelpedherwithherreadingandwriting,heneverrevealedasmuch.Theyspokeofvowelsandconsonants.Theyspokeofdiphthongsandpossessives.Shecopiedlettersintoanotebook.Asmanywordsashegavetoher,sheaskedformore.Shewouldhavegladlykepthimupallnight,repeating,practicing,quizzing.Hespenthiswholelifeinaconfuseddreamstateinwhichhewasneverexactlyawakeorcompletelyasleep.Hewonderedsometimesifitwasloveorjustalackofrestthathadtwistedsuchalonginginhisheart.Hestumbled.Hedriftedoffinwing-backedchairsandintheminutesheslepthedreamedofCarmen.Yes,shewasshy,andyes,aterroristfromthejungle,butshewasassmartasanygirlhehadmetatuniversity.Youcouldtellbythewayshepickedthingsup.Allshehadneededwasthesmallestamountofinstruction.Sheatethroughinformationlikefirelicksuphayandaskedformore.Shetookoffherguneverynightandputitintheglass-frontcupboardbesidethebluegravyboat.Shesatonthefloorwithhernotebookbalancedontopofherknees,herpencilsharp.TherehadbeennogirlslikeCarmenatuniversity.TherehadneverbeenagirllikeCarmen.WhatasenseofhumoronewouldneedtobelievethatthewomanyouloveisnotinTokyoorParisorNewYorkorAthens.Thewomanyouloveisagirlwhodressesasaboyandshelivesinavillageinajungle,thenameofwhichyouarenotallowedtoknow,notthatknowingthenamewouldbeparticularlyhelpfulintryingtofindit.Thewomanyouloveputshergunbesideabluegravyboatatnightsothatyoucanteachhertoread.Shecameintoyourlifethroughanair-conditionerventandhowshewillleaveisthequestionthatkeepsyouawakeinthefewfreemomentsyouhavetosleep.

“Mr.HosokawaandMissCoss,”Carmensaid.“Outofallthepeopleintheworld,theyfoundeachother.Whatarethechancesofthat?”

“WhataboutMrs.Hosokawa?”Gensaid.Hedidnotknowhisemployer ’swifewell,buthesawheroften.Shewasadignifiedwomanwithcoolhandsandacalmingvoice.ShecalledhimMr.Watanabe.

“Mrs.HosokawalivesinJapan,”Carmensaid,lookingofftowardsthekitchen,“whichisaboutamillionkilometersawayfromhere.Besides,heisn’tgoinghome,andwhileI’msorryforMrs.Hosokawa,Idon’tthinkthatmeansthatMr.Hosokawashouldbealone.”

“Whatdoyoumean,heisn’tgoinghome?”

CarmengaveGenaveryslightsmile.Shetiltedbackherheadsothathecouldseeherfacebeneaththebillofhercap.“Thisiswherewelivenow.”

“Notforever,”Gensaid.

“Ithink,”Carmensaid,mouthingthewordswithoutmakinganysound.Shewaswonderingif

shehadsaidtoomuch.SheknewthatherloyaltiesabsolutelymustbetotheGenerals,buttellingthingstoGenwasn’tliketellingthingstoanyoneelse.Gencouldkeepasecretbecauseeverythingaboutthemwasasecret,thechinacloset,thereading.Shetrustedhimabsolutely.Shepluckedatthesideofhishandwithtwofingersandthenwalkedawayfromhim.Hewaitedaminutebeforefollowingher.Shewalkedsilently,hermovementssmallandrelaxed.Noonenoticedherasshepassedby.Shewentintothesmalllavatoryoffthehall.Alloftheprettyrose-scentedsoapsweregonenowandthetowelsweredingy,butthegoldswanwasstillnestingoverthesinkandwhenyouturnedthewing-shapedhandles,waterstillslidfromherlongthroat.Carmentookoffhercapandwashedherface.Shetriedtocomboutherhairwithherfingers.Herfaceinthemirrorwastoocoarse,toodark.Athomesomepeoplehadcalledherbeautifulbutnowshehadseenbeautyandknewitwassomethingshecouldneverpossess.Somemornings,onlyafew,whenCarmencameintotheroomtobringRoxaneherbreakfast,thesingerhadstillbeenasleepandCarmenwouldputdownthetrayandtouchhershoulder.WhenRoxane’sgreat,paleeyesblinkedopenshewouldsmileatCarmen,shewouldpullthecoversbackandmotionforCarmentoliedownnexttoherinthewarmembroideredsheets.Shewascarefultodangleherbootsovertheedge.Theywouldbothclosetheireyesandtakeanextrafiveminutesofsleep,RoxanepullingthecoversuptoCarmen’sneck.HowquicklyCarmendreamedofhersisters,hermother!Inonlyafewminutesofsleeptheyallcametovisither.Theyallwantedtoseeherthere,nestledinthepillowsofsuchacomfortablebed,besidesuchanunimaginablewoman.Yellowhair,blueeyes,skinlikewhiterosesbrushedinpink.WhowouldnotbeinlovewithRoxaneCoss?

“Gen!”VictorFyodorovsaidjustashewasapproachingthebathroomdoor.“Howcanyoubesodifficulttofindwhenthereisnoplaceforyoutogo?”

“Ididn’trealize—”

“Hervoicethismorning,didn’tyouthink?Perfection!”

Genagreed.

“So,thisisthetimetotalktoher.”

“Now?”

“NowIknowistheperfecttime.”

“I’veaskedyoueverydaythisweek.”

“AndIhavenotbeencompletelyprepared,thatistrue,butthismorningwhenshewentoverandoveragainontheRossini,Iknewthatshewouldunderstandmyinadequacies.Sheisacompassionatewoman.TodayIwasassuredofthat.”Fyodorovwastwistinghisbighandsonearoundtheotherasifhewerewashingthembeneathsomeunseenstreamofwater.Thoughhisvoicewascalm,therewasadistinctlookofpanicinhiseyes,thesharpsmellofpaniconhisskin.

“Thetimeformeisnotexactly—”

“Thetimeforme,”Fyodorovsaid.Thenheaddedinalowvoice,“Iwilllosemynervetospeak.”Fyodorovhadshavedoffhisheavygrowthofbeard,aprocessthathadbeenbothpainfulandtime-consuming,giventhepoorqualityoftherazorblades,andleftbehindavast

expanseofhisownraw,pinkface.HehadhadtheVicePresidentwashandironhisclotheswhilehestoodbesidethewashingmachine,shiveringwithatowelaroundhiswaist.HehadbathedandtrimmedthehairsfromhisnoseandearswithapairofcuticlescissorsthathehadbribedoffofGilbertwithapackofcigarettes.Whilehehadthechance,hecuthisnailsandtriedtodosomethingabouthishair,butthatprovedtobetoogreatataskforcuticlescissors.Hehadmadeeveryeffortheknewtomake.Thiswasmostcertainlytheday.

Gennoddedtowardsthebathroomdoor.“Iwasonmyway.”

FyodorovlookedoverhisshoulderandthenheldouthishandasiftoleadGenin.“Ofcourse.Ofcoursethatisnothing.ThatlongIcanwait.Howeverlong.Youtakeyourtime.Iwillbeoutsidethedoor.IwillmakesurethatIamfirstinlineforourtranslatorwhenheisfinished.”SweatwascreepingdownthesidesofFyodorov’sshirt,leavinganewdarkstaininsideahistoryofmuchpalerstains.Genwonderedifthatwaswhathemeantbybeingunabletowaitmuchlonger.

“Oneminute,”hesaidquietly,andthenlethimselfinsidewithoutknocking.

“IwishIknewwhatyouweresaying.”Carmenlaughed.Shetriedtomimicthewords,spokeaRussiannonsensewhichsoundedsomethingcloseto,“Inevercrackertable.”

Genputafingertohislips.Theroomwassmallandverydark,blackmarblewalls,blackmarblefloors.Oneofthelightshadburnedoutnexttothemirror.GenwouldhavetoremembertoaskRubenaboutanewbulb.

Shesatuponthesink.“Itsoundedveryimportant.ItwasLedbed,theRussian?”Shewaswhispering.

GentoldheritwasFyodorov.

“Oh,thebigone.HowdoyouknowRussian,too?Howdoyouknowsomanylanguages?”

“It’smyjob.”

“No,no.It’sbecauseyouunderstandsomethingandIwanttoknowit,too.”

“Ionlyhaveaminute,”hewhispered.Hewassoclosetoherhair,whichwasdarker,deepereventhanthemarble.“Ihavetotranslateforhim.He’swaitingrightoutsidethedoor.”

“Wecantalktonight.”

Genshookhishead.“Iwanttotalkaboutwhatyousaid.Whatdoyoumean,thisiswherewelivenow?”

Carmensighed.“YouknowIcan’tsay.Butaskyourself,woulditbesoawfulifweallstayedhereinthisbeautifulhouse?”Thisroomwasathirdofthesizeofthechinacloset.Herkneestouchedhislegs.Ifhetookevenahalfstepbackhewouldbeonthecommode.Shewishedshecouldtakehishand.Whywouldhewanttoleaveher,leavethisplace?

“Thishastoendsoonerorlater,”hesaid.“Thesesortsofthingsneverjustgoonindefinitely,somebodystopsthem.”

“Onlyifpeopledoterriblethings.Wehaven’thurtanyone.Nooneisunhappyhere.”

“Everyoneisunhappyhere.”ButevenashewassayingitGenwasnotentirelysureitwastrue.Carmen’sfaceturneddownandshestudiedherhandsinherlap.

“Goonandtranslate,”shesaid.

“Ifthere’ssomethingyoushouldtellme.”

Carmen’seyeswerewateryandsheblinkedthemhard.Howridiculousitwouldbeforhertocry.Woulditbesuchaterriblethingtostay?BetogetherlongenoughtospeakperfectSpanish,toreaditandwrite,tolearnEnglishandthenmaybesomeJapanese?Butthatwasherownselfishness.Sheknewthat.Genwasrighttowanttogetawayfromher.Sheofferednothing.Sheonlytookhistime.“Idon’tknowathing.”

Fyodorovknockedonthedoor.Hismountingnervousnesswouldnotallowhimtodootherwise.“Trans-laaa-tor?”Hesangtheword.

“Aminute,”Gencalledthroughthedoor.

TimewasupandnowCarmenhadlostacoupleoftears.Thereneededtobewholedaystogether.Thereneededtobeweeksandmonthsofuninterruptedtimetosayallthethingsthatneededtobesaid.“Maybeyou’reright,”hetoldherfinally.Thewayshewassittingontheblackmarblesinkinfrontofthemirror,hecouldseebothherfaceandhernarrowbackatthesametime.Hecouldseeinthelargeovalmirrorwiththeframeofgildedgoldleaves,hisownfaceoverhershoulder,lookingather.Hecouldseeinhisfacealovethatwassoobviouslydisplayedthatshemustalreadyknoweverythingtherewastoknowaboutit.Hewassoclosetoherthenthattheyownedeverymoleculeofairinthetinyroomandtheairgrewheavywiththeirdesireandworkedtomovethemtogether.Itwaswiththesmalleststepforwardthathisfacewasinherhairandthenherarmswerearoundhisbackandtheywereholdingeachother.Itseemedsosimpletogettothisplace,suchamagnificentrelief,thathecouldn’timaginewhyhehadnotbeenholdinghereveryminutesincetheyfirstmet.

“Translator?”Fyodorovsaid,hisvoicealittleworriedthistime.

Carmenleanedforwardandkissedhim.Therewasnotimeforkissingbutshewantedhimtoknowthatinthefuturetherewouldbe.Akissinsomuchlonelinesswaslikeahandpullingyouupoutofthewater,scoopingyouupfromaplaceofdrowningandintotherecklessabundanceofair.Akiss,anotherkiss.“Go,”shewhispered.

AndGen,whowantednomoreintheworldthanthisgirlandthewallsofthisbathroom,kissedheragain.Hewasbreathlessanddizzyandhadtoleanamomentagainsthershoulderbeforehecouldstepaway.Carmengotoffthesinkandstoodbehindthedoor,openedthedoor,andsenthimbackoutintotheworld.

“Areyouunwell?”Fyodorovasked,moreinirritationthanconcern.Nowthebackofhisshirtwasclingingdamplytohisshoulders.Didn’tthetranslatorknowthiswouldnotbeeasyforhim?Allofthetimehehadspent,firstconsideringwhetherornotheshouldspeakandthendecidingtospeak,thenafterthatdecisionwasmadetherewasthedecisionastowhatshouldbesaid.Inhisheartthefeelingswereclear,buttotranslatesuchfeelingsintowordswasanothermatterentirely.LedbedandBerezovskyweresympathetic,butthentheywereRussians.TheyunderstoodthepainofFyodorov’slove.Frankly,theyexperiencedsimilar

painsthemselves.Itwasnotimpossiblethattheywouldeventuallyfindtheirownnerveandapproachthetranslatortoapproachthesoprano.ThemoreFyodorovspokeofhisheart’sdesire,themoretheyweresureitwasamaladywithwhichtheyhadallbeeninfected.

“Iapologizeforthedelay,”Gensaid.Theroombeforehimmeltedandwavedlikeahorizonlineinthedesert.Heleanedbackagainsttheclosedbathroomdoor.Shewasinthere,nottwoandahalfcentimetersofwoodawayfromhim.

“Youlookunwell,”theRussiansaid,andnowhewasconcerned.Hehadafondnessforthetranslator.“Yourvoicesoundsweak.”

“I’msureI’llbefine.”

“Youarepale,Ithink.Youreyesareverydamp.PerhapsifyouaretrulyilltheGeneralswillletyougo.Sincetheaccompanist,theyclaimtobeverysympatheticinmattersofhealth.”

Genblinkedinanattempttostilltheswayingfurniture,butthebrightstripesofanottomancontinuedtopulseintherhythmofhisblood.Hestoodupstraightandshookhishead.“Lookatme,”hesaiduncertainly,“finenow.Ihavenointentionofleaving.”Helookedatthesunpouringinthroughthetallwindows,theshadowsoftheleavesfallingacrossthecarpet.Finally,standingherewiththeRussian,GencouldunderstandwhatCarmenwassaying.Lookatthisroom!Thedraperiesandchandeliers,thesoft,deepcushionsofthesofas,thecolors,goldandgreenandblue,everyshadeajewel.Whowouldnotwanttobeinthisroom?

Fyodorovsmiledandslappedthetranslatorontheback.“Whatamanyouare!Youareallforthepeople.Ah,howgreatlyIadmireyou.”

“Allforthepeople,”Genrepeated.TheSlaviclanguagewaspearbrandyonhistongue.

“ThenwewillgotospeaktoRoxaneCoss!Thereisnotimeformetowashagain.IfIwastostopIwouldlosemynerveforever.”

Genledthewaytothekitchenbuthemightaswellhavebeenwalkingalone.HehadnotonethoughtforFyodorov,forhowhefeltorwhathemightwishtosay.Gen’sheadwasfilledwithCarmen.Carmenuponthesink.Hewouldalwaysrememberherthere.Yearsfromnowwhenhewouldthinkofheritwouldalwaysbeasshewasonthatday,sittingupontheblackmarble,herheavyworkbootspatchedwithelectricaltape,herhandsflatoutonthecoolsinktop.Herhairhunglooseandstraight,partedinthemiddle,tuckedbehindsuchdelicateears.Hethoughtofthekiss,herarmsaroundhisback,butthegreatestpleasurewasseeingherface,thesweetexactshapeofaheart,herdarkbrowneyesandsuchunrulyeyebrows,theroundmouthhewantedtotouch.Mr.Hosokawawaseasilydistractedfromhisstudies.Tellhimawordonedayandhemaywellhaveforgottenitthenext.Helaughedoffhismistakes,puttinycheckmarksbythewordshehadmisspelled.NotCarmen.TotellsomethingtoCarmenwastohaveitsewnforeverintothesilkyfoldsofherbrain.Sheclosedhereyesandsaidtheword,spelleditaloudandonpaper,andthensheownedit.Hedidnotneedtoaskheragain.Theywentforward,pressingonthroughthenightasiftheywerebeinghunteddownbywolves.Shewantedmoreofeverything.Morevocabulary,moreverbs.Shewantedhimtoexplaintherulesofgrammarandpunctuation.Shewantedgerundsandinfinitivesandparticiples.Attheendofthelesson,whentheywerebothtootiredforanotherword,she

wouldleanbackagainstthecupboardsinthechinaclosetandyawn.“Tellmeaboutcommas,”shewouldsay,theplatestoweringoverherhead,aserviceingoldfortwenty-four,aservicewithawidecobalt-bluebandaroundtheedgeforsixty,eachcuphangingstillonitsowncuphook.

“It’ssolate.Youdon’tneedtoknowaboutcommastonight.”

Shefoldedherarmsacrosshernarrowchest,slidherbacktowardsthefloor.“Commasendthesentence,”shesaid,forcinghimtocorrecther,toexplain.

Genclosedhiseyes,leanedforward,andputhisheadonhisknees.Sleepwasacountryforwhichhecouldnotobtainavisa.“Commas,”hesaidthroughayawn,“pausethesentenceandseparateideas.”

“Ah,”saidFyodorov,“sheiswithyouremployer.”

GenlookedupandCarmenwasgoneandhewasinthekitchenwithFyodorov.Thechinaclosetwasonlyfivefeetaway.Asfarasheknew,heandCarmenweretheonlyoneswhowentinthereatall.Mr.HosokawaandRoxanewerestandingatthesink.Itwasoddthewaytheyneverspokeandyetalwaysseemedtobeengagedinaconversation.Ignacio,Guadalupe,andHumbertowereatthebreakfasttablecleaningguns,apuzzleofdisconnectedmetalspreadingoutonnewspapersbeforethemastheyrubbedoilintoeachpart.Thibaultsatatthetablewiththem,readingcookbooks.

“IsupposeIshouldtryagainlater,”Fyodorovsaidsadly.“Whensheisn’tsobusy.”

RoxaneCossdidnotseemtobeintheleastbitbusy.Shewassimplystandingthere,runningherfingeraroundtheedgeofaglass,herfacetilteduptowardsthelight.“Weshouldatleastask,”Gensaid.Hewantedtomeethisobligation,tonothaveFyodorovfollowinghimplaces,sayinghewasnowabletospeakandthentwominuteslatersayinghewasunable.

Fyodorovtookalargehandkerchieffromhispocketandrubbedathisfaceasifheweretryingtoremoveasmearofdirt.“Thereisnoreasontodothisnow.Wearen’tgoinganywhere.Wewillneverbereleased.IsitnotenoughthatIshouldgettoseehereveryday?Thatisthegreatestluxury.Therestofthisisallselfishnessonmypart.WhatdoIthinkIhavetosaytoher?”

ButGenwasn’tlistening.Russianwasbynomeanshisbestlanguage,andifhisconcentrationlapsedevenforamomentitallbecameablurofconsonants,hardCyrilliclettersbouncinglikehailoffatinroof.HesmiledatFyodorovandnodded,akindoflazinesshewouldneverhaveallowedhimselfintherealworld.

“Isn’tthesunlightremarkable?”Mr.HosokawasaidtoGenwhenhenoticedhimstandingthere.“SuddenlyIamhungryandtheonlythingthatwillfeedmeissunlight.AllIwanttodoisstandnexttowindows.Iwonderifitisn’tavitamindeficiency.”

“Iwouldthinkwearealllackingsomethingbynow,”Gensaid.“YouknowMr.Fyodorov.”

Mr.HosokawabowedtohimandFyodorov,confused,bowedinreturnandthenbowedtoRoxane,whobowed,thoughlessdeeply,tohim.Inacircletheyresemblednothingsomuchasgeesedippingtheirlongnecksdowntothewater.“HewishestospeaktoRoxaneaboutthe

music.”GensaiditfirstinJapaneseandthenagaininEnglish.Mr.HosokawaandRoxanebothsmiledatFyodorov,whothenpressedhishandkerchieftohismouthasifhemightbegintobiteit.

“ThenIwillgoforchess.”Mr.Hosokawalookedathiswatch.“Wearetoplayateleven.Iwillnotbeterriblyearly.”

“I’msurethere’snoneedforyoutogo,”Gensaid.

“Butnoneedtostay.”Mr.HosokawalookedatRoxaneandwithacertaintendernessofexpressionseemedtocoverallhispointsinsilence:hewouldbegoing,hewouldplaychess,shecouldcomeandsitwiththemlaterifsheliked.TherewasabriefexchangeofsmilesbetweenthetwoofthemandthenMr.Hosokawaleftthroughtheswingingdoor.TherewasalightnessinhisstepGendidnotrememberseeingbefore.Hewalkedwithhisheadup.Heworehisshabbytuxedopantsandgrayingshirtwithdignity.

“Heisagreatman,yourfriend,”shesaidquietly,watchingtheemptyplacewhereMr.Hosokawahadbeen.

“Ihavealwaysthoughtso,”Gensaid.Hestillfeltpuzzled,despitewhatCarmenhadexplained.Thelookthatpassedbetweenthetwowasoneherecognized.Genwasinloveandthefeelingwassoutterlyforeigntohimthathehadahardtimebelievingthatotherswereexperiencingitaswell.Except,ofcourse,forSimonThibault,whosattherewithhiscookbooks,wearinghiswife’sbluewraplikeaflag.EveryoneknewThibaultwasinlove.

RoxaneliftedherheadtothegreatheightofFyodorov.Shecomposedherfaceinadifferentwaynow.Shewasreadytolisten,readytoreceiveherprofessionalcompliments,readytomakethespeakerfeelthatwhathewassayingactuallyhadsomemeaningforher.“Mr.Fyodorov,wouldyoubemorecomfortablesittinginthelivingroom?”

Fyodorovfalteredundertheweightofadirectquestion.Heappearedtobeconfusedbythetranslation,andjustwhenGenwasreadytorepeathimselfheanswered.“Iamcomfortablewhereyouarecomfortable.Iamveryhappytostayinthekitchen.IbelievethistobeafineroominwhichIpersonallyhavenotspentenoughofmytime.”Infact,asmuchashetrustedLedbedandBerezovsky,hewouldjustassoondeclarehimselfinaroomwherenoonecouldeavesdropinRussianorEnglish.TheoccasionalclunkofthegunbarrelshittingthetableorThibaultcluckinghistongueoverarecipeseemedpreferabletobeingoverheard.

“Thisiscertainlyfineforme,”Roxanesaid.Shesippedherglassofwater.ThesightofitmadeFyodorovtremble,thewater,herlips.Hehadtolookaway.Whatwasithewantedtosay?Hecouldwritealetterinstead,wouldn’tthatbeproper?Thetranslatorcouldtranslate.Awordwasawordifyouspokeitorwroteitdown.

“IbelieveIneedachair,”Fyodorovsaid.

Genheardtheweaknessinhisvoiceandrushedforwardforachair.TheRussianwasslumpingdownevenbeforeitarrivedandGenwasbarelyabletoslipitunderhimintime.Withagreatexhalationthatcouldhavesignifiedtheendofeverything,thebigmantiltedhisheaddowntowardsthefloor.

“MyGod,”Roxanesaid,leaningoverhim,“ishesick?”Shepulledadishtoweloffthe

refrigeratorhandleanddippeditintoherdrinkingwater.Shetouchedthecoolterryclothtothepinkexpanseofhisneck.Hewhimperedslightlywhensherestedherhandagainstthecloth.

“Doyouknowwhat’swrongwithhim?”RoxaneaskedGen.“Helookedperfectlyfinewhenhecameinhere.It’sjustlikeChristopf,hiscolor,thefaintness.Couldhebeadiabetic?Touchhim,he’scold!”

“Tellmewhatshesays,”Fyodorovwhisperedfrombetweenhisknees.

“Shewantstoknowwhat’swrongwithyou,”Gensaid.

TherewasalongsilenceandRoxaneslidherfingersovertohisnecktofeelthesteadythumpingofhispulse.Twoofherdelicatefingerslodgedbeneathagreatflapofhisear.“Tellherit’slove,”hesaid.

“Love?”

Fyodorovnoddedhishead.Hishairwasthickandwavyandnotentirelyclean.Ithadturnedquitegrayatthetemples,butthecrownofhishead,whichGenandRoxanestaredat,wasstilldark,thecrownofayoungman.

“Youneversaidanythingtomeaboutlove,”Gensaid,feelingtricked,feelinghehadbeenputintoanawkwardpositionnow.

“I’mnotinlovewithyou,”Fyodorovsaid.“WhyshouldIspeaktoyouoflove?”

“ThisisnotwhatIbelievedIwasheretotranslate.”

Withrealeffort,Fyodorovraisedhimselfup.Hisskinwasnotjustclammybutthecolorandconsistencyofactualclams.“Whatareyouheretotranslatethen,whatyoudeemproper?Arewetospeakonlyoftheweather?Sincewhenisitforyoutodecidewhatitisfittingforpeopletosaytooneanother?”

Fyodorovwasright.Genhadtoadmitit.Thepersonalfeelingsofthetranslatorwerenotthequestionhere.ItwasnotGen’sbusinesstoedittheconversation.Itwashardlyhisbusinesstolistenatall.“Allright,”hesaid.ItwaseasytosoundtiredinRussian.“Allrightthen.”

“Whatishesaying?”Roxanesaid.Shemovedtheclothtohisforeheadnowthathewassittingup.

“Shewantstoknowwhatyou’resaying,”GentoldFyodorov.“Ishouldtellherlove?”

Fyodorovgaveaweaksmile.Hewouldignoreallofthis.Norealharmhadbeendoneasyet,itwasjustalittlefaintness.Hisonlyhopewastobeginatthebeginning,tostartthespeechashehadpracticeditahundredtimesinfrontofLedbedandBerezovsky.Heclearedhisthroat.“Inmycountry,IamtheSecretaryofCommerce,”heopenedinathinvoice.“Anappointedposition,Icouldbegonejustlikethat.”Hesnappedhisfingersbutdidn’tsucceedingettingmuchofasnapoutofthem.Theyweresweatyandsoslippedbyoneanotherwithoutasound.“ButfornowitisaverygoodjobandIamgrateful.Foramantoknowwhathehaswhenhehasit,thatiswhatmakeshimafortunateman.”Hetriedtolookintohereyesbutitwasreallytoomuchforhim.Hecouldfeelagrindingsensationinhislowerintestine.

Gentranslatedandtriednottothinkwhereallofthiswasgoing.

“Askhimifhe’sfeelingbetter,”Roxanesaid.“Ithinkhiscolorisbetter.”Shetooktheclothfromhisheadandhelookeddisappointed.

“Shewantstoknowhowyou’refeelingnow.”

“Isshelisteningtothestory?”

“YoucantellaswellasIcan.”

“TellherI’mfine.Tellherthis:Russianeverhadanyintentionofinvestingcapitalinthispoorcountry.”HekepthiseyesforaslongashecouldontheeyesofRoxaneCoss,butwhentheybegantoexhausthimtoogreatlyheturnedthemtoGen.“Wehaveapoorcountryofourownwithmanyotherpoorcountriestosupportbesides.Whentheinvitationtoattendthispartycame,myfriendMr.Berezovsky,agreatbusinessman,washereandhesaidIshouldcomedown.Hetoldmeyouwouldbeperforming.Wewereinschooltogether,Berezovsky,Ledbed,andmyself.Weweredearfriends.Iamingovernmentnow,Berezovskyisinbusiness,andLedbed,Ledbedyouwouldsaydealsinloans.WestudiedinSt.Petersburgtogetherahundredyearsago.ItisSt.Petersburgagain.Alwayswewouldgototheopera.Asyoungmenwewouldstandinthebackforafewrubles,moneywedidnothaveatthetime.Butthenjobscameandwehadseats,andwithbetterjobscameproperseats.Youcouldmarkourriseintheworldbyourpositionintheoperahouse,bywhatwepaidand,later,whatweweregiven.Tchaikovsky,Mussorgsky,Rimsky-Korsakov,Prokofiev,wesaweverythingthatwasRussian.”

Thetranslationwasslowandtherewasagooddealofwaitingforallpartiesinvolved.“Russiahasbeautifuloperas,”Roxanesaid.Shedroppedthedishtowelinthesinkandwenttogetherselfachair,asnooneseemedtobebringingoneoverandthiswaslookinglikeitmightbealongstory.Whenshestartedtopickoneup,theboycalledCesarleaptfromthetablewherehewascleaninghisgunandcarrieditoverforher.

“Gracias,”shesaidtohim.Thatmuchsheknew.

“I’msorry,”Gensaid,stillstandinghimself.“Idon’tknowwhatIwasthinkingof.”

“Iguessyou’rethinkingofRussian,”Roxanesaid.“Thatwouldbeaheadful.Doyouhaveanyideawherethisstoryisgoing?”

Fyodorovsmiledmutely.Hischeekswerepinknow.

“Ihaveavagueidea.”

“Well,don’ttellme,Iwanttobesurprised.Ithinkthisistoday’sentertainment.”Sheleanedbackandcrossedherlegs,thenheldoutherhandasasignalforFyodorovtocontinue.

Fyodorovwaitedforamoment.Hewasrethinkinghispositionentirely.Afterweeksofplanninghewasrealizingnowthatthecoursehehadchosenwasnotatallcorrect.Whathehadtotellherdidnotbegininschool.Itdidnotbeginattheoperaevenifthatwastheplaceithadbroughthimto.Thestoryheshouldbetellingstartedmuchearlierthanthis.Hebeganagain,puttinghimselfinmindofRussiaandhischildhood,thedarkswitchbackstaircasethatleduptotheapartmentwherehisfamilylived.Hebenthisshouldersforwardtowards

Roxane.HewonderedwhatdirectionRussiawasfromwherehesat.“WhenIwasaboythecitywascalledLeningrad,butyouknowthis.ForabrieftimeitwasPetrogradbutnoonewashappywiththat.Betterthecityshouldhaveitsoldnameoranewname,butnothingthattriedtobesomethingofboth.Inthosedayswealllivedtogether,MotherandFather,mytwobrothers,mygrandmother,whowasmymother ’smother.Itwasmygrandmotherwhohadthebookofpaintings.Itwasamassivething.”Fyodorovhelduphishandstomarkthedimensionsofthebookintheair.Ifhewastobebelieved,itwasanenormousbook.“ShetoldusitwasgiventoherbyanadmirerfromEuropewhenshewasagirloffifteen,amanshecalledJulian.IfthatistrueIdonotknow.Mygrandmotherwasonefortellingstories.Evenmorethanhowshecamebythebook,howshemanagedtoholdontoitthroughthewarremainsagreatmysterytome.Thatshedidnottryandsellitorburnitforfuel,becausetherewasatimewhenpeoplewouldburnanything,thatitwasnottakenfromherasitwouldhavebeenadifficultthingtohide,allofthesethingsareremarkable.ButwhenIwasaboy,itwasmanyyearspastthewarandshewasanoldwoman.Wedidnotgotomuseumstolookatpaintingsinthosedays.WewouldwalkpasttheWinterPalace,amarvelousplace,butthenwedidnotgoinside.Iimaginetherewasnotthemoneyforsuchthings.Butintheevenings,mygrandmotherbroughtoutherbookandtoldmybrothersandmetogoandwashourhands.IwasnotallowedtoeventouchthepagesuntilIwasten,butstillIwashedmyhandsjustfortheprivilegeoflooking.Shekeptitwrappedinaquiltunderthesofainthelivingroomwheresheslept.Shestruggledtocarryitbutwouldletnoonehelpher.Whenshewascertainthetablewascleanwewouldputthequiltwiththebookinsideitonthetableandslowlyunfoldthequilt.Thenshewouldsitdown.Shewasasmallwoman,andwestoodbesideher.Shewasveryparticularaboutthelightoverthetable.Itcouldn’tbetoostrongbecauseshewasafraidoffadingthecolors,anditcouldn’tbesoweakthatshefeltthepaintingscouldnotbefullycomprehended.Sheworewhitecottonglovesthatwereperfectlyplainandsavedforonlythisoccasionandsheturnedthepageswhilewewatched.Canyouimaginethis?Iwillnotsaywewereterriblypoorbecausewewereasrichorpooraseveryoneelse.Ourapartmentwassmall,mybrothersandIsharedabed.Ourfamilywasnodifferentfromtheotherfamiliesinourbuildingexceptforthisbook.Soextraordinaryathingwasthisbook.MasterworksoftheImpressionistPerioditwascalled.Nooneknewwehadit.Wewereneverallowedtospeakofitbecausemygrandmotherwasafraidsomeonewouldcomeandtryandtakeitawayfromher.ThepaintingswerebyPissarro,Bonnard,vanGogh,Monet,Manet,Cézanne,hundredsofpaintings.Thecolorswesawatnightwhilesheturnedthepagesweremiraculous.Everypaintingweweretostudy.Everyoneshesaidwassomethingthatdeservedgreatconsideration.TherewerenightsthatsheonlyturnedtwopagesandI’msureitwasayearbeforeIhadseenthebookinitsentirety.Itwasanextremelygoodbook,Ithink,expertlydone.Certainly,Ihavenotseentheoriginalsofallthepaintings,buttheonesIsawyearslaterlookedverymuchthewayIhadrememberedthem.MygrandmothertoldusshespokeFrenchinheryouthandshewouldreadtousasbestshecouldrememberthetextbeneaththeplates.Ofcourseshewasmakingitupbecausethestorieswouldchange.Notthatitmattered.Theywerebeautifulstories.‘ThisisthefieldwherevanGoghpaintedsunflowers,’shewouldsay.‘Alldayhesatinthehotsunbeneaththeblueskies.Whenthewhitecloudscurledpasthewouldrememberthemforfuturepaintingsandhereonthiscanvasheplacedthoseclouds.’Thisisthewayshespoketous,pretendingshewasreading.Sometimesshewouldreadfortwentyminuteswhentherewereonlyafewlinesoftext.She

wouldsaythatwasbecauseFrenchwasamuchmorecomplicatedlanguagethanRussianandthateverywordcontainedseveralsentences’worthofmeaning.Thereweresomanypaintingstoconsider.Itwasmany,manyyearsbeforeIhadmemorizedthemall.EvennowIcouldtellyouthenumberofhaystacksinthefieldandfromwhichdirectionthelightiscoming.”FyodorovstoppedtogiveGenachancetocatchup.Hetooktheopportunitytolookatthepeoplearoundthetable:hisgrandmother,nowdead,hismotherandfather,dead,hisyoungestbrother,Dimitri,drownedinafishingaccidentattheageoftwenty-one.Onlytwoofthemwereleftnow.HewonderedabouthisbrotherMikal,whomustbefollowingthestoryofhiskidnappinginthenewsathome.IfIwastodiehere,Fyodorovthought,Mikalwouldbealoneinthisworldwithnootherfamilytocomforthim.“Everynowandthenshewouldn’tbringoutthebookatall.Shewouldsayshewastired.Shewouldsaythatsomuchbeautyhurther.Sometimesaweekoreventwocouldpass.NoSeurat!Irememberfeelingalmostfrantic,suchadependencyIhadcometofeelforthosepaintings.Butitwastherestfromit,thewaiting,thatmadeuslovethebooksomadly.IcouldhavehadonelifebutinsteadIhadanotherbecauseofthisbookmygrandmotherprotected,”hesaid,hisvoicequieternow.“Whatamiracleisthat?Iwastaughttolovebeautifulthings.Ihadalanguageinwhichtoconsiderbeauty.Laterthatextendedtotheopera,totheballet,toarchitectureIsaw,andevenlaterstillIcametorealizethatwhatIhadseeninthepaintingsIcouldseeinthefieldsorariver.Icouldseeitinpeople.AllofthatIattributetothisbook.Towardstheendofherlifeshecouldnotpickitupatallandshesentmetogetit.Herhandsshookso,shewasafraidoftearingthepaperandsosheletusturnthepage.MyhandsweretoolargeforherglovesbythenbutsheshowedmehowtousethembetweenmyfingerslikeaclothsoIcouldkeepeverythingclean.”Fyodorovsighed,assomehowthiswasthememorythatmovedhimthemost.“Mybrotherhasthebooknow.HeisadoctoroutsideofMoscow.Everyfewyearswehanditofftotheother.Neitherofuscoulddowithoutitcompletely.Ihavetriedtofindanothercopy,butIhavebeenunsuccessful.Ibelievethatthereisnootherbooklikethisintheworld.”Throughtalking,Fyodorovwasabletorelax.Talkingwasthethinghewasbestat.Hefelthisbreathcomeeasily.Hehadnotbeforethismomentmadetheconnectionbetweenthebookandthepointofhisstoryandnowhewonderedhowhehadn’tseenitallalong.“Itwasatragedytomygrandmotherthatnoneofusshowedatalentforpainting.Evenattheendofherlife,whenIwasinschoolstudyingbusiness,shewastellingmetotryagain.Butitwasn’tsomethingIwascapableoflearning.ShelikedtosaymybrotherDimitriwouldhavebeenagreatpainterbutthatwasonlybecauseDimitriwasdead.Thedeadwecanimaginetobeanythingatall.MybrothersandIwereallexcellentobservers.Somepeopleareborntomakegreatartandothersareborntoappreciateit.Don’tyouthink?Itisakindoftalentinitself,tobeanaudience,whetheryouarethespectatorinthegalleryoryouarelisteningtothevoiceoftheworld’sgreatestsoprano.Noteveryonecanbetheartist.Therehavetobethosewhowitnesstheart,wholoveandappreciatewhattheyhavebeenprivilegedtosee.”Fyodorovspokeslowly.HegavelongpausesbetweenhissentencessothatGenwouldnothavetostruggletokeepup,butbecauseofthisitwasdifficulttotellwhetherhewasfinishedspeaking.

“It’salovelystory,”Roxanesaidatlast.

“Butthereisapointtoit.”

Roxanesettledbackinherchairtohearthepoint.

“ItmaynotseemimmediatelyevidentthatIwouldbeamanwhohasadeepunderstandingofartandIwantyoutoknowthatIam.TheSecretaryofCommerceinRussia,whatwouldthatbetoyou?AndyetbecauseofmybackgroundIfeelIamspecificallyqualified.”

Again,Roxanewaitedtoseeiftherewasmoreofthesentencecomingandwhentheredidn’tseemtobesheaskedhim,“Qualifiedtowhat?”

“Toloveyou,”Fyodorovsaid.“Iloveyou.”

GenlookedatFyodorovandblinked.Hefelttheblooddrainawayfromhisface.

“Whatdidhesay?”Roxanesaid.

“Goon,”Fyodorovsaid.“Tellher.”

Roxane’shairwaspulleduptightlyfromherfaceandcaughtinapinkelasticshehadbeengivenfromtheroomoftheVicePresident’soldestdaughter.Withoutmakeuporjewelry,withoutherhairtoframeherface,apersonmighthavethoughtherplainoreventiredlookingifhedidn’tknowwhatshewascapableof.Genthoughtshewaspatienttohavelistenedforsolong,keepinghereyesonFyodorov,neverdriftingofftostareoutthewindow.HethoughtitspokewellofhercharacterthatshehadchosenMr.Hosokawatokeephercompanywhenother,lessermenwereavailable,menwhospokeEnglish.Gengreatlyadmiredhersinging,thatwentwithoutsaying.Everydaywhenshesanghefeltdeeplymoved,buthedidnotloveher.Notthathewasbeingaskedto.Notthatshewouldhavethoughtthat’swhathemeant,thathe,Gen,lovedher,andyetstillhestruggled.Hehadneverthoughtofitbeforebuthewasquitesurenowthathedidthinkofitthathehadneitherspokenthosewordsorwrittenthem,eithertosomeoneorforsomeoneelse.Birthdaycardsandlettershomeweresignedpleasetakegoodcareofyourself.HehadneversaidIloveyoutoeitherhisparentsorhissisters.Hehadnotsaidittoanyofthethreewomenhehadsleptwithinhislifeorthegirlsinschoolwithwhomhehadoccasionallywalkedtoclass.Itsimplyhadnotoccurredtohimtosayitandnowonthefirstdayofhislifewhenitmighthavebeenappropriatetospeakoflovetoawoman,hewouldbedeclaringitforanothermantoanotherwoman.

“Areyougoingtotellme?”Roxanesaid.Therewasonlyslightlymoreinterestinhervoicethesecondtimesheasked.Fyodorovwaited,handsclasped,alookofgreatreliefalreadyspreadingoverhisface.Hehadsaidhispiece.Hehadtakenthingsasfarashecould.

GenswallowedthesalivawhichhadpooledoverhistongueandtriedtolookatRoxaneinabusinesslikemanner.“Heisqualifiedtoloveyou.Hesays,Iloveyou.”Genframedhistranslationtomakeitsoundasappropriateaswaspossible.

“Helovesmysinging?”

“You,”Gensaidpointedly.HedidnotfeeltheneedtoconsultwithFyodorovonthis.TheRussiansmiled.

NowRoxanedidlookaway.Shetookadeepbreathandstaredoutthewindowforawhileasiftherehadbeensomesortofofferandshewasnowweighingitout.Whenshelookedback

shesmiledatFyodorov.Thelookonherfacewassopeaceful,sotender,thatforamomentGenthoughtperhapsshelovedtheRussianinreturn.Wasitpossiblethatsuchadeclarationcouldachievethedesiredeffect?Thatshewouldlovehimsimplyforhavinglovedher?

“VictorFyodorov,”shesaid.“Awonderfulstory.”

“Thankyou.”Fyodorovbowedhishead.

“IwonderwhatbecameoftheyoungmanfromEurope,Julian,”shesaid,thoughsheseemedtobespeakingtoherself.“It’sonethingtogiveawomananecklace.Itcomesinasmallbox.Evenaveryexpensivenecklaceisn’tmuchtrouble.Buttogiveawomansuchabook,tobringitallthewayfromsomeothercountry,Ithinkthat’squiteextraordinary.Icanimaginehimcarryingitonthetrainalldoneupinwrappingpaper.”

“IfwearetobelievetherewasaJulianatall.”

“There’snoreasonnotto.Itcertainlywoulddonoharmtobelievethestoryshetoldyou.”

“I’msureyouareright.FromnowonIwillrememberitonlyasthetruth.”

Gen’sheadwasfilledwithCarmenagain.Hewishedthatshewaswaitingforhim,stillsittingontheblackmarblesink,butheknewthiswasn’tpossible.Shewasprobablyonpatrolnow,walkingupanddownthehallwaysofthesecondfloorwitharifle,conjugatingverbsunderherbreath.

“Asforthelove,”Roxanesaidfinally.

“Thereisnothingtosay,”Fyodorovinterrupted.“Itisagift.There.Somethingtogivetoyou.IfIhadthenecklaceorabookofpaintingsIwouldgiveyouthatinstead.Iwouldgiveyouthatinadditiontomylove.”

“Thenyouaretoogenerouswithgifts.”

Fyodorovshrugged.“Perhapsyouareright.Inanothersettingitwouldberidiculous,toogrand.InanothersettingitwouldnothappenbecauseyouareafamouswomanandatbestIwouldshakeyourfamoushandforonesecondwhileyousteppedintoyourcarafteraperformance.ButinthisplaceIhearyousingeveryday.InthisplaceIwatchyoueatyourdinner,andwhatIfeelinmyheartislove.Thereisnopointinnottellingyouthat.Thesepeoplewhodetainussopleasantlymaydecidetoshootusafterall.Itisapossibility.Andifthatisthecase,thenwhyshouldIcarrythislovewithmetotheotherworld?Whynotgivetoyouwhatisyours?”

“Andwhatifthereisnothingformetogiveyou?”SheseemedtobeinterestedinFyodorov’sargument.

Heshookhishead.“Whatathingtosay,afterallthatyouhavegiventome.Butitisneveraboutwhohasgivenwhat.Thatisnotthewaytothinkofgifts.Thisisnotbusinessweareconducting.WouldIbepleasedifyouweretosayyoulovedmeaswell?ThatwhatyouwantedwastocometoRussiaandlivewiththeSecretaryofCommerce,attendstatedinners,drinkyourcoffeeinmybed?Abeautifulthought,surely,butmywifewouldnotbepleased.WhenyouthinkofloveyouthinkasanAmerican.YoumustthinklikeaRussian.Itisamoreexpansiveview.”

“AmericanshaveabadhabitofthinkinglikeAmericans,”Roxanesaidkindly.AfterthatshesmiledatFyodorovandeveryonewasquietforamoment.Theinterviewhadcometoacloseandtherewasnothinglefttosay.

ThenfinallyFyodorovstoodupfromhischairandclappedhishandstogether.“I,forone,feelmuchbetter.Whataburdenthishasbeentome!NowIcangetsomerest.You’vebeenverykindtohearme.”HeextendedhishandtoRoxane,andwhenshestoodandgavehimhershekisseditandforamomentstretchedituptoholditagainsthischeek.“Iwillrememberthisdayforever,thismoment,yourhand.Nomancouldwantformorethanthis.”Hesmiledandthenhelethergo.“Awonderfulday.Awonderfulthingyouhavegivenmeinreturn.”HeturnedandwalkedoutofthekitchenwithoutawordtoGen.InallofhisexcitementhehadforgottenGenwasthereatall,thewayapersoncanforgetwhenthetranslationhasgoneverysmoothly.

RoxanesatdowninherchairandGensatdownwhereFyodorovhadbeen.“Well,”shesaid.“Thatwascertainlyexhausting.”

“Iwasthinkingthesamething.”

“PoorGen.”Roxaneleanedherheadtooneside.“Alltheboringthingsyouhavetolistento.”

“Thiswasawkwardbutitwasn’tboring.”

“Awkward?”

“Youdon’tfindstrangersdeclaringthemselvestoyouawkward?”Butthenshewouldn’t,wouldshe?Peoplemustfallinlovewithherhourly.Shemustkeepastaffoftranslatorstointerprettheproposalsofloveandmarriage.

“It’seasiertoloveawomanwhenyoucan’tunderstandawordshe’ssaying,”Roxanesaid.

“Iwishtheywouldbringussomerabbits,”ThibaultcalledovertoGeninFrench.Deslapins.Hewasdrumminghisfingersonthecookbook.“Areyouboysmuchforrabbit?”heaskedtheterroristsinSpanish.Conejo.

Theboyslookedupfromtheirwork.Thegunsweremostlyreassembled.Theyhadbeencleantobeginwithandnowtheywereonlycleaner.Whenonegotusedtoguns,whenthegunsweren’tpointedatyou,onecouldseethemasalmostinteresting,discreetsculpturesforendtables.“Cabayo,”saidthetallone,Gilbert,whohadthoughtofshootingThibaultnotsoverylongagointheconfusionoverthetelevisionset.

“Cabayo?”SimonThibaultsaid.“Gen,whatiscabayo?”

Genthoughtaboutitforaminute.HismindwasstillstuckinRussian.“Thosefurrythings,nothamsters...”Hesnappedhisfingers.“Guineapigs!”

“Whatyouwanttoeatareguineapigs,notrabbits,”Gilbertsaid.“Verytender.”

“Oh,”saidCesar,foldinghishandsoverhisgun.“WhatIwouldn’tgiveforaguineapignow.”Hegentlybithisfingertipsatthethoughtofsomuchpleasure.Cesarhadbadskinthatseemedtobeclearingupsomeduringtheirinternment.

Thibaultclosedthebook.InParis,oneofhisdaughtershadkeptafatwhiteguineapiginalargeglassaquariumwhenshewasagirl.Milou,itwascalled,apoorsubstituteforthedogshewanted.Edithwoundupfeedingthething.Shefeltsorryforit,spendingdayafterdayalone,lookingoutonthelifeoftheirfamilythroughglass.SometimesEdithlettheguineapigsitinherlapwhilesheread.TherewasMilou,curledinaballagainstthehemofEdith’ssweater,itsnosetwitchingwithpleasure.ThisguineapigwasThibault’sbrother,forallhewantednowwastheprivilegeofwhatthisanimalhadhad,therighttoliewithhisheadinhiswife’slap,hisfaceturneduptothebottomofhersweater.MustThibaultimaginetheanimal(whowaslongsincedeadbutwhenandhow?Hecouldn’tremember)skinnedandbraised?Milouasdinner.Oncesomethingisnameditcanneverbeeaten.Onceyouhavecalleditabrotherinyourminditshouldenjoythefreedomsofabrother.“Howdoyoucookthem?”

Aconversationensuedaboutthebestwaytocookaguineapigandhowitwaspossibletotellyourfortunefromcuttingopenthegutwhileitwasstillalive.Genturnedaway.

“Peopleloveeachotherforallsortsofdifferentreasons,”Roxanesaid,herlackofSpanishkeepingherinnocentoftheconversation,slow-roastedguineapigsonaspit.“Mostofthetimewe’relovedforwhatwecandoratherthanforwhoweare.It’snotsuchabadthing,beinglovedforwhatyoucando.”

“Buttheotherisbetter,”Gensaid.

Roxanepulledherfeetintoherchairandhuggedherkneestoherchest.“Better.Ihatetosaybetter,butitis.Ifsomeonelovesyouforwhatyoucandothenit’sflattering,butwhydoyoulovethem?Ifsomeonelovesyouforwhoyouarethentheyhavetoknowyou,whichmeansyouhavetoknowthem.”RoxanesmiledatGen.

Oncetheyhadleftthekitchen,firsttheotherboys,andthenGenandRoxaneandThibault,thepeopleCesarhadcometothinkofasthegrown-upsratherthanthehostages,CesarbegantosingtheRossiniwhilehefinisheduphiswork.Hehadthekitchentohimselfforamomentandwantedtomakeuseofthisraretimealone.Thesuncamethroughthewindowsandshonebrightlyoffhiscleanrifleandoh,howhelovedtohearthewordsinhismouth.Shehadsungitsomanytimesthismorninghehadhadthechancetomemorizeallthewords.Itdidn’tmatterthathedidn’tunderstandthelanguage,heknewwhatitmeant.Thewordsandmusicfusedtogetherandbecameapartofhim.Againandagainhesangthechorus,almostwhisperingforfearsomeonemighthearhim,mockhim,punishhim.Hefeltthistoostronglytothinkthatitwassomethinghecouldgetawaywith.Still,hewishedhecouldopenhimselfupthewayshedid,bellowitout,diginsidehimselftoseewhatwasreallythere.Itthrilledhimwhenshesangtheloudest,thehighest.Ifhedidn’thavehisrifletoholdinfrontofhimhewouldhaveembarrassedhimselfeverytime,hersingingbroughtaboutsucharaging,achingpassionthathispenisstiffenedbeforeshehadfinishedherfirstline,growingharderandharderasthesongprogresseduntilhewaslostinaconfusionofpleasureandterriblepain,thestockofhisriflebrushingimperceptiblyupanddown,leadinghimtowardsrelief.Heleanedbackagainstthewall,dizzyandelectrified.Theywereforher,thesefuriouserections.Everyboytheredreamedofcrawlingontopofher,fillinghermouthwiththeirtonguesastheypushedthemselvesinsideher.Theylovedher,andinthesefantasiesthatcametothemwakingandsleeping,shelovedtheminreturn.ButforCesaritwasmorethanthat.

Cesarknewhewashardforthemusic.Asifmusicwasaseparatethingyoucoulddriveyourselfinto,makeloveto,fuck.

eight

therewasasittingroomoffoftheguestbedroomwheretheGeneralsheldtheirmeetingsandinthatroomMr.HosokawaandGeneralBenjaminplayedchessforhoursatatime.ItseemedtobetheonlythingthattookBenjamin’smindoffthepainoftheshingles.Sincetheyhadcreptintohiseyetheyhadbecomeinfectedandtheinfectionhadledtoconjunctivitis,andnowtheeyewasfiercelyredandrimmedwithpustules.Themorecompletelyheconcentratedonchess,themorehewasabletopushthepainaside.Heneverforgotit,butduringthegamehedidnotliveexactlyinthecenterofit.

Foralongtimetheguestswereonlyallowedinlimitedareasofthehousebutnowthatthingswerelooseninguptheaccesstootherareaswassporadic.Mr.Hosokawahadnotevenknowntheroomhadexisteduntilhewasinvitedbacktoplay.Itwasasmallroom,agamingtableandtwochairsbythewindow,asmallsofa,asecretarywithawritingdeskandaglassfrontfilledwithleather-boundbooks.Therewereyellowdraperiesonthewindow,abluefloweredrugonthefloor,aframedpictureofaclippership.Itwasnotanexceptionalroominanyway,butitwassmall,andasmallroom,afterthreemonthsspentinthevastcavernofthelivingroom,gaveMr.Hosokawaanenormoussenseofrelief,thatcomfortingtightnessachildexperienceswhenbundledintosweatersandacoat.Hehadn’tthoughtaboutituntilthethirdtimetheyplayed,thatinJapanapersonwasneverinsuchalargeroom,unlessitwasahotelbanquethallortheoperahouse.Helikedthefactthatinthisroom,werehetostandonachair,hecouldtouchthetipsofhisfingerstotheceiling.Hewasespeciallygratefulforanythingthatmadetheworldfeelcloseandfamiliar.EverythingthatMr.Hosokawahadeverknownorsuspectedaboutthewaylifeworkedhadbeenproventohimtobeincorrectthesepastmonths.Wherebeforetherehadbeenendlesshoursofwork,negotiationsandcompromises,therewerenowchessgameswithaterroristforwhomhefeltanunaccountablefondness.Wheretherehadbeenarespectablefamilythatfunctionedinthehighestorder,therewerenowpeoplehelovedandcouldnotspeakto.Wheretherehadbeenafewminutesofoperaonastereoatbedtime,therewerenowhoursofmusiceveryday,thelivingwarmthofvoiceinallitsperfectionandfallibility,awomaninpossessionofthatvoicewhosatbesidehimlaughing,holdinghishand.TherestoftheworldbelievedthatMr.Hosokawasufferedandhewouldneverbeabletoexplaintothemhowthatwasnotthecase.Therestoftheworld.Hecouldneverpushitcompletelyfromhismind.Hisunderstandingthathewouldeventuallyloseeverysweetnessthathadcometohimonlymadehimholdthoseverythingsclosertohischest.

GeneralBenjaminwasagoodchessplayerbuthewasnobetterthanMr.Hosokawa.Neitherofthemwasthetypetoplaywithaspeedclockandtheytookeverymoveasiftimehadyettobeinvented.Becausetheywerebothequallytalentedandequallyslow,neithermaneverbecameimpatientwiththeother.Once,Mr.Hosokawahadgonetothesmallsofaandclosedhiseyeswhilehewaitedforhisturn,andwhenhewokeup,GeneralBenjaminwasstillmovinghisrookforwardandthenbackacrossthesamethreesquares,carefultonevertakehisfingersoffthehorse’shead.Theyhaddifferentstrategies.GeneralBenjamintriedto

controlthecenteroftheboard.Mr.Hosokawaplayeddefensively:apawnhere,latertheknight.Onewouldwin,andthentheother,andneitheronemadeanycommentaboutit.Thegame,frankly,wasmorepeacefulwithoutlanguage.Cunningmovesneednotbecongratulated,adangeroverlookedwasnotbemoaned.Theywouldtapaqueen,thenking,onceforcheck,twiceforcheckmate,asneithercouldrememberthewordsGenhadwrittendownforthem.Eventheendingsofgamescameasquietaffairs,abriefnodofacknowledgment,andthenthebusinessofsettingitallupagainsothatwhenthenextdaycametheywouldbereadytostartover.Neithermanwouldhavedreamedofleavingtheroomwiththepiecesscatteredacrossthetableonthewrongsidesoftheboard.

Eventhoughitwasanenormoushousebyanystandard,therewasnoprivacyforpeoplelivinginthevice-presidentialhome,notforanyoneexceptCarmenandGen,whometinthechinaclosetaftertwo A.M.inordertokeeptheirlessonsasecret.Operaandcookingandgamesofchesswerethereforpublicconsumption.Theguestroomwasonthesamesideofthehouseasthestudywherethetelevisionnatteredonhourafterhour,soifoneoftheyoungterroristswaslookingforentertainmenthewouldprobablyletthechessgo.Thehostages,whentheywerealloweddownthehallwaybasedonthecapriceofwhoeverhappenedtobeholdingthegunatthedoor,weremorelikelytostayfortenorfifteenminutesofagame,butinthattimetheywereluckyiftheysawasinglemove.Theywereusedtosoccer.Theytriedtoconsiderchessakindofsport,certainlyitwasagame,buttheywantedtoseesomethinghappen.Theroomhadthesameeffectonthespectatorsaslongliturgicalservices,algebralectures,Halcion.

ThetwoobserverswhomanagedtostayandneverfallasleepwereIshmaelandRoxane.RoxanecametowatchtheperformanceofMr.Hosokawa,who,afterall,spentsomuchofhistimewatchingher,andIshmaelstayedbecauseeventuallyhewantedtoplaychesswithGeneralBenjaminandMr.Hosokawa,onlyhewasn’tsureifsuchathingwasactuallyallowed.Alloftheyoungerterroriststriedtoknowtheirlimitsandnotaskformorethantheycouldhave.Likeallchildren,theymayhavepushedonthemfromtimetotime,buttheywererespectfuloftheGeneralsandtheyknewnottoaskfortoomuch.Theymightstaytoolongwatchingtelevision,buttheynevermissedtheirpostonguard.TheydidnottellMessnertobringingallonsoficecream.OnlytheGeneralscoulddothatandsofartheyhaddoneitonlytwice.Theydidnotfightamongthemselves,thoughthetemptationtodosowasoverwhelmingattimes.TheGeneralspunishedfightingseverely,andGeneralHectortookituponhimselftobeattheboyslongerandharderthantheycouldeverbeatoneanothertoteachthemthattheyhadtoworktogether.Iftherewasaterribleneed,anargumentthatcouldonlybesettledoneway,theymetinthebasement,tookofftheirshirts,andwerecarefulnevertohiteachotherintheface.

Somethingswereagainsttherules,rulesthatwerememorizedandrepeatedindrills.Somerules(speakingrespectfullytoasuperiorofficer)stoodfirm.Otherrules(neverspeakingtoahostageunlessitwastocorrecthim)weakenedandfellaway.WhattheGeneralswouldandwouldnotallowwasnotalwaysclear.Silently,Ishmaelmemorizedthechessboard.Hedidn’tknowthenamesofthepiecesbecausenooneintheroomeverspoke.Hepracticedinhisheadthemostappropriatewayofbroachingthesubject.HeconsideredaskingGentoaskforhim.Genhadawayofmakingthingsseemespeciallyimportant.OrhecouldaskGentoask

Messner,whowasthemanwhohandledthenegotiations.ButGenseemedverybusythesedaysandMessner,frankly,didn’tseemtobedoingsuchagreatjobconsideringthattheywereallstillthere.HewishedmostofallhecouldasktheVicePresident,themanwhomheheldinthegreatestesteemandthoughtofashisfriend,buttheGeneralsmadeaspecialpointofridiculingRuben,andanythingheaskedforwouldcertainlybedenied.

SoifIshmaelwantedsomething,theonlylogicalpersontoturntowashimself,andafterwaitingafewmoredayshefoundthecouragetomakethequestion.Onedaywasjustthesameasthenextandsohereasonedtherewouldneverbeexactlyarighttimeorawrongtimetoask.GeneralBenjaminhadjustcompletedhismoveandMr.Hosokawawasonlyintheearlieststagesofconsideringhisnextposition.Roxanesatforwardonthelittlesofa,herelbowsonherknees,herhandsmakingacomfortablesupportbeneathherchin.Shewatchedtheboardlikesomethingthatmighttryandrunaway.Ishmaelwishedhecouldspeaktoher.Hewonderedifshewaslearninghowtoplayaswell.

“Sir,”Ishmaelbegan,asharpchipoficelodgedinhisthroat.

GeneralBenjaminlookedupandblinked.Hehadn’tnoticedtheboyintheroom.Suchasmallboy.Hewasanorphanwhoseunclehadenlistedhimtothecauseonlyafewmonthsbeforetheirattack,sayingalltheboysinthefamilyweresmallandthencameintoimpressivegrowthspurts,butBenjaminwasbeginningtodoubtthiswouldeverbetrue.Ishmaeldidn’tlooklikeabodythatwasplanningondoinganythingimpressive.Still,hedidthebesthecouldtokeepupwiththeothersandenduretheirteasing.Anditwashelpfultohaveatleastonepersonwhowassmall,someonewhocouldbehoistedup,pushedthroughwindows.“Whatisit?”

“Iwaswondering,sir,ifyouwouldconsider.”Hestopped,collectedhimself,andstartedagain.“Iwaswonderingiftherewastimelater,ifImightplaythewinner.”Itoccurredtohimthenthattherewasafifty-fiftychancethatthewinnermightbeMr.Hosokawa,whichmightbeaninappropriaterequest.“Ortheloser.”

“Youplaychess?”GeneralBenjaminasked.

Mr.HosokawaandRoxanekepttheireyesontheboard.Therewasatime,outofpoliteness,whentheywouldhaveatleastlookedatthepersonwhowasspeaking,eveniftheycouldn’tunderstandawordofwhatwasbeingsaid.NowtheybothknewalittleSpanishandtheydidn’tbothertolookup.Mr.HosokawawasanglingfortheGeneral’sbishop.Roxanecouldseewhathewasthinking.

“IguessIdo.I’vebeenwatching.IthinkIunderstanditnow.”

GeneralBenjaminlaughed,butitwasn’tsuchanunkindlaugh.HetappedMr.Hosokawaonthearm.Mr.Hosokawalookedup,pushedhisglassesupthebridgeofhisnose,andwatchedwhileGeneralBenjamintookoneofIshmael’ssmallhandsbeneathhisownandputitonapawn,thenhehoppedthepawnfromplacetoplaceontheboard.Hemotionedbetweenthethreeofthemandthatwasclearenough.Mr.Hosokawasmiledandclappedtheboyontheshoulder.

“Soyouwillplaythewinner,”GeneralBenjaminsaid.“Everythingisagreed.”

Ishmael,feelingagreatrushofluck,tookupaplaceatRoxane’sfeetandstaredattheboardthewayshedid,likeitwasalivingthing.Heonlyhadhalfagamelefttolearneverythingtherewastoknowaboutchess.

Genrappedlightlyontheframeofthedoortothestudy.Messnerstoodbehindhim.EverythingaboutMessner ’scountenanceseemedwearyexceptforhishair,whichwasasbrightasdaylight.Hestillworeawhiteshirt,blackpants,andablacktie,and,likethehostagesandterroristsalike,hisclothesshowedsignsofwear.Hefoldedhisarmsandwatchedthegame.Hehadbeenonthechessteamincollege,rodethebustoplayagainsttheFrench,theItalians.Hewouldhavelikedtoplaynow,buthadhestayedinthehouseforthreehourshewouldhavebeenexpectedtohavesomethingsignificanttoshowforitwhenhecameoutside.

GeneralBenjaminhelduphishandwithoutlooking.Hewasbeginningtosensethathisbishopwasinperil.

Messnerwatchedthedirectionofhiseyes.HeconsideredtellingtheGeneralthatthebishopwasn’treallyhisproblem,butGodknowsBenjaminneverwouldhavelistenedtohim.“TellhimI’vebroughttoday’spapers,”hesaidtoGeninFrench.HecouldhavesaidthatmuchinSpanishbutheknewtheGeneralwouldonlyhaveglaredathim,speakinginthemiddleofthemove.

“I’lltellhim.”

RoxaneCossliftedonehandandwavedtoMessnerbutkepthereyesontheboard,asdidIshmael,whofeltthecreepingbileoffearchurninginhisesophagus.Maybehedidn’tknowhowtoplaychessafterall.

“Areyouplanningonspringingusanytimesoon?”Roxaneasked.

“Noonemoves,”Messnersaid,tryingtobelight.“I’veneverseensuchastalemate.”HefeltoddlyjealousofIshmael,sittingrighttherebyherfeet.Hewouldonlyhavetoslidehishandtwoinchestobrushagainstherankle.

“Theycouldstarveusout,”Roxanesaid,hervoicesteadyandcalm,asifshedidn’twanttodisruptthegame.“Thefoodisn’tsoterrible,notasbadasitshouldbeiftheywerereallyinterestedingettingthingsmoving.Theycan’tbesointentonfreeinguswhentheyessentiallygiveuseverythingwewant.”

Messnerscratchedthebackofhishead.“Ah,I’mafraidthat’syourfault.Ifyouthoughtyouwerefamousbeforeyoucameinthisplaceyoushouldreadaboutyourselfnow.YoumakeCallaslooklikeaspearcarrier.Iftheytriedtostarveyououtthegovernmentwouldbeoverthrowninanafternoon.”

Roxanelookedupathim,blinkedaprettystageblink,largeandpleased.“SoifIgetoutofherealiveIcandoublemyprice?”

“Youcantripleit.”

“MyGod,”Roxanesaid,andtherewereherteeth,theverysightofwhichbrokeMessner ’sheart.“Doyourealizeyou’vetoldhimhowtooverthrowthegovernmentandhedoesn’t

evenknowit?It’sallhe’severwantedandhemissedit.”

GeneralBenjaminhadhishandonhisbishop.Hewasrockingitsidetoside.Thewordspassedoverhim,aroundhim,likewaterpassingoverastone.

MessnerwatchedIshmael.TheboyappearedtobeholdinghisbreathuntiltheGeneraldecidedonhismove.MorethananyothernegotiationMessnerhadeverbeeninvolvedwith,hefoundthathedidn’treallycarewhowonthisone.Butthatwasn’titexactly,becausethegovernmentsalwayswon.Itwasthathewouldn’tmindseeingthesepeoplegetaway,thewholelotofthem.Hewishedtheycouldusethetunnelthemilitarywasdigging,wishedtheycouldcrawlbackintotheairventsanddownintothattunnelandgobackintowhateverleafyquarterstheycamefrom.Notthattheyhadbeenabrilliantlot,butmaybeforthatveryreasontheydidn’tdeservethepunishmentthatwouldeventuallycatchupwiththem.Hewassorryforthem,thatwasall.Hehadneverfeltsorryforthecaptorsbefore.

IshmaelsighedasGeneralBenjamintookhishandoffhisbishopandchosetheknightinstead.Itwasabadmove.EvenIshmaelcouldseethat.Heleanedbackagainstthecouch,andwhenhedidRoxanedrapedonearmacrosshisshoulderandputherotherhandonthetopofhishead,touchinghishairasabsentlyasshedidherown.ButIshmaelbarelyfeltit.Hekepthiseyesonthechessgame,which,insixmoremoves,wasover.

“Well,that’senough,”GeneralBenjaminsaidtonoone.Assoonasthegamewasfinishedthefloodgateopenedagainandsetallthepaininmotion.HeshookMr.Hosokawa’shandinthequickandformalwaytheydidaftereverygame.Mr.HosokawabowedseveraltimesandBenjaminbowedinreturn,aweirdhabitthathehadpickeduplikesomeoneelse’snervoustic.AfterallthebowinghestretchedandthenmotionedforIshmaeltotakehisseat.“Butonlyifthegentlemanwishestoplayagain.Don’timposeyourselfonhim.Gen,askMr.Hosokawaifhewouldprefertowaitandplaytomorrow.”

Mr.HosokawawasgladtoplaywithIshmael,whowasalreadygettingcomfortableinGeneralBenjamin’swarmchair.Hebegantosetuptheboard.

“Whatdoyouhaveforme?”theGeneralaskedMessner.

“Moreofthesame,really.”Messnerthumbedthroughthepapers.AnimperativeletterfromthePresident.AnimperativeletterfromtheChiefofPolice.“Theywon’tgivein.Ihavetotellyou,ifanythingtheyseemlessinclinednowthantheydidbefore.Thegovernmentisn’tsouncomfortablewiththewaythingshavebeengoing.Peoplearestartingtobecomeaccustomedtothewholething.Theywalkdownthestreetandtheydon’tevenstop.”HehandedoverthedailylistofdemandsfromthemilitarywhileGentranslated.Somedaystheydidn’tevenbothertorewordthecounterdemands.Theyjustmadecopiesandchangedthedateswithapencil.

“Well,theywillsee,wearegeniusesatwaiting.Wecanwaitthemoutforever.”GeneralBenjamingaveahalfheartednodashelookedoverthepapers.ThenheopenedthelittleFrenchsecretaryandhetookouthisownsetofpaperswhichGenhadtypedupthenightbefore.“You’llgivethemthese.”

Messnertookthepaperswithoutlookingatthem.Itwouldallbethesame.Thethingsthey

wereaskingforhadbecomerecklessinthelastmonth,thereleaseofpoliticalprisonersfromothercountries,mentheydidn’tevenknow,fooddistributiontothepoor,achangeinvotinglaws.GeneralHectorhadcomeupwiththatoneafterreadingsomeoftheVicePresident’slegalbooks.Insteadofcurtailingtheirdemands,gettingnothinghadonlymadethemwantmore.Asusual,theymadethreats,promisestostartkillinghostages,butthreat,promise,anddemand,hadbecomeasetofdecorativeadjectives.Theymeantnomorethanthestampsandsealsthegovernmentaffixedtotheirpapers.

Mr.HosokawaletIshmaelgofirst.Theboyopenedwithhisthirdpawn.GeneralBenjaminsatdowntowatchthegame.

“Weshouldtalkaboutthis,”Messnersaid.

“There’snothingtotalkabout.”

“Ithink,”Messnerstarted.Hewasfeelingaweightofresponsibility.Hewasstartingtothinkthatifhewereonlyamoreclevermanhemighthavetalkedthisthingthroughbynow.“Therearethingsyoumustconsider.”

“Shh,”GeneralBenjaminsaid,andheldhisfingertohislips.Hepointedtotheboard.“It’sstartingnow.”

Messnerleanedagainstthewall,suddenlyexhausted.Ishmaelremovedthetipofhisfingerfromhispawn.

“Letmewalkyouout,”RoxanesaidtoMessner.

“What?”GeneralBenjaminsaid.

“Shesaidshe’lltakeMr.Messnertothedoor,”Gensaid.

GeneralBenjamindidnotcaretogoalong.Hewasinterestedinseeingiftheboycouldactuallyplay.

“Tellmewhatthey’regoingtodo,”Roxanesaidastheywalkeddownthehall.GenhadcomealongandsothethreeofthemspokeinEnglish.

“Ihavenoidea.”

“Youhavesomeidea,”Roxanesaid.

Helookedather.Everytimehesawherhewassurprisedalloveragainbyhowsmallshewas.Atnight,inhismemory,shewastowering,powerful.Butstandingbesideher,shewassmallenoughtoslipbeneathacoatifhehadbeenwearingone,smallenoughtosweepoutofthehousequietlybeneathonearm.HehadtheperfecttrenchcoatathomeinGeneva,ithadbeenhisfather ’sandhisfatherhadbeenabiggerman.Messnerworeitanywayoutofacombinedsenseofloveandpracticalityanditbillowedbehindhimashewalked.“Iamafarrier,adeliveryservice.Ibringinthepapers,takeoutthepapers,makesurethereisplentyofbutterfortherolls.Theydon’ttellmeanything.”

Roxaneputherarmthroughhis,notinaflirtatiousway,butinthemannerofaheroineinanineteenth-centuryEnglishnovelgoingforawalkwithagentleman.Messnercouldfeelthewarmthofherhandthroughhisshirtsleeve.Hedidnotwanttoleaveherinside.“Tellme,”

shewhispered.“I’mlosingtrackoftime.SomedaysIthinkthisiswhereIlive,whereI’malwaysgoingtolive.IfIknewthatforsurethenIcouldfeelsettled.Doyouunderstandthat?Ifit’sgoingtobeaverylongtime,Iwanttoknow.”

Toseehereveryday,tostandoutonthesidewalkinthemorningswiththethrongingcrowdtohearhersing,wasn’tthataremarkablething?“Iimagine,”Messnersaidquietly,“thatit’sgoingtobeaverylongtime.”

Astheywalked,Gentrailedbehindthemlikeawell-trainedbutler,bothdiscreetandpresentifhewasneededinanyway.Helistened.Messnersaidit.Averylongtime.HethoughtofCarmen,ofallthelanguagestherewereforasmartgirltolearn.Theymightneedaverylongtime.

WhenRubensawthethreeofthemcominghemovedbrisklyupthehallwaybeforeanyofthesoldierscouldcuthimoff.“Messner!”hesaid.“It’samiracle!Iwaitforyouandthenyoumanagetosliprightbyme.Howisourgovernment?Havetheyreplacedmeyet?”

“Impossible,”Messnersaid.Roxanesteppedaway,steppedbacktowardsGen,andMessnerfelttheaircoolingallaroundhim.

“Weneedsoap,”theVicePresidentsaid.“Allsortsofsoap,barsoap,dishwashingsoap,laundrysoap.”

MessnerwasdistractedHisconversationwithRoxaneshouldhavelastedlonger.Theydidn’tneedGen.MessneroftendreamedinEnglish.Therewasneveramomenttobealone.“I’llseewhatIcando.”

Ruben’sfacedarkened.“I’mnotaskingforanythingsocomplicated.”

“I’llbringittomorrow,”hesaid,hisvoicegrowingsoft.Whyallthissuddentenderness?MessnerwantedtogobacktoSwitzerland,wherethepostmanwhoneverrecognizedhimwhentheypassedinthehallwayalwaysputmailintothecorrectslot.Hewantedtobeunneeded,unknown.“Yourfacehasfinallyhealedup.”

TheVicePresident,sensingtheridiculousnessofhisanger,theburdenonhisfriend,touchedhisowncheek.“Ineverthoughtitwouldhappen.It’sonehellofascar,don’tyouthink?”

“Itwillmakeyouaheroofthepeople,”Messnersaid.

“I’llsayIgotitfromyou,”Rubensaid,lookingupintoMessner ’spaleeyes.“Aknifefightinabar.”

MessnerwenttothedoorandheldouthisarmsandBeatrizandJesus,thetwoguardsonthedoor,workedhimoveruntilhefeltembarrassedbythepersistenceofBeatriz’shands.Itwasonething,thewaytheyshookhimdownwhenhecamein.Hecouldnotunderstandwhythewholeprocessneededtoberepeateduponhisexit.Whatwashesmugglingout?

“Theythinkyoumightbetakingthesoap,”theVicePresidentsaid,asifhewasreadinghisfriend’smind.“Theywonderwhereithasallgonetowhentheyhaven’tbeenusinganyofitthemselves.”

“Getbacktothesofa,”Jesussaid,andlaidtwodirectionalfingersonthetopofhisgun.The

VicePresidentwasreadyforanapanywayandwenthiswaywithoutfurtherinstruction.Messnerwentoutthedoorwithoutsayinggood-bye.

***

AllthetimeRoxanewasthinking.ShethoughtaboutMessnerandhowitseemedtoherhewouldhaveratherbeenahostagehimselfinsteadofbearingtheburdenofbeingtheonlypersonintheworldwhowasfreetocomeandgo.ShethoughtaboutSchubertlieder,Puccini’sarias,theperformancesshe’dmissedinArgentinaandtheperformancesshehadmissedbynowinNewYorkthathadtakenforevertonegotiateandhadbeensoimportanttoher,thoughshehadnotadmitteditatthetime.Shethoughtofwhatshewouldsingtomorrowinthelivingroom,moreRossini?Mostly,shethoughtaboutMr.Hosokawa,andhowshehadgrownsodependentonhim.Ifhehadn’tbeenthereshethoughtshewouldhavecompletelylosthermindinthefirstweek,butofcourseifhehadn’tbeentheresheneverwouldhavecometothiscountry,sheneverwouldhaveevenbeenasked.Herlifewouldhavegoneonlikeatrainonschedule:Argentina,NewYork,avisittoChicago,thenbacktoItaly.Nowshewascompletelystopped.ShethoughtofKatsumiHosokawasittingbythewindow,listeningwhileshesang,andshewonderedhowitwaspossibletolovesomeoneyoucouldn’tevenspeakto.Shebelievednowtherewasareasonwhyallofthishadhappened:hisbirthdayandherinvitationtobe,inasense,hisbirthdaypresent,whytheyhadbeenstuckhereallthistime.Howelsewouldtheyhavemet?Howelsewouldtherehavebeenanywaytogettoknowsomeoneyoucouldn’tspeakto,someonewholivedontheothersideoftheworld,unlessyouweregivenanenormousamountofemptytimetosimplysitandwaittogether?ShewouldhavetotakecareofCarmen,thatwasthefirstthing.

“YouknowCarmen,”RoxanesaidtoGen.Theywereontheirwaybacktoseehowthechessgamewasprogressingbutshestoppedhiminthemiddleofthehallwhentheywerefarfromanydoor.

“Carmen?”

“Iknowyouknowwhosheis,butyouknowheralittle,too,don’tknow?I’veseenthetwoofyouspeaking.”

“Ofcourse.”Genfeltaflushrisingupinhischestandhewilleditnottogoanyfarther,asifonecouldwillsuchathing.

ButRoxanewasn’tlookingathim.Hereyesseemedslightlyoutoffocus,likeshewastired.Itwasonlynoonbutshewasoftentiredaftershesanginthemorning.Theguardswouldlethergoupstairsalonetogobacktosleep.IfCarmenwasn’tonwatchsometimesshewouldfindherandtakeherwristandCarmenwouldfollowher.Itwassomucheasiertosleepwhenshewasthere.Carmenwasprobablytwentyyearsyoungerthanshewas,buttherewassomethingabouther,somethingthatsettledRoxanedown.“She’sasweetgirl.Shebringsmebreakfastinthemorning.SometimesIopenthedoortomyroomatnightandshe’ssleepinginthehall,”shesaid.“Notallthetime.”

Notallthetime.Notwhenshewaswithhim.

Roxanelookedbackathimandsmiledalittle.“PoorGen,you’realwaysinthemiddleof

everything.Anyonewhohasasecrethastotakeitthroughyou.”

“I’msurethere’splentyImiss.”

“Ineedyoutodomeafavor,justlikeeverybodyelse.Ineedyoutodosomething.”BecauseifMessnerwasright,ifitwasstillgoingtobeaverylongtimethattheywereheldhostage,thenshedeservedtohavethis.Andif,attheendofthatlongtime,theywerekilledanyway,becausethatwasalwaysthetalk,thatthemilitarywouldshootthemtopinitontheterrorists,orthattheterroristswouldkilltheminamomentofdesperation(thoughshefoundthishardertobelieve),thenshedeserveditallthemore.Andifthethirdscenarioweretrue,thattheywouldbereleasedquicklyandunharmed,thattheyallwouldgobacktotheirregularlivesandputthisbehindthem,thenshewoulddeserveitmostofall,becausecertainlythenshewouldnotseeKatsumiHosokawaagain.“FindCarmentonightandtellhertosleepsomewhereelse.Tellhersheshouldn’tcomeupwithbreakfastinthemorning.You’ddothatforme?”

Gennodded.

Butthatwasn’taskingforquiteenough.Thatwasn’taskingforeverythingbecauseshehadnowayoftellingMr.Hosokawaheshouldcometohertonight.Shewantedtoaskhimtocometoherroombuttherewasonlyonewayofdoingthat,toaskGentogotohimandsayitinJapanese,andwhatdidshemeantosay,exactly?Thatshemeantforhimtostaythenight?AndGenwouldhavetoaskCarmentofindawaytogetMr.Hosokawaupstairs,andwhatiftheywerefoundout,whatwouldhappentoMr.Hosokawathen,andCarmen?Itusedtobeifyoumetsomeoneandyouwantedtoseethem,maybeyouwentouttodinner,hadadrink.Sheleanedbackagainstthewall.TwoboyswithgunswalkedbybuttheyneverteasedorpokedwhenRoxanewasthere.Oncetheyhadpassed,shetookadeepbreathandtoldGeneverythingshewanted.Hedidnottellherthiswasallinsanity.Helistenedtoherasifshewasn’taskingforanythingunusualatall,noddingwhileshespoke.Maybeatranslatorwasnotunlikeadoctor,alawyer,apriesteven.Theymusthavesomecodeofethicsthatpreventedthemfromgossiping.Andevenifshewasn’tpositivethenofhisloyaltytoher,sheknewhewoulddoeverythingpossibletoprotectMr.Hosokawa.

RubenIglesiaswentintowhathestillthoughtofastheguestroom,butwasnowtheGenerals’office,inordertoemptythewastebaskets.Hewasgoingfromroomtoroomwithalargegreentrashbag,takingnotonlywhathadbeenthrownawayinthecansbutwhatwasontheflooraswell:popbottles,bananapeels,thebitsofthenewspaperwhichhadbeeneditedout.Rubensurreptitiouslydepositedthoseintohispocketstoreadlateatnightwithaflashlight.Mr.HosokawaandIshmaelwereplayingchessandhestoodinthedoorforaminutetowatch.HewasveryproudofIshmael,whowassomuchbrighterthantheotherboys.Rubenhadboughtthatsettoteachthegametohisson,Marco,buthestillfelttheboywastooyoungtolearn.GeneralBenjaminwassittingonthecouchandafterawhilehelookedupatRuben.Thesightofhiseye,sobadlyinfected,tookRuben’sbreathaway.

“ThatIshmael,he’safastlearner,”GeneralBenjaminsaid.“Nobodytaughthimthegame,youknow.Hejustpickeditupfromwatching.”Theboy’saccomplishmenthadputhiminagoodmood.Itremindedhimofwhenheusedtobeaschoolteacher.

“Comeintothehallforamoment,”Rubensaidtohimquietly.“Imustspeaktoyouaboutsomething.”

“Thenspeaktomehere.”

Rubencasthiseyestowardstheboy,indicatingthatthiswasaprivatematterbetweenmen.Benjaminsighedandpushedhimselfoffthecouch.“Everyonehasaproblem,”hesaid.

Outsidethedoorway,Rubenputdownhisbagoftrash.HedidnotliketospeaktotheGenerals.Hisfirstencounterwiththemhadsetaprecedentwhichhefollowed,butnodecentmancouldpretendnottonoticesuchathing.

“Whatisityouneed?”Benjaminsaid,hisvoiceheavy.

“Whatyouneed,”Rubensaid.Hereachedintohispocketandtookoutabottleofpillswithhisnameonthem.“Antibiotics.Look,theygavememorethanIwouldeverneed.Theystoppedtheinfectioninmyface.”

“Goodforyou,”GeneralBenjaminsaid.

“Andyou.Thereareplentyhere.Takethem.Youbewillsurprisedbythedifferencetheymake.”

“Youareadoctor?”

“Youdon’tneedtobeadoctortoseeaninfection.I’mtellingyou.”

Benjaminsmiledathim.“HowdoIknowyoudon’tmeantopoisonme,littleVicePresident?”

“Yes,yes.”Rubensighed.“Imeantopoisonyou.Imeanforustodietogether.”HeopenedthebottleandshookoneofthepillsintohismouthandaftermakingsuretoshowBenjaminhowitsatthereonhistongue,heswallowedit.ThenhehandedthebottleovertotheGeneral.“Iwillnotaskyouwhatyoumeantodowiththem,butthere,theyareyours.”

Afterthat,BenjaminreturnedtothechessgameandRubenpickedupthetrashandheadedontothenextroominthehall.

ItwasSaturday,butsinceallthedayswereessentiallythesame,theonlytwopeoplewhogavethisanythoughtatallwereFatherArguedas,whoheardconfessiononSaturdayandplannedforhisSundaymass,andBeatriz,whofoundtheweekendstobeanunbearablewastelandbecausetheprogramsheliked,TheStoryofMaria,wasonlyonMondaythroughFriday.

“Itisahealthythingtowait,”GeneralAlfredotoldher,becauseheenjoyedtheshowhimself.“Itgivesyouasenseofanticipation.”

“Idon’twanttowait,”shesaid,andsuddenlythoughtthatshemightcrywithfrustration,thedullwhitestretchoftheafternoonpushingoutendlesslyineverydirection.Shehadalreadycleanedhergunandpassedinspectionandshedidn’thavetostandguarduntilnight.Shecouldhavetakenanaporlookedatoneofthemagazinesshehadseenandnotunderstoodahundredtimesbefore,butthethoughtofitallseemedunbearable.Shewantedoutofthisplace.Shewantedtowalkdownthestreetsinthecitylikeanyothergirlandhavementap

theirhornsastheydrovebyher.Shewantedtodosomething.“I’mgoingtoseethepriest,”shesaidtoAlfredo.Shequicklyturnedherfaceaway.Tocrywasstrictlyforbidden.Shethoughtofitastheworstthingshecoulddo.

FatherArguedasadopteda“translatoroptional”policyinregardtoconfession.IfpeoplechosetoconfessinalanguageotherthanSpanish,thenhewouldbehappytositandlistenandassumetheirsinswerefilteredthroughhimandwashedawaybyGodexactlyastheywouldhavebeenifhehadunderstoodwhattheyweresaying.Ifpeoplewouldratherbeunderstoodinamoretraditionalway,thentheywerewelcometobringGenalongifitworkedoutwithhisschedule.Genwasperfectforthejob,asheseemedtohavearemarkableabilitynottolistentothewordscomingoutofhisownmouth.Butthatdidn’tmatterbecausetodayOscarMendozawasconfessinginthelanguagetheybothgrewupspeaking.Theysatface-to-faceontwodining-roomchairspulledovertothecorner.Peoplerespectedthearrangementandavoidedthediningroomwhentheysawthepriestwassittingdownwithsomeonethere.Atfirst,FatherArguedashadbroughtuptheideaoftryingtorigupsomesortofproperconfessionalinthecoatclosetbuttheGeneralswouldnotallowit.Allofthehostagesmustbeoutintheopenwheretheycouldbeclearlyseenatalltimes.

“Blessme,Father,forIhavesinned.It’sbeenthreeweekssincemylastconfession.AthomeIgoeveryweek,Ipromiseyouthat,butthereisn’tagreatdealofopportunitytosininourpresentcircumstances,”OscarMendozasaid.“Nodrinking,nogambling,onlythreewomen.Eventotryandsinwithyourselfisnearlyimpossible.Thereissolittleprivacy.”

“Therearerewardstothewaywelive.”

Mendozanodded,thoughhecouldhardlyseeitassuch.“Iamhavingdreams,though.Cancertaintypesofdreamsconstituteasin,Father?”

Thepriestshrugged.Heenjoyedconfession,thechancetotalktopeople,possiblytorelievethemoftheirburden.Hecouldcountononehandthenumberoftimeshehadbeenallowedtohearconfessionbeforethekidnapping,butsincethentherehadbeeninstanceswhentherehadbeenseveralpeoplewaitingtospeaktohim.Perhapshewouldhavechosenslightlymoresin,ifonlybecauseitwouldhavekeptthepeoplewithhimlonger.“Dreamsareamatterofthesubconscious.That’sunclearterritory.Still,Ithinkitwouldbebestifyoutoldme.ThenmaybeIcanhelpyou.”

Beatrizleanedherheadintothedoorway,herheavybraidswungdownagainstthelight.“Areyoufinishedyet?”

“Notyet,”thepriestsaid.

“Soon?”

“Goandplayforawhile.Icanseeyounext.”

Play.Didhethinkshewasachild?ShelookedatGen’sbigwatchonherwrist.Itwasseventeenminutesafteroneo’clock.Sheunderstoodthewatchperfectlynow,thoughitdoggedheralittle.Shecouldn’tgoformorethanthreeminuteswithoutcheckingthetimenomatterhowhardshetriedtoignoreit.BeatrizlaydownonasmallredOrientalcarpetjustoutsidethedoorwhereFathercouldn’tseeherbutshecouldcomfortablyhearconfession.

Sheslippedtheendofherbraidintohermouth.OscarMendozahadavoiceasbigashisshouldersanditcarriedeasily,evenwhenhewhispered.

“Itismoreorlessthesamedreameverynight.”OscarMendozastopped,notentirelysurehewantedtosayanythingtoohorribletosuchayoungpriest.“Dreamsofterribleviolence.”

“Againstourcaptors?”thepriestsaidquietly.

Outinthehall,Beatrizliftedupherhead.

“Ohno,nothinglikethat.IwishtheywouldleaveusalonebutIdon’twishthemanyparticularviolence,atleastnotusually.No,thedreamsthatIhaveareaboutmydaughters.Icomehomefromthisplace.Iescapeoramfreed,it’sdifferentindifferentdreams,andwhenIgettomyhouseitisfullofboys.It’slikesomesortofboys’academy.Boysofeverysize,light-skinned,dark-skinned,somefat,somelanky.They’reeverywhere.Theyareeatingoutofmyrefrigeratorandsmokingcigarettesonmyporch.Theyareinmybathroom,usingmyrazor.WhenIpassthemtheyglanceup,givemeadulllook,liketheycouldn’treallybebothered,andthentheygobacktowhateveritwastheyweredoing.Butthat’snottheterriblepart.Theseboys,whattheyaremostlydoing,theyare...theyare,havingknowledgeofmydaughters.Theyarelinedupoutsidetheirbedrooms,eventheroomsofmytwolittlegirls.Itisaterriblething,Father.FromsomeofthedoorsIhearlaughingandfromothersIhearsobbingandIstarttokilltheboys,onebyone,IgodownthehallandIbreakthemapartlikematches.Theydon’tevenstepawayfromme.EachonelookssosurprisedjustbeforeIreachuptosnaphisneckinmyhands.”Oscar ’shandswereshakingandheknottedthemtogetherandpressedthembetweenhisknees.

Beatriztriedtolookdiscreetlyaroundthecornertoseeifthebigmanwascrying.Shethoughtshecoulddetectatremblinginhisvoice.Werethesethesortsofthingsotherpeopledreamedabout?Wasthiswhattheyconfessed?Shecheckedthewatch:1:20.

“Ah,Oscar.Oscar.”FatherArguedaspattedhisshoulder.“Itisjustthepressure.It’snotasin.Wepraythatourmindswon’tturntowardsterriblethingsbutsometimestheydoanditisbeyondourcontrol.”

“Itfeelsveryrealatthetime,”Oscarsaid,andthenheaddedreluctantly,“I’mnotsounhappyinthedreams.Ifeelarage,butI’mgladtobekillingthem.”

Thispieceofinformationwasperhapsmoretroubling.“Thethingtodothenistolearn.PrayforGod’sstrength,forHisjustice.Thenwhenthetimecomesforyoutogobacktoyourhometherewillbepeaceinyourheart.”

“Isuppose.”Oscarnoddedslowly,feelingunconvinced.Herealizednowthatwhathehadwantedthepriesttodowasnottoabsolvehimbuttoreassurehimthatitwasimpossible,thethingshedreamedabout.Thathisdaughtersweresafeandunmolestedintheirhome.

FatherArguedaslookedathimveryclosely.Heleanedintowardshim,hisvoicefullofportent.“PraytotheVirgin.Threerosaries.Doyouunderstandme?”HetookhisownrosaryoutofhispocketandpresseditintoOscar ’sbighands.

“Threerosaries,”Oscarsaid,andsureenough,therewasalooseningofpressureinhischestashebegantoworkthebeadsthroughhisfingers.HelefttheroomthankingFather.Atleast

ifhecouldprayhewouldbedoingsomething.

ThepriesttookafewminutestoprayforthesinsofOscarMendozaandwhenhewasfinishedheclearedhisthroatandcalledout,“Beatriz,wasthatfunforyou?”

Shewaited,driedherbraidonhersleeve,thenshesimplyrolledoverontoherstomachsothatnowshewasfacingintotheroom.“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.”

“Youshouldn’tbelistening.”

“Youareaprisoner,”shesaid,butwithoutmuchconviction.Shewouldneverraiseherguntoapriestandsoshepointedherfingerathiminstead.“Ihaveeveryrighttohearwhatyouaresaying.”

FatherArguedasleanedbackinhischair.“Tomakesureweweren’tinhereplottingtokillyouinyoursleep.”

“Exactly.”

“Comeinnowandmakeyourconfession.Youhavesomethingtoconfessalready.Thatwillmakeiteasier.”FatherArguedaswasbluffing.Noneoftheterroristsmadeconfession,althoughmanyofthemcametomassandheletthemtakecommunionjustthesame.HethoughtitwasprobablyaruleoftheGenerals,noconfession.

ButBeatrizhadnevermadeconfessionbefore.Inhervillage,thepriestcamethroughirregularly,onlywhenhisschedulepermittedit.Thepriestwasaverybusymanwhoservedalargeregioninthemountains.Sometimesmonthswouldpassbetweenvisitsandthenwhenhecamehistimewascrowdedupwithnotonlythemassitselfbutbaptismsandmarriages,funerals,landdisputes,communion.Confessionwassavedformurderersandtheterminallyill,notidlegirlswhohaddonenothingworsethenpinchtheirsistersordisobeytheirmothers.Itwassomethingfortheverygrownupandfortheverywicked,andifsheweretotellthetruth,Beatrizconsideredherselftobeneitherofthosethings.

FatherArguedasheldouthishandandhespoketohersoftly.Really,hewastheonlyonewhoeverspoketoherinthattone.“Comehere,”hesaid.“I’llmakethisveryeasyforyou.”

Itwassosimpletogotohim,tositdowninthechair.Hetoldhertobowherheadandthenheputahandoneithersideofthestraightpartofherhairandbegantoprayforher.Shedidn’tlistentotheprayer.Sheonlyheardwordshereandthere,beautifulwords,fatherandblessedandforgiveness.Itwasjustsuchapleasantsensation,theweightofhishandsonherhead.Whenhefinallytookhishandsawayafterwhatseemedtobeaverylongtime,shefeltdelightfullyweightless,free.Sheliftedupherfaceandsmiledathim.

“Nowyoucallyoursinstomind,”hesaid.“Usuallyyoudothatbeforeyoucome.YoupraytoGodtogiveyouthecouragetorememberyoursinsandthecouragetoreleasethem.Andwhenyoucometotheconfessionalyousay,‘Blessme,Father,forIhavesinned.Thisismyfirstconfession.’”

“Blessme,Father,forIhavesinned.Thisismyfirstconfession.”

FatherArguedaswaitedforawhilebutBeatrizonlycontinuedtosmileathim.“Nowyoutellmeyoursins.”

“Whatarethey?”

“Well,”hesaid,“tostartwith,youlistenedinonMr.Mendoza’sconfessionwhenyouknewitwasthewrongthingtodo.”

Sheshookherhead.“Thatwasn’tasin.Itoldyou,Iwasdoingmyjob.”

FatherArguedasputhishandsonhershouldersthistimeandithadthesamewonderfullycalmingeffectonher.“Whileyouareinconfessionyoumusttelltheabsolutetruth.YouaretellingthattruthtoGodthroughme,andIwillnevertellanotherlivingsoul.WhatthisisisbetweenyouandmeandGod.Itisasacredriteandyoumustnever,neverliewhenyoumakeyourconfession.Doyouunderstandthat?”

“Ido,”Beatrizwhispered.Hehadthenicestfaceofanyonehere,nicereventhanGen’s,whoshehadlikedalittlebitbefore.Alltheotherhostagesweretooold,andtheboysinhertroopweretooyoung,andtheGeneralsweretheGenerals.

“Pray,”thepriestsaid.“Tryveryhardtounderstandthis.”

Becauseshelikedhim,shetriedtomakeherselfthinkaboutit.Withthefeelofhishandsonhershoulderssheclosedhereyesandsheprayed,andsuddenlyitseemedverycleartoher.Yes,sheknewshewasnotsupposedtolisten.Sheknewitlikesomethingshecouldseebehindherclosedeyesanditmadeherhappy.“Iconfesshavinglistened.”Allshehadtodowassayitandthereitwent,floatingawayfromher.Itwasn’thersinanymore.

“Andsomethingelse?”

Somethingelse.Shethoughtagain.Shestaredhardintothedarknessofherclosedeyes,theplacewheresheknewthesinsstackeduplikekindling,dryandreadyforafire.Therewassomethingelse,lotsofsomethingelse.Shebegantoseethemall.Butitwastoomuchandshedidn’tknowwhattocallit,howtoformsomanysinsintowords.“Ishouldn’thavepointedthegun,”shesaidfinally,becausetherewasnowaytomakesenseofallofit.Shefeltlikeifshestayedforevershewouldneverbeabletoconfessthemall.Notthatshemeanttostopdoinganyofthosethings.Shecouldn’tstop.Itwouldn’tbeallowedandshedidn’tevenwantto.Shecouldseehersinsnowandknewthatshewouldmakemoreandmoreofthem.

“Godforgivesyou,”thepriestsaid.

Beatrizopenedhereyesandblinkedatthepriest.“Soitwillgoaway?”

“You’llhavetopray.You’llhavetobesorry.”

“Icandothat.”Maybethatwastheanswer,asortofcycleofsinningandsorriness.ShecouldcomeeverySaturday,maybemoreoftenthanthat,andhewouldkeephavingGodforgiveher,andthenshewouldbefreetogotoheaven.

“Iwantyoutosaysomeprayersnow.”

“Idon’tknowallthewords.”

FatherArguedasnoddedhishead.“Wecansaythemtogether.Icanteachthemtoyou.But,Beatriz,Ineedyoutobekind,tobehelpful.Thatispartofyourcontrition.Iwantyoutotryitjustfortoday.”

Carmenwasinthelivingroom,butsowasGeneralHectorandahalf-dozenofthebiggerboys.Fourofthemplayedcardsandtherestofthemwatched.Theyhadstucktheirknivesintothetabletheyplayedon,somethingthatdrovetheVicePresidenttothebrinkofinsanity.Thetablewasfromtheearly1800s,hand-carvedbySpanishartisanswhoneverenvisionedthatkniveswouldbristlefromthewood’ssmoothtoplikesomanyporcupinequills.Genwalkedpastthemslowly.HecouldnotevenattempttocatchCarmen’seye.Allhecoulddowashopethatshesawhimandwouldthinktofollow.GenstoppedandspoketoSimonThibault,whowasstretchedacrossanearbysofareadingOneHundredYearsofSolitudeinSpanish.

“Thiswilltakemeforever,”ThibaultsaidtoGeninFrench.“Maybeahundredyears.AtleastIknowIhavethetime.”

“Whoknewthatbeingkidnappedwassomuchlikeattendinguniversity?”Gensaid.

Thibaultlaughedandturnedapage.Hadsheheardthemtalking?Didsheseehimwalkingaway?Hewentontothekitchen,whichwasmercifullyempty,slippedinsidethechinacloset,andwaited.Wheneverhehadcometothechinacloset,Carmenwasalreadythere,waitingforhim.HehadneverbeenintherealoneandthesightofallthoseplatesstackedupabovehisheadfilledhisheartwithloveforCarmen.Platesonwhichtwopeoplecouldeatayear ’sworthofdinnersandneverhavetowashadish.Therewasneveraminutealone,aminutewhensomeonewasn’taskinghimtosaysomething.Alwayshisheadwasclutteredwithotherpeople’soverlyexpressedsentiments,andnowitwasquietandhecouldimagineCarmensittingnexttohim,herlong,slenderlegsfoldedupinfrontofherwhilesheconjugatedverbs.Shehadaskedhimforfavorsandnowhewouldaskherforherhelp.TogethertheywouldhelpMr.HosokawaandMissCoss.Normallyhewouldsaythattheprivatelifeofone’semployerwasinnomannerhisbusiness,butnoonepretendedanymorethatthiswasanormallife.HecouldnotthinkofMrs.HosokawaorNanseiorJapan.Thosethingshadrecededsofarbehindthemthatitwasalmostimpossibletobelievetheyhadeverexisted.Whathebelievedinwasthischinacloset,saucersandsoupbowls,toweringstacksofbread-and-butterplates.Hebelievedinthisnight.ItstruckhimthathehadlookedforCarmenfirst,thathehadnotgonebacktospeaktoMr.Hosokawa,whowasmostlikelystillplayingchesswithIshmael.Hecouldnotbetwoplacesatonceandfinallyhefelthimselfsettling,feltthekitchenfloorhardandcoldbeneathhisbuttocks,felttheslightestacheinhisback.Hewashere,onlyhere,inthiscountryhedidnotknow,waitingonthegirlhetaughtandloved,waitingtohelpMr.Hosokawa,whomhelovedaswell.TherewasGen,whohadgonefromnothingtolovingtwopeople.

Hedidn’tknowhowmuchtimewaspassingwithouthiswatch.Hecouldn’tevenguessanymore.Fiveminutesfeltsomuchlikeanhour.L’amourestunoiseaurebellequenulnepeutapprivoiser,etc’estbienenvainqu’onl’appelle,s’illuiconvientderefuser.Heonlysaidthewordstohimself,humminglightly.HewishedthathecouldsingthembutGen

couldn’tsing.

AndthenCarmencame,flushedasifshehadbeenrunningwheninfactshehadwalkedtothekitchenasslowlyassuchawalkwaspossibletomake.Sheclosedthedoorbehindherandsankdownonthefloor.“Ithoughtthiswaswhatyoumeant,”shewhispered,pressinginclosebesidehimasifitwerecold.“Ithoughtyouwouldbewaitingforme.”

Gentookherhands,whichweresosmall.Howdidheeverthinkshewasonlyabeautifulboy?“Ineedtoaskyousomething.”Loveisarebelliousbirdthatnoonecantame,hethoughtagain,andhekissedher.

Shekissedhimforthekiss,touchedhishair,whoseglossandweightshefoundtobeanendlesssourceoffascination.“Ididn’twanttogetuprightaway.IthoughtIshouldwaitawhilebeforeIfollowedyou.”

Hekissedher.Therewassuchanincrediblelogictokissing,suchametal-to-magnetpullbetweentwopeoplethatitwasawonderthattheyfoundthestrengthtopreventthemselvesfromsuccumbingeverysecond.Rightfully,theworldshouldbeawhirlpoolofkissingintowhichwesankandneverfoundthestrengthtoriseupagain.“RoxaneCosscametospeaktometoday.Shesaidshewantsyoutosleepsomewhereelsetonight,tonotbringherbreakfastinthemorning.”

Carmenpushedawayfromhim,keepingonehandonhischest.RoxaneCossdidn’twanthertobringbreakfast?“DidIdosomethingwrong?”

“Oh,no,”Gensaid.“Shethinksveryhighlyofyou.Shetoldmeso.”Hetuckedherintothecrookofhisarmandshebreathedintohisshoulder.Thiswaswhatitfeltlike,tobeamanwithawoman.ThiswasthethingGenhadmissedinallthetranslationoflanguage.“Youwereright,whatyouthoughtabout,herfeelingsforMr.Hosokawa.Shewantstobewithhimtonight.”

Carmenraisedherhead.“Howwillhegetupstairs?”

“Roxanewantsyoutohelphim.”

Genlivedonelifeandinthatlifehewasalwaysaprisonerandhisfriendsweretheotherprisoners,andeventhoughhelovedCarmenandgotalongpolitelywithsomeoftheterrorists,henevergotconfusedandthoughthewantedtojoinLFDMS.ButforCarmenitwasdifferent.Shehadclearlytwolives.Shedidherpush-upsinthemorningandstoodforinspection.Shecarriedherrifleonguard.Shekeptaboningknifeinherbootandsheknewhowtouseit.Sheobeyedorders.Shewas,asithadbeenexplainedtoher,partoftheforcethatwouldbringaboutchange.Butshewasalsothegirlwhowenttothechinaclosetatnight,whowaslearningtoreadinSpanishandcouldalreadysayseveralthingsinEnglish.Goodmorning.Iamverywell,thankyou.Whereistherestaurant?Somemornings,RoxaneCossletherclimbintotheimpossiblysoftsheetsonherbigbed,letherclosehereyesforafewminutesandpretendshebelongedthere.Shewouldpretendshewasoneoftheprisoners,thatshelivedinaworldwithsomanyprivilegesthattherewasnothingtofightfor.Butnomatterhowthetwosidesgotalong,theywerealwaystwosides,andwhenshewentfromonetotheotheritwasamatterofcrossingoversomething.EithershetoldGenshecouldn’tgetMr.

Hosokawaupstairs,inwhichcaseshedisappointedGenandMr.HosokawaandMissCoss,whohadallbeensokindtoher,orshetoldhimshecould,inwhichcaseshebrokeeveryoathshehadsworntoherpartyandputherselfatriskofapunishmentshewouldnotimagine.IfGenhadunderstoodanyofthisheneverwouldhaveaskedher.Forhimitwasmerelyabouthelpingout,beingafriend.Itwasasifheonlywantedtoborrowabook.Carmenclosedhereyesandpretendedtobetired.SheprayedtoSaintRoseofLima.“SaintRose,givemeguidance.SaintRose,givemeclarity.”Shepressedhereyesclosedandpleadedfortheintercessionoftheonlysaintsheknewpersonally,butasaintisverylittlehelpwhenitcomestosmugglingamarriedmanintoanoperasinger ’sbedroom.Onthismatter,Carmenwasonherown.

“Sure,”Carmenwhispered,hereyesstillclosed,herearpressedtothesteadythumpofGen’sheart.Gen’shandcameupandsmoothedherhair,overandoveragain,thewayhermotherhaddonewhenCarmenwasachildandhadafever.

Inthevice-presidentialmansion,noneoftheguests,notevenRubenIglesiashimself,knewthehouseaswellasthemembersofLFDMS.Partoftheirdailyworkwasthememorizationofwindowsandwhichoneswerewideenoughtojumpthrough.Theycalculatedthefalls,estimatedthedamageintermsoftheirownbones.Theyeachknewthelengthofthehallways,roomsfromwhichonecouldmakeaclearshottotheoutside,thefastestexitstotheroof,tothegarden.Sonaturally,Carmenknewtherewasabackstairwellinthehallwayoffthekitchenthatledtotheservants’quarters,andthatintheveryroomthatEsmeraldahadonceslepttherewasadoorthatwenttothenursery,andthenurseryhadadoorontothemainhallwayofthesecondfloor,andthathallwayledtothebedroomwhereRoxaneCossslept.Ofcourse,otherpeoplesleptonthesecondflooraswell.GeneralsBenjaminandHectorhadroomsonthesecondfloor.(GeneralAlfredo,theworstsleeper,foundalittlerestintheguestsuiteonthefirstfloor.)Manyoftheboyssleptonthesecondfloorandnotalwaysinthesameplace,whichiswhyCarmenchosetosleepinthehallwayoutsideofRoxaneCoss’sroom,justincaseoneofthoseboyswokeupinthemiddleofthenight,restless.Carmenherselfhadusedthisroutetothechinacloseteverynight,herstockingfeetsilentonthepolishedwoodfloor.Sheknewthelocationofeverycreakyboard,everypotentiallylightsleeper.Sheknewhowtoflattenherselfintotheshadowswhensomeonecamearoundthecornerheadedforthebathroom.Shecouldskatethosefloorsasquietasabladedrawingoverice.Carmenwastrained,anexpertatremainingsilent.Still,shecouldsensethedepthofMr.Hosokawa’sabilitytobequiet.ThankGodRoxaneCosshadnotfalleninlovewithoneoftheRussians.Shedoubtedtheycouldmakeitupthestairswithoutstoppingforacigaretteandtellingatleastoneloudstorythatnoonecouldunderstand.GenwastobringMr.Hosokawatothebackhallwayattwo A.M.andshewouldtakehimtoRoxaneCoss’sroom.Twohourslatershewouldcometothedoortoleadhimback.Theywouldsaynothingtoeachother,butthatpartwaseasyenough.Evenifinthiscasetheywereallies,therewasnothingtheyknewtosay.

Oncetheplansweremade,CarmenleftGentowatchtelevisionwiththeothersoldiers.ThereshesawarepeatbroadcastofTheStoryofMaria.Mariahadgonetothecitytosearchforherlover,whomshehadsentaway.Shewanderedthecrowdedstreetswithherlittlesuitcaseinherhandandoneverycornerstrangerslurkedintheshadows,conspiringtoruinher.

EveryoneintheVicePresident’sstudywept.Carmenplayedcheckerswhentheprogramwasoverandshehelpedwithsupplylistsandvolunteeredtocoverafternoonwatchifanyonewasfeelingtired.Shewouldbeexemplaryinherhelpfulnessandwillingparticipation.ShedidnotwanttoseeGenorMr.HosokawaorRoxaneCossforfearshewouldblushandgiveherselfaway,forfearthatshewouldbecomeangryatthemforaskingsomuchofher.

Howmuchdoesahouseknow?Therecouldnothavebeengossipandyettherewasaslighttensionintheair,thevaguestelectricitythatmademenlifttheirheadsandlookandfindnothing.Thesaltedfishandricethatcamefordinnerdidnotgodownwellandoneaftertheothertheyputtheirsharesonthetablehalfeatenandwalkedaway.KatopickedoutColePorteronthepianoandtheeveningfellintoalow,bluelight.Maybeitwasthefineweather,theirritationofonceagainnotbeingabletowalkoutside.Ahalf-dozenmenstoodnearanopenwindowandtriedtobreathethenightairasdarknesssettledin,takingawaytheviewoftheovergrowngardenonetwistedfloweratatime.Fromtheothersideofthewalltheycouldhearthefaintraceofengines,carsthatwerepossiblyblocksawayfromtheirstreet,andforamomentthemenatthewindowrememberedthattherewasaworldoutthere,andthenjustasquicklytheyletthethoughtgo.

RoxaneCosshadgonetobedearly.LikeCarmen,shedidn’twanttobethereonceshehadmadeherdecision.Mr.HosokawasatnexttoGenontheloveseatnearestthepiano.“Tellmeagain,”hesaid.

“Shewantstoseeyoutonight.”

“That’swhatshesaid?”

“Carmenwilltakeyoutoherroom.”

Mr.Hosokawalookedathishands.Theywereoldhands.Hisfather ’shands.Hisnailswerelong.“It’sveryawkwardthatCarmenshouldknowthis.Thatyoushouldknow.”

“Therewasnootherway.”

“Whatifitisdangerousforthegirl?”

“Carmenknowswhatshe’sdoing.”Gensaid.Dangerous?Shewentdownthestairseverynighttocometothechinacloset.Hewouldn’taskhertodosomethingthatwasn’tsafe.

Mr.Hosokawanoddedslowly.Hehadthedistinctsensationthatthelivingroomwastilting,thatthelivingroomhadbecomeaboatinagentlytiltingsea.Hehadstoppedthinkingofwhathewantedmostsomanyyearsago,evenwhenhewasachildperhaps.Hedisciplinedhimselftoonlywantthethingsthatwerepossibletohave:anenormousindustry,aproductivefamily,anunderstandingofmusic.Andnow,afewmonthsafterhisfifty-thirdbirthday,inacountryhehadneverreallyseen,hefeltdesireinthedeepestpartofhimself,thekindofwantingthatcanonlycomewhenthethingyouwantisveryclosetoyou.Whenhewasachildhedreamedoflove,notonlytowitnessit,thewayhesawloveintheopera,buttofeelithimself.Butthat,hedecided,wasmadness.Thatwaswantingtoomuch.Tonighthewishedforlittlethings,thechancetotakeahotbath,areasonablesuitofclothing,agifttobring,attheveryleastsomeflowers,butthentheroomtiltedslightlyintheotherdirectionandheopeneduphishandsandallofthatfellawayfromhimandhewantednothing.Hehad

beenaskedtocometoherroomattwo A.M.andtherewasnothingmoreintheworldtowant,ever.

Whenthetimecametosleep,Mr.Hosokawalayflatonhisbackandlookedathiswatchbythebrightlightofthemoon.Hewasafraidhewouldfallasleepandheknewhewouldneverfallasleep.HemarveledatGen,whotookmeasured,peacefulbreathsonthefloorbesidehim.Whathedidn’tknowwasthatGenwokeupeverymorningattwo A.M.,asregularasababywakingforfood,andslippedoutofthelivingroomwithouteverbeingmissed.Mr.Hosokawawatchedthenightguardcircle,BeatrizandSergio,andloweredhiseyelidswhenevertheycamenear.Theystoppedtowatchcertainmembersofhisgroupsleep.Theywhisperedtooneanotherandnodded.Byoneo’clocktheyhaddisappearedexactlythewayGensaidtheywould.Thiswastheworldofthenightofwhichheknewnothing.Mr.Hosokawacouldfeelhispulsepushinginhistemples,hiswrists,hisneck.Hepointedhistoes.Thiswasthehour.Hehadbeensleepingforever.Hehadbeendead.Nowhewassuddenly,completelyalive.

Atfiveminutesuntiltwo,Gensatupasifanalarmhadgoneoff.Hestood,lookedathisemployer,andtogethertheycrossedthelivingroom,placingtheirfeetdowngentlybetweentheirsleepingfriendsandacquaintances.ThereweretheArgentinians.TherewerethePortuguese.TheGermanssleptneartheItalians.TheRussiansweresafeinthediningroom.TherewasKato,hisdearhandsfoldedonhischest,hisfingerstwitchingalmostimperceptiblyinhissleep,likeadogdreamingofSchubert.Therewasthepriest,rolledoveronhisside,bothhandsunderonecheek.Scatteredamongthemwereahandfulofsoldierssprawledontheirbacksasifsleepwasacarthathadhitthemdeadon,theirneckstwistedsideways,theirmouthswrenchedopen,theirriflesrestingintheiropenhandslikeripefruit.

Inahallwayoffthekitchen,CarmenwaswaitingexactlyasGensaidshewouldbe,herdarkhairtiedintoabraid,herfeetbare.ShelookedatGenfirst,andhetouchedhershoulderlightlyinsteadofspeaking,andeverythingwasunderstoodamongthethreeofthem.Therewasnosenseinwaiting,aswaitingwouldhaveonlymadeitworse.Carmenwouldhavelikedtohavebeeninthechinaclosetnow,herlegsacrossGen’slap,readingaloudthepracticeparagraphhehadwrittenupforher,butshehadmadeherchoice.Shehadagreed.Shesaidaquickprayertothesaintwhoignoredhernowandcrossedherselfasquickly,lightly,asahummingbirdtouchingdownfourtimes.Thensheturnedandwentdownthehall,Mr.Hosokawamovingsilentlybehindher.Genwatchedthemastheyturnedaway,neverhavingrealizeditwouldbeworsetobeleftbehind.

Whentheygottothestaircase,anarrow,twistingaffairwhoseboardswerecheapandonlygoodenoughtocarryservantsfromonefloortotheother,CarmenturnedandlookedatMr.Hosokawa.Sheleanedoverandtouchedhisankleandthentouchedherown,shemovedtheirfeettogether,andwhenshestooduphenoddedtoher.Itwasverydarkandastheytookthestairsitwouldgetdarker.Neverhadherprayersfailedhercompletely.Shetriedtobelievethiswasonlyalesson,anecessarydelay,andthatiftheyweretogetcaughtshewouldnotbealoneforever.

AllMr.Hosokawacouldseenowwastheoutlineofhernarrowback.Hetriedtodowhatshetoldhim,toplacehisfootexactlyintheplaceherfoothadleft,buthecouldn’thelpthink

abouthowmuchsmallershewas.Captivityhadmadehimthinner,andashetookthestairshewasgratefulforeverypoundhehadlost.Heheldhisbreathandlistened.Truly,theyweresilent.Hehadneverbeensoawareofthecompleteabsenceofsound.Hehadnotclimbedasetofstairsinthemonthshehadbeeninsidethishouseandtheveryactfeltbraveanddaring.Howrightitwastoclimb!Howhappyhewastofinallyhavethechancetoriskhimself.Whentheyreachedthetop,Carmenpushedopenthedoorwithherfingertipsandalittlelightfellontoherface,areassurancethatatleastpartofthetripwasbehindthemnow.Sheturnedandsmiledathim.Shewasabeautifulgirl.Shewashisowndaughter.

Theytooktheslimhallwaytothenanny’sroom,andwhensheopenedthatdoortherewastheslightesthintofawhine.Stillnonoisefromthetwoofthem,butasmallsoundfromthedoor.Therewasalsosomeoneinthebed.Itdidn’thappenoften.Thegirlwhowatchedthechildrenhadtheleastcomfortablebedinthewholehouseandrarelywouldanyonefallasleepthere,butitdidhappen,tonightithappened.CarmenputherhandagainstMr.Hosokawa’schestsotheycouldwaitforaminutefortheroomtoforgetthesoundthedoorhadmade.Shecouldfeelhisheartbeatingsoclearlyitwasasifshewereholdingitinherhand.Carmentookabreathandwaited,thenshenoddedwithoutlookingbackandmovedonefootforward.Maybethiswashardbutitwasnotimpossible.Itwasnothingcomparedtobreakingintothemansionthroughtheairvents.Therehadbeenothernightswhenshehadfoundpeoplesleepinginthisbed.

ItwasBeatriz.Shehadlaindowninthemiddleofnightwatch.Everyonedidit.Carmencertainlyhad.Itwastoolongtostayawake.Sergiowouldbeinsomeotherroom,slumpedoverinahardandguiltysleep.Beatrizdidnothaveablanketoverherandherbootswereon.Inhersleepshecradledherrifleinherarmslikeachild.Mr.Hosokawatriedtomakehisfeetmoveforward,butnowhewasafraid.HeclosedhiseyesandthoughtofRoxaneCoss,hethoughtofloveandtriedtosayaprayertolove,andwhenheopenedhiseyes,Beatrizsatupinbedandjustasquicklyraisedhergun.Justasquickly,Carmensteppedbetweenthem.ThesetwothingsMr.Hosokawawassureof:BeatrizpointedtherifleathimandCarmencameinfrontofthegun.ShewenttoBeatriz,whoshouldhavebeenherfriend,theonlyothergirlinatroopofsomanymen,andgrabbedherandheldhertight,leavingtherifletopointattheceiling.

“Whatareyoudoing?”Beatrizhissed.Evensheknewthiswasaquietbusiness.“Getawayfromme.”

ButCarmenheldher.Shepracticallyfellintohershewassofrightenedandsooddlyrelievednowthatshehadbeencaught.“Don’ttell,”shewhisperedintheothergirl’sear.

“You’retakinghimupstairs?Youareinsomuchtrouble.”BeatrizstruggledandfoundCarmenstrongerthanshehadimagined.Ormaybeitwasjustthatshehadbeensodeeplyasleep.Asleeponguard,andmaybeCarmenmeanttotell.

“Shh,”Carmensaid.SheburiedhernoseintheloosehairwhereBeatriz’sbraidhadunraveledinhersleepandkepthergriptight.ForasecondsheforgotaboutMr.Hosokawaanditwasonlythetwoofthem,onlythisimmediateproblem.ShecouldfeelBeatriz’sbackwasstillwarmfromthebedandthebarrelofthegunpressedcoldintohercheek,andeventhoughshehadnotthoughttoaskforhelp,sheheardthebelovedvoiceofSaintRoseof

Limasaytoher,“Tellthetruth.”

“He’sinlovewiththeoperasinger,”Carmensaid.Shedidn’tcareaboutsecretsnow.Heronlyhopewastodowhatshewastold.“Theywantedtobealonetogether.”

“Theywouldkillyouforthis,”Beatrizsaid,thoughshethoughtthatprobablywasn’ttrue.

“Helpme,”Carmensaid.Shemeanttosayitonlytohersaint,butthewordsslippedfromherlipsindesperation.Beatrizthoughtforamomentsheheardthevoiceofthepriest.Hehadforgivenher.Hehadinstructedhertowardskindness.Shethoughtofherownsinsandthechancetoforgivethesinsofothers,andsheraisedupwhatshecouldofherpinned-downarmandputitlightlyonCarmen’sback.

“Sheloveshim?”Beatrizsaid.

“I’mgoingtobringhimbackintwohours.”

BeatrizshiftedherselfinCarmen’sarmsandthistimeCarmenlethergo.ShecouldbarelymakeoutCarmen’sface.ShecouldnotbeentirelysureitwasMr.Hosokawathereinthedarkness.Hehadtaughthertotelltime.Hehadalwayssmiledather.Once,whentheyreachedthedoortothekitchenatthesametime,hebowedtoher.Beatrizclosedhereyes,searchedthedarknessforherownpileofsins.“Iwon’ttell,”shewhispered.Andagain,forthesecondtimethatday,shefeltalooseningassomeofherburdenwasliftedfromher.

Carmenkissedhercheek.Shewasfullofgratitude.Shefeltforthefirsttimethatshewaslucky.Thenshesteppedbackintotheshadows.Beatrizhadmeanttoextractapromisefromherinreturn,thatshewouldn’ttellthatshehadseenhersleeping,butofcourseshewouldn’ttell,shecouldn’t.Beatrizlaybackonthebed,thoughshehadn’tmeantto,andinaminuteshewasasleepandthewholebusinesswasoverwithassuddenlyasithadallbegun.

Throughthenursery,whereamoon-shapednight-lightstillglowedfaintlyfromawallsocketilluminatingacastoflonesomedolls,pastyetanotherbathroomwithawhiteporcelaintubthatwasbiggerthansomecanoesCarmenhadriddenin,andoutintothemainhall,wherethehousebecameagainthehousethattheyknew,wideandgraciousandgrand.CarmenledMr.Hosokawatothethirddoorandthenshestopped.Thiswaswhereshesleptmostnights,thelittlesleepingshedid.ShehadbeenholdingontohishandeversinceshehadledhimawayfromBeatrizandshewasholdingitnow.Itseemedtheyhadcomeaverylongway,buttheVicePresident’schildrencouldmakeitfromtheirmother ’sbedroom,throughthenursery,cuttingthroughEsmeralda’sroomanddownthebackstairstothekitcheninwellunderaminute,eventhoughtheyhadbeentoldtoneverruninthehouse.CarmenlikedMr.Hosokawa.Shewishedshecouldtellhimso,butifshehadhadthelanguageshewouldn’thavehadthecourage.Insteadshepressedhishandonceandthenletitgo.

Mr.Hosokawabowedtoher,hisfacepointingdowntowardshisknees,andheheldthispositionforwhatseemedtoCarmentobetoolong.Thenhestoodagainandopenedthedoor.

Therewasahighwindowintheupstairshallwayandthemainstaircasewasfloodedwiththebrightlightofthemoon,butCarmendidn’ttakethefrontstairs.Shenavigatedhercourse

backwards,throughthenurseryandpastthebedwhereBeatrizwassleepingdeeply.Carmenstoppedtountangletherifle’striggerfromherfingers.Sheleanedthegunagainstthewallandpulledacoverletupoverhershoulders.ShehopedthatBeatrizwouldnotdecidetotellinthemorning,orbetteryetthatshewouldwakeupthinkingitwasalladream.Comingdownthekitchenstairs,Carmenfeltadifferentkindofwildheartbeat.SheimaginedRoxaneCossontheothersideofthedoor,anxiousfromallthewaiting.SheimaginedMr.Hosokawa,silentanddignified,takingherintohisarms.Thesweetnessofthattouch,thesecurityinsidetheembrace,Carmenraisedherhandtothethinprickingofsweatonthebackofherneck.Shewassilent,butstillthestairscamefasternow,four,three,two,one,thenshewasthroughthehallway,thekitchen.Sheskiddedtoastopjustinsidethewondrousworldofthechinacloset,whereGensatonthefloor,anunopenedbookonhisknees.Whenhelookedupsheputherfingerstoherlips.Somuchbrightnessinherface,hercheeksflushed,hereyesopenwide.Whensheturnedaway,ofcoursehewouldstandandfollowher.

Howmuchluckisonepersonentitledtoinanight?Doesitcomeinalimitedallotment,likemilkinabottle,andwhensomuchhasbeenpouredoutthenonlysomuchisleft?Orwasluckamatteroftheday,andonthedayyou’reluckyyouarelimitlesslylucky?Ifitwastheformer,thensurelyCarmenhadusedupallherluckgettingMr.HosokawasafelyintoRoxaneCoss’sbedroom.Butifitwasthelatter,andinherbonesshefeltthiswasthetruth,thenthiswashernight.Ifallthesaintsinheavenwerebehindhernow,thenherluckmustbegoodforafewmorehours.CarmentookGen’shandandledhimthroughthekitchenandontothebackporch,wherehehadneverbeenbefore.Sheopenedupthedoor,simplyputherhandontheknobandturnedit,andtogethertheywalkedoutintothenight.

Lookatthisnight:themoonafloodlightwashingoverwhathadoncebeenanorderlygarden,themoonlightpouringoverthehighstuccowalllikewater.Theairsmelledofthethickjasminevinesandtheeveningliliesthathadlongagofinishedtheirworkandclosedupfortheday.Thegrasswashigh,pasttheiranklesandbrushingheavyagainsttheircalves,anditmadeashushingsoundastheywalkedsotheystoppedtolookupatthestars,forgettingthattheywererightinthemiddleofacityblock.Thereweren’tmorethanhalfadozenstarstosee.

Carmenwentoutsideallthetime.Evenintherainshehadgoneouteverydaytowalkonguardorsimplytostretchherlegs,butforGenthenightseemedmiraculous,theairandthesky,thesoftcrushofgrassbeneathhisheel.Hewasbackintheworldandtheworldlooked,onthatnight,tobeanincomprehensiblybeautifulplace.Suchalimitedviewhewasgivenyetstillhewouldsweartoit,theworldwasbeautiful.

FortherestofGen’slifehewillrememberthisnightintwocompletelydifferentways.

First,hewillimaginewhathedidnotdo:

Inthisversion,hetakesCarmen’shandandleadsheroutthegateattheendofthefrontwalkway.Therearemilitaryguardsontheothersideofthewallbutthey,too,areyoungandasleep,andtogethertheypassthemandsimplywalkoutintothecapitalcityofthehostcountry.Nobodyknowstostopthem.Theyarenotfamousandnobodycares.TheygotoanairportandfindaflightbacktoJapanandtheylivethere,together,happilyandforever.

Thenhewillimagineexactlywhatdidhappen:

Itdidnotoccurtohimtoleave,asitdoesnotoccurtoadogtoleaveoncehehasbeentrainedtostayintheyard.Heonlyfeelsblessedforthelittlefreedomheisgiven.CarmentakeshishandandtogethertheywalktotheplacewhereEsmeraldaheldpicnicsfortheVicePresident’schildren,aplacewherethewallcurvesbackandmakesapocketofgrassandslendertreesandthereisnoclearviewofthehouse.Carmenkisseshimandhekissesherandfromthenonhewillneverbeabletoseparatethesmellofherfromthesmellofnight.Theyaredeepinthelushgrowthofgrass,inapartoftheyardthatiscoveredinshadowsthrowndownbythewall,andGencanseenothing.Later,hewouldrememberthathisfriend,Mr.Hosokawa,wasinsidethathouseonthesecondfloor,inbedwiththesinger,butonthatnighthedoesnotthinkofthematall.Carmenhaspulledoffherjacketeventhoughthere’sacoolbreeze.Sheunbuttonshisshirtwhilehecoversherbreastswithhishands.Inthedarktheyarenotthemselvesatall.Theyareconfident.Genpullsherdownandshepullshimdown.Theydefygravityintheirslowtumbletoearth.Neitherofthemwearshoesandtheirpantsslipoff,toobigforthemanyway,andthatfeeling,thatfirstluxuryofskintouchingskin.

SometimesGenwillstophismemorythere.

Herskin,thenight,thegrass,tobeoutsideandthentobeinsideCarmen.Hedoesn’tknowtowantformorebecausenothinginhislifehasbeenasmuchasthis.Attheverymomenthecouldhavebeentakingheraway,heispullinghercloser.Herhairistangledaroundhisneck.Onthatnighthethinksthatnoonehaseverhadsomuchandonlylaterwillheknowthatheshouldhaveaskedformore.Hisfingersslipintothesoftindentationsbetweenherribs,thedelicategulliescarvedoutbyhunger.Hefeelsherteeth,takeshertongue.Carmen,Carmen,Carmen,Carmen.Inthefuture,hewilltrytosayhernameenough,buthenevercan.

Inside,thehouseslept,theguestsandguards,andnooneknewthedifference.TheJapanesemanandhisbelovedsopranoupstairsinbed,thetranslatorandCarmenbeneaththesixstarsoutside,nobodymissedthem.OnlySimonThibaultwasawake,andhewokeupfromdreamingofEdith,hiswife.Whenhewasfullyawakeandcouldseewherehewasandrememberthatshewasn’ttherewithhim,hebegantocry.Hetriedtostophimselfbuthecouldseehersovividly.Theyhadbeeninbedinthedream.Theyhadbeenmakingloveandinthatloveeachhadgentlysaidtheother ’sname.Whenitwasover,Edithhadsatupinthetangleofblanketsandwrappedherbluescarfaroundhisshoulderstokeephimwarm.SimonThibaultburiedhisfaceinthatscarfnowbutthecryingonlycameharder.Nothinghecouldthinkofwouldstopit,andafterawhilehedidn’teventry.

nine

inthemorningeverythingwasright.Thesuncamepouringinthroughthewindowsandshowedupaseriesofirregularstainsonthecarpet.Outside,thebirdswhistledandcalled.Twooftheboys,JesusandSergio,circledthehouse,theirbootsheavywithdew,theirriflesraised.Athome,theymighthaveshotabirdortwobuthereshootingwasStrictlyProhibitedUnlessAbsolutelyNecessary.Thebirdsdartedpastthem,theirwingsmakingabreezeintheboys’hair.TheylookedinthewindowandsawCarmenandBeatrizinthekitchentogether,

takingrollsoutoflargeplasticpackageswhileeggsboiledtohard-cookedonthestove.TheylookedateachotherandCarmensmiledalittleandBeatrizpretendednottoseeit,whichCarmenthoughtwasprobablyagoodsign,orgoodenough.Theroomsmelledofstrongcoffee.Carmendisappearedintothechinaclosetandcamebackcarryingastackofblue-and-goldplateswiththewordWedgwoodstampedonthebottom,becausewhatwasthegoodofhavingthemiftheywereneverused?

Everythingwaslikeitwaseveryothermorning.ExceptRoxaneCossdidnotcomedowntothepiano.Katohadbeenwaiting.Afterawhilehestoodupfromthepianobenchandstretchedhislegs.HeleanedoverandpickedoutapieceofSchumann,thesimpleonethateverybodyknows,musictopassthetime.Hedidn’tevenlookatthekeys.Itwasasifhewastalkingtohimselfanddidn’tseemtoknowthateveryonecouldhearhim.Roxanewassleepingin.Carmenhadnottakenupherbreakfast.Itwasnotsuchaterriblething.Shesangeveryday,afterall,didn’tshedeservetorest?

Butwasn’titstrangethatMr.Hosokawawasasleepaswell?Thereonthecouch,witheveryonemillingaroundhim,hewasstillonhisback,hisglassesfoldedclosedonhischest,hislipsparted.Nooneeversawhimsleeping.Hewasalwaysthefirstoneupinthemorning.Maybehewassick.Twooftheboys,GuadalupeandHumberto,theinsidemorningguards,leanedoverthebackofthecouchandwatchedhimtoseeifhewasstillbreathing,whichhewas,sotheylefthimalone.

Quarterpasteight,Beatrizknewbecauseshehadthewatch.Toomuchfucking,shethought,butdidn’tsayittoCarmen.ShewaslettingCarmenthinkshehadforgottenwhennosuchthingwastrue.Shedidn’tknowhowshewouldusethisinformation,butshesavoreditlikeunspentmoney.Thereweresomanypossibilitiesforsuchknowledge.

Peoplegetusedtotheirlittleroutines.Theydranktheircoffee,brushedtheirteeth,andthentheycameintothelivingroomandRoxaneCosssang.Thatwasmorning.Butnowtheywatchedthestairs.Wherewasshe?Ifshewasn’tsickthenshouldn’tshebedownstairs?Wasconsistencytoomuchtoaskfor?Theygavehersomuchrespect,glory,wasn’titrighttothinkshewouldrespecttheminreturn?TheywatchedKato,whostoodtherelikethemanatthetrainstationwholooksattheopentraindoorlongafterallthepassengershavegottenoff.Themanwhoyouknowhasbeenjiltedlongbeforeherealizesithimself.Hetappedatthekeysabsently,stillstanding.Hewaswonderingatwhatpointhecouldsitdownandreallyplaywithouther.ItwasthefirsttimeKatohadtoaskhimself:Whatwashewithouther?Whatwouldhappenwhenallofthiswasoverandhenolongerspententiredaysatthepiano,hisnightsreadingovermusic?Hewasapianistnow.Hehadrowsoffinebluetendonsinhisfingerstoproveit.Couldhegobacktothatotherlifeinwhichhegotupatfour A.M.toplayfurtivelyforanhourbeforework?WhatwouldhappenwhenhewasreinstatedasaseniorvicepresidentatNanseiandonceagainbecamethenumbersman,themanwithoutasoprano?That’sallhewouldbe.Herememberedwhathadhappenedtothefirstaccompanist,howhechosetodieratherthantogooutintheworldalone.ThechillingemptinessofKato’sfuturemadehisfingerstightenandslipoffthekeyswithoutasound.

Andthensomethingremarkablehappened:

Someoneelsebegantosing,anacappellavoicefromthefarsideoftheroom,alovely,

familiarvoice.Peoplewereconfusedatfirstandthenonebyonealltheboysstartedlaughing,HumbertoandJesus,SergioandFrancisco,Gilbert,therewereotherscomingfromdownthehall,bigbellylaughs,laughsinwhichtheywereforcedtodrapetheirarmsaroundeachother ’snecksjusttostandup,butCesarkeptsinging,“Vissid’arte,vissid’amore,nonfecimai,”fromTosca.Anditwasfunny,becausehesocompletelymimickedRoxane.Itwasasifwhiletherestofthemslepthehadbecomeher,thewaysheheldoutherhandwhenshesang,Everaferventbeliever,Ihavelaidflowersonthealtar.Itwasuncanny,forcertainlyCesarlookednothingliketheDiva.Hewasaspindlyboywithblemishedskinandtwodozensilkyblackwhiskers,butseeinghimwassomuchlikeseeingher,thewayhetiltedhisheadandthen,justattheverymomentshewould,closedhiseyes.Hedidn’tseemtohearthemlaughing.Hisgazewasunfocused.Hewassingingtonooneinparticular.Itwasn’tthathewasmockinghersomuchashewasjusttryingtofillupthespacewheresheshouldhavebeen.Itwouldhavebeenmockingifithadonlybeenhergestureshewasrepeating,butitwasn’t.Itwashervoice.ThelegendaryvoiceofRoxaneCoss.Heheldhisnoteslongandclear.Hereacheddownintothedepthsofhislungsforthepower,thevolumehehadnotallowedhimselfwhensingingaloneunderhisbreath.Hewassingingnow,apartthatwastoohighforhimandyethejumpedupandgrabbedontotheedgeofthenote.Hepulledhimselfupandheldit.Hehadnoideawhathewassaying,butheknewhewassayingitcorrectly.Hehadpaidtoomuchattentiontogetitwrong.Herolledthepronunciationofeverywordinaperfectarchoverhistongue.Hewasnotasoprano.HedidnotknowItalian.Andyetsomehowhegavetheillusionofboththingsandforamomenttheroombelievedinhim.Theboys’laughterdissipatedthenvanished.Everyone,theguests,theboys,theGenerals,theywerealllookingatCesarnow.CarmenandBeatrizweredrawnoutofthekitchen,theirearscocked,notatallsureifwhatwashappeningwasgoodorbad.Mr.Hosokawa,whoknewthemusicbetterthanallofthem,wokeupthinkinghewaswakinguptosingingheknew,wokeupthinkinghervoicewasstrangethismorning,andwonderedifmaybeshewastired,look,hewasstillasleephimself.Buthewokeupthinkingitwashervoice.

ItisnotsuchalongpieceandwhenitwasoverCesarbarelytookinbreath.Hewentaheadbecausewhatifthiswashisonlychancetosing?Hehadn’tmeanttoexactly,butwhenhesawthatshewasn’tcomingdown,thateveryonewaswaiting,thenoteswelledupinhisthroatlikeawaveandnothinghecoulddowouldhaveheldthemdown.Howbrilliantitwastosing!Howwonderfultohearhisownvoicenow.HewentontotheariafromLaWally.HecouldonlysingthepiecesthatwereRoxane’sfavorites,theonesshesangoverandoveragain.Thoseweretheonlyoneswhosewordshecouldbeabsolutelysureof,andifhefakedthewords,madesomesoundsthatwereclosebutmightmeansomethingelseentirely,theneveryonewouldseehimasafraud.CesardidnotknowthatonlyfourpeopleinthehousespokeItalian.Itwouldhavebeeneasiertosingsomethingthattheydidn’tallassociatewithher,becausehowcouldhenotfailbycomparison?Buthehadnochoice,noothermaterialtochosefrom.Hedidn’tknowthatthereweresongsformenandsongsforwomen,thatdifferentpiecesweretailoredtotheabilitiesofdifferentvoices.Allhehadheardwerethepartsforsoprano,sowhyshouldtheynotbehisparts?Hedidnotcomparehimselftoher.Therewasnocomparison.Shewasthesinger.Hewasonlyaboywholovedherbysinging.Orwasitsingingheloved?Hecouldnolongerremember.Hewastoofarinside.Heclosedhiseyesandfollowedhisvoice.Somewherefarawayheheardthepianotailinghim,then

catchingup,thenleadinghimahead.Theendoftheariawasveryhighandhehadnoideaifhewouldmakeit.Itwaslikefalling,no,likediving,twistingyourbodythroughtheairwithoutasinglethoughtastohowitmightland.

Mr.Hosokawawasstandingatthepianonowinaconfusionofsleep,hishairdisheveled,hisshirttailscrumpledbehindhim.Hesimplydidn’tknowwhattomakeofit.Partofhimthoughtheshouldstoptheboyincasehewasbeingdisrespectful,butitwasalltooremarkable,really,helovedLaWally.Still,therewassomethingunnervingaboutwatchingthisboywhonowfoldedhishandsoverhisheartthewayRoxanedid;whatcameoutofhismouthwasnotherbutsooddlyreminiscent,asifitwasonlyapoorrecordingofhervoicethathewashearing.Heclosedhiseyes.Yes,therewasaconsiderabledifference.Therewasnomistakingitnow,butsomehowthisboybroughtontherockingsensationoflove.Mr.HosokawalovedRoxaneCoss.Perhapstheboywasn’tevensinging.Perhapshislovewascapableofturningthemostordinaryobjectsintoher.

RoxaneCosswasstandingamongthemlistening.Howwasitthatnoonesawhercomingdownthestairs?ShehadnotstoppedtodressandwaswearingapairofwhitesilkpajamasandtheVicePresident’swife’sbluealpacarobeeventhoughitwastoowarmforthisweather.Herfeetwerebareandherhairwasloosedownherback.Aftersomanymonthsherrootshadgrownoutanditwaseasytoseethatherhairwasinfactadullershadeofpalebrownandthatchedwithshimmeringsilver.Theboywassinging.Hissinginghaddrawnheroutofsuchadeepsleep.Shewouldhavesleptforseveralmorehoursbutthesingingwokeherandshefolloweditdownthestairsinastateofconfusion.Arecording?Acappella?Butthenshesawhim,Cesar,aboywhohaddonenothingtosethimselfapartuntilnow.Whendidhelearntosing?Hermindwasracingineverydirection.Hewasgood.Hewasexcellent.IfsomeonewastorunacrosssuchrawtalentinMilan,inNewYork,theboywouldbebundledofftoaconservatoryinaminute.Hewouldbeastar,becausenowhewasnothing,notaminuteoftrainingandlistentothedepthinhistone!Listentothepowerthatshookhisnarrowshoulders.Hewascareeningtowardstheend,towardsahighCthathecouldnotbepreparedfor.Sheknewthemusicaswellassheknewherownbreathandsherushedtowardshim,asifhewereachildintheroad,asifthenotewasaspeedingcarbearingdownonhim.Shegrabbedhiswrist.“Detengase!Basta!”Shedidn’tknowSpanish,yetthosetwowordssheheardeveryday.Stop.Enough.

Cesarstoppedhissingingdeadbutsadlylefthismouthopen,shapedtothelastwordhehadsung.Andwhenshedidnotsay,“Beginagain!”hislipsbetrayedtheslightesttremor.

RoxaneCosswastouchinghisarm.Shewasspeakingsofastandhedidn’tunderstandawordofwhatshewassaying.Hestaredatherblanklyandhecouldseethatshewasfrustrated,panickedeven.Themorepanickedshebecamethelouderandfasterhersenselesswordscameoutandwhenhestilldidn’trespondshecalledout,“Gen!”

Butthewholeroomwaswatchingthemanditwastooawful.Cesarfeltthetremblingeverywherenow,andeventhoughshewasstandingrightbesidehim,touchinghim,heturnedawayandranoutoftheroom.Theyallstoodthereinembarrassedsilence,asiftheboyhadrunoutsuddenlynaked.ItwasKatowhothoughttoputhishandstogetherandtheItalians,GianniDavansateandPietroGenovese,whocalledout,“Bravo!”Andtheneveryoneinthe

roomwasclappingandcallingfortheboy,buthewasgone,outthebackdoorandupintoatreewhereheoftenkeptwatchofthegoings-onoftheworld.Hecouldhearthem,thedullbuzzfrominside,butwho’stosaytheyweren’tmockinghimterribly?Maybeshewasintherenowdoingherownimitation:pretendingtobehimpretendingtobeher.

“Gen!”RoxanetookGen’shand.“Goafterhim.Tellsomeonetogoafterhim.”

AndwhenGenturnedaround,therestoodCarmen.AlwaystherewasCarmen,herbrightdarkeyesturneduptohim,readytohelphimlikeapersonwhoselifeyou’vesaved.Hedidn’tevenhavetosayit.Thatwashowtheyunderstoodeachother.Sheturnedandthenshewasgone.

Havingkeptsuchclosequartersforsolong,everybodyknewwhateverybodyelseliked.Ishmael,forexample,followedtheVicePresidentlikeadog.LookingforIshmael?FindtheVicePresidentandchancesweretheboywouldbetangledupinhisfeet.Beatrizwouldalwaysbeinfrontofthetelevisionunlesscompelledbyadirectordertobeelsewhere.Gilbertwasmadforthebathtub,especiallytheoneinthemasterbathroomthatroaredintoaragingboilwhenyouflippedaswitch(wasn’tthatasurprisethefirsttimeithappened!).Cesarlikedthetree,asturdyoakthatleanedintothewall,atreewithlow,strongbranchesforeasyclimbing,high,widebranchesforcomfortablesitting.Theothersoldiersthoughthewasespeciallystupidorbravebecausesometimesheclimbeduphighenoughthathewasactuallyoverthewall,whereanymilitarypersonnelcouldhavepoppedhimofflikeasquirrel.SometimestheGeneralsaskedhimtolookoutoverthecityandreportback,andoffhewouldgointothetree.SotherewasnogreatpuzzleastowhereCarmenshouldlook.Shewentoutintotheyard,aplacethatseemedcompletelydifferenttoherafterlastnight.Shetookthelongwayaroundsothatshecouldpassbythespotwherethewallpocketedoutintoaprivatecoveandlook,thegrasswasstillflattened,presseddownintheshapeofherback.Shefelteverydropofherbloodracetoherheadandsheputherfingerstothewall,dizzy.DearGod,whatifsomebodynoticed?Shouldshestopnow,takethetimetotryandsetitright?Couldgrassbefluffedupagain?Woulditstaythatway?ButthenCarmenrealizedthatsheplannedtopounddownthatsamespotofgrassagaintonight,thatshewantedtopressdowneverybladeofgrassinthegardenwithherhips,hershoulders,thebaresolesofherfeet.IftherehadbeenawayshewouldhavetakenGenthenandthere,wrappedherlegsaroundhimandclimbedhimlikeatree.Whowouldeverthinkthatsuchmanwouldwanttobewithher?Shewassodistractedbythecertaintyoflovethatforamomentsheforgotwhyshehadcomeoutsideinthefirstplaceorwhoshewaslookingfor.Then,inthedistance,shesawabootdanglinglikealarge,uglyfruitfromthehighleavesandtheworldcamerushingbacktoher.Carmenwenttotheoaktree,grabbedabranchaboveherhead,andclimbed.

TherewasCesar,shaking,crying.Anyoneelsewhoclimbedthistreehewouldhavethrownoutonhishead.Hewouldhavekickedhimhardunderthechinandsenthimflying.ButtheheadthatpulleditselfuptohimwasCarmen’sandCarmenheliked.HethoughtsheunderstoodhimbecauseofhowsheclearlylovedRoxaneCoss.Shewastheluckiestofthemall,gettingtotakeupherbreakfast,gettingtosleepoutsideherdoor.(BecauseCarmenwascompletelydiscreetheknewnothingabouttherestofit:thatshehadsleptinRoxane’sbed,brushedherhair,thatCarmenhadsmuggledRoxane’slovertoherinthemiddleofthenightandheldherconfidence.Hadheknownallofthathemighthaveimplodedwithjealousy.)

Andwhilenooneshouldseehimcrylikehewasstillachild,itwouldbelessthanterribleifthepersonwhosawhimwasCarmen.BeforehefellinlovewithRoxaneCoss,backbeforetheyevercametothecity,hethoughtconstantlyabouthowmuchhewouldhavelikedtokissCarmen,kissedherandmore,buthegaveupontheideaafterasharpsmackfromGeneralHector.Suchbusinesswascompletelyforbiddenbetweensoldiers.

“Yousingsobeautifully,”shesaid.

Cesarturnedhisfaceawayfromher.Asmallbranchscrapedlightlyagainsthischeek.“I’mafool,”hesaidintotheleaves.

Carmenswungontoabranchacrossfromhimandclampedherlegsaroundit.“Notafool!Youhadtodoit.Youdidn’thaveanychoice.”Shecouldseethebattered-downportionofgrassfromwhereshewasnow.Itwasdifferentfromthisvantagepoint,largerandalmostperfectlyround,asiftheyhadspuneachotheringreatcircles,whichseemedpossible.Shecouldsmellthegrassinherhair.Lovewasaction.Itcametoyou.Itwasnotachoice.

ButCesarwouldnotlookbackather.Fromwhereshewasshecouldhaveseenoverthewallifshehadjuststretchedupalittlebit.Shedidnot.

“RoxaneCosssentmeouttogetyou,”Carmensaid.Itwascloseenoughtothetruth.“Shewantstotalktoyouaboutyoursinging.Shethinksyou’reverygood.”ShecouldsaythisbecausesheknewhewasverygoodandofcourseRoxanewouldtellhimso.ShedidnotunderstandanywherenearenoughEnglishtohavedecipheredwhathadbeensaidinthelivingroom,butshewasdevelopingaknackoffiguringthingsoutwithouthavingtoknowalltheactualwords.

“Youdon’tknowthat.”

“Ido,too.Thetranslatorwasthere.”

“Shesaid,stop.Shesaid,enough.Iunderstoodwhatshesaid.”Abirdswoopedoncepastthetree,hopingtoland,andthenshoton.

“Shewantedtotalktoyou.Whatdoessheknowtosay?YouhavetoaskGenforhelp.He’stheonlywaytounderstandanything.”

Cesarsniffed,blottedhiseyeswithhiscuff.IntheperfectworlditwouldnotbeCarmeninthistree.ItwouldbeRoxaneCossherselfwhohadfollowedhimupthere.Shewouldbetouchinghischeek,speakingtohiminperfectSpanish.Theywouldsingtogether.Thewordforthatwasduet.Theywouldtravelallovertheworld.

“Well,you’renotasquirrel,”Carmensaid.“Youaren’tgoingtostayuphereforever.You’llhavetocomedownforguarddutyandwhenyoudoshe’lltellyouherselfwiththetranslator.She’lltellyouhowgoodyouareandthenyouwillfeellikeanidiotforsulkinguphere.Everyonewantstocelebratewithyou.You’llmissoutoneverything.”

Cesarslidhishandovertheroughbark.Carmenhadnevertalkedlikethisbefore.Whentheywereintrainingtogethershewasalmosttooshytospeakatall,thatwasoneofthethingsthathadmadehersoappealing.Hehadneverheardherstringtwofullsentencestogether.“Howdoyouknowallofthis?”

“Itoldyou,thetranslator.”

“Andhowdoyouknowhetellsyouthetruth?”

Carmenlookedathimlikehewascrazy,butshedidn’tsayaword.Shereacheddownforthebranchbeneathher,heldon,letherfeetfall,andthenopenedherhandstodroptotheground.Shewasanexpertatjumping.Shekeptherkneessoftandsprangstraightupafterherfeethitthegrass.Shedidnotloseherbalanceatall.ShewalkedawayfromCesarwithoutsomuchasaglanceoverhershoulder.Lethimrotupthere.Onherwaybackintothehouseshepassedoneofthewindowsthatlookedintothegreatlivingroom.Howstrangeitwastoseeitallfromthatside.Shestoppedforawhileandstoodbesideabushthathadbeensoneatlyshapedwhentheyfirstarrivedandnowwasalmostastallasshewas.ShecouldseeGennearthepiano,talkingtoRoxaneCossandMr.Hosokawa.Katowasthere.ShecouldseeGen,hisstraightbackandtendermouth,hishandswhichhadhelpedheroutofherclothesandthenfoldedherneatlybackinsidethemagain.Shewishedshecouldtapontheglassandwavetohim,butitwasamiraculousthingtobeabletowatchthepersonyouloveundetected,asifyouwereastrangerseeingthemforthefirsttime.Shecouldseehisbeautyassomeonewhotooknothingforgranted.Lookatthatbeautifulman,thatbrilliantman,helovesme.ShesaidaprayertoSaintRoseofLima.SafetyforGen.Happinessandalonglife.Watchoverhimandguidehim.Shelookedthroughthewindow.HewasspeakingtoRoxanenow,Roxanewhohadbeensogoodtoher,andsoCarmenincludedherintheprayer.Thenshebowedherheadforaminuteandquicklycrossedherself,thushurryingtheprayeronitsway.

“Ishouldn’thavetoldhimtostop,”Roxanesaid.GentranslateditintoJapanese.

“Thereisnoplacefortheboytogo,”Mr.Hosokawasaid.“Hewillhavetocomeback.Youmustn’tworryaboutthat.”InJapan,hewasoftenmadeuneasybythismodernageofaffection,youngmenandwomenholdinghandsinpublic,kissinggood-byeonsubwaytrains.Therewasnothingaboutthesegestureshehadunderstood.Hehadbelievedthatwhatamanfeltinhisheartwasaprivatematterandsoshouldremainwithhim,buthehadneverhadsomuchinhisheartbefore.Therewasn’tenoughroomforthismuchloveanditleftanachingsensationinhischest.Heartache!Whowouldhavethoughtitwastrue?Nowallhewantedwastotakeherhandorcurvehisarmaroundhershoulder.

RoxaneCossleanedtowardshim,dippedherheaddowntohisshoulderjustforasecond,justlongenoughforhercheektotouchhisshirt.

“Ah,”saidMr.Hosokawasoftly.“Youareeverythingintheworldtome.”

Genlookedathim.Wasthatmeanttobetranslated,thetendernesshisemployerwhispered?Mr.HosokawatookoneofRoxane’shands.Heheldituptohischest,touchedittohisshirtintheplaceabovehisheart.Henodded.WashenoddingtoGen?WashetellingGentogoahead?Orwashenoddingtoher?Genfeltaterriblediscomfort.Hewantedtoturnaway.Itwasaprivatematter.Heknewwhatthatmeantnow.

“Everythingintheworld,”Mr.Hosokawasaidagain,butthistimehelookedatGen.

AndsoGentoldher.Hetriedtomakehisvoicesoft.“Respectfully,”hesaidtoRoxane,“Mr.Hosokawawouldlikeyoutoknowthatyouareeverythingintheworldtohim.”He

rememberedsayingsomethingverysimilartoherfromtheRussian.

ItwastohercreditthatRoxaneneverlookedatGen.ShekepthereyesexactlyonMr.Hosokawa’seyesandtookthewordsfromhim.

Carmencameback.ShewasflusteredandeveryonethoughtithadtodowithCesar,whenshehadalmostforgottenaboutCesar.ShewantedtogotoGenbutshewentfirsttoGeneralBenjamin.“Cesarisupinthetree,”shesaid.Shestartedtosaymorebutthensherememberedherself.Itwasalwayswisertowait.

“Whatishedoingthere?”theGeneralaskedher.Hecouldn’thelpbutnoticehowprettythisgirlwasbecoming.Hadshebeenthisprettybefore,heneverwouldhavelethersignup.Heshouldtellhertokeepherhairunderhercap.Heshouldlethergojustassoonastheywerehome.

“Sulking.”

“Idon’tunderstand.”

“Hefeelsembarrassed.”

Maybeitwaswrongtoletaprettygirlgoafterhim.OneoftheboysshouldhavegoneandsimplyshakenthetreeuntilCesarfellout.GeneralBenjaminsighed.HehadbeenimpressedwithCesar ’ssinging.Hewonderedifthetalentwouldmaketheboyhigh-strung,thewaythesopranowashigh-strung.IfthatwasthecasehewouldbeforcedtodismissCesaraswell,andthenhewouldhavelosttwosoldiers.Evenashewasthinkingthisherememberedwherehewas,andthethoughtofevergettinghome,ofeverhavingachoicesosimpleastoletsomeonegoortokeepthem,seemedimpossible.Whywasheevenwastinghistimewiththis?Cesarinatree?Whatdiditmatter?“Leavehimupthere.”GeneralBenjaminlookedoverCarmen’sheadtothefarsideoftheroom,whichwashiswayofsayingthattheconversationwasover.

“MayItellMissCoss?”

Helookedbackdownatherandblinked.Shewasobedient,wellmannered.Itwasashamethatthingshadn’tturnedoutbetter.Certainlytherewouldbearoleforprettygirlsinarevolution.Therewasnosensebeinghardonher.“Ithinkshewouldwanttoknow.”

Carmen,happy,grateful,bowedtohim.

Hesaidtohersharply,“Salute!”

Carmensalutedhim,herfaceasseriousasanysoldier ’s,andthenskatedaway.

“Cesar ’sinthetree,”Carmensaid.ShestoodbetweenMr.HosokawaandMr.Kato.ShestoodacrossfromGen,whereshewouldnotbetemptedtoholdontohissleeveinfrontofeveryone.Shelovedthesoundofhisvoice,translating.

“Won’thecomein?”Roxanesaid.Herblueeyeswereshadowedinpurple.NeverhadCarmenseenherlooksotired,exceptattheverybeginning.

“Oh,he’llcomein.He’sjustembarrassed.Hethinkshemadeafoolofhimself.Hethinksyouthinkhe’sanidiotfortryingtosing.”ShelookedatRoxane,herfriend.“Itoldhimyou

didn’tthinkthatatall.”

GentranslatedherwordsintoEnglishandJapanese.BoththemenandRoxaneCosswerenodding.Carmen’swordstranslatedintoJapanese.Theyhadsuchabeautifulsound.

“WouldyouasktheGeneralifIcouldgooutside?”RoxanesaidtoCarmen.“Doyouthinkitwouldbepossible?”

Carmenlistened.Shewasincluded.Itwasthoughtthatshewouldbethebestpersontomaketherequest.Heropinionwassoughtout.Itwasmorethanshecouldbelieve,ofallthepeopleintheroomwithalltheirmoneyandeducationandtalent,theythoughtthatshewastheone.ShewantedtosaytoRoxaneCossinhermostpolitevoice,No,theywillneverletyououtside,butIamverypleasedthatyouaskedme.NotthatshehadanyideahowtosaythatinEnglish.TheGeneralswereignoringherconversation,theGeneralsHectorandAlfredohadlefttheroomaltogether,noneoftheboyscared,butBeatrizwaslistening.Carmencouldseeheroutofthecornerofoneeye.ShewantedtotrustBeatriz.Shehadtrustedher.Andanyway,shewasn’tdoinganythingwrongnow.“TellherIwouldbegladtoaskforher,”shesaidtoGen.ShewasawareofherpostureandshetriedtoholdherbackstraightlikeRoxaneCoss.Shetriedtotrainhershoulderstogobackthoughtheeffectwasmostlylostinsidethedarkgreenshirtthathungoverherlikeapieceoftarp.

TheythankedherinEnglishandJapaneseandtheninSpanish.Genwasproudofher,shecouldtell.Gen,ifcircumstancesallowed,wouldhaveputhishandonhershoulderandtoldhersoinfrontofhisfriends.

TherewasnowayRoxaneCosswouldbeallowedtogooutsidetospeaktoCesarinthetree.Keepingthehostagesinsidewasatoppriority.Certainly,nooneknewthatbetterthanCarmen,whohadbrokenthisimportantrulejustlastnight.Butitwasn’therplacetorefusetherequest.NoonehadaskedCarmenforananswer,theyhadonlyaskedhertoapproachtheGeneralwiththequestion.Intruth,shewouldhaverathernotdoneit.Whatwasthepointinaskingforsomethingthatyouknewwouldbedenied?CarmenwonderedifshecouldasktheGeneralsomethingelse,say,ifhewantedafreshcupofcoffee,theneveryonewouldseeheraskingwithoutbeingabletohearher.Shecouldcomebackwiththenewsthattheyhadbeenturneddown.Butshedidn’twanttolietoRoxaneCossandMr.Hosokawa,peoplewhovaluedheropinionandtreatedherasafriend,andcertainlyshecouldn’tlietoGen.Shewouldhavetoaskbecauseshesaidshewould.Itwouldhavebeenbetterifshecouldhavewaitedanhourortwo.Thegeneralsdidnotlikebeingapproachedwhentheyhadsorecentlybeenbothered.Buttherewasn’tanhourortwotowait.Cesarwouldbelongoutofthetreebythen.Carmenhadsatinthattreeherselfandsheknewittobebothlovelyanduncomfortable.Theamountoftimeanyonecouldsulkwhilesittinginatreewaslimited,andthepointwasthatRoxaneCosswantedtheopportunitytocoaxhimdown.TherewasnosensetryingtoexplaintheGeneral’sinnerworkingstoherdearesthostages,anymorethanshewouldbothertotryandexplainRoxaneCoss’smotivestoGeneralBenjamin,whocertainlywouldnothavecared.Allshecoulddowasask.Carmensmiledandlefthergroup,crossedbackovertheroomwhereGeneralBenjaminwassittinginawing-backedchairneartheemptyfireplace.Hewasreadingpapers.Shecouldn’ttellwhatthepaperswere,althoughshesawthattheywerewritteninSpanish.Shecouldreadalittlenowbutnotsowellasthat.His

eyebrowswerepointeddowntowardsthebridgeofhisnoseandhiseyesweresquinting.Hisshinglesranacrossthesideofhisfaceandintohiseyelikeaslashofmoltenlavabuttheynolongerappearedtobesoinfected.Heliftedafingerandtouchedthemoncegently,thenhewincedandwentbacktohisreading.Truly,Carmenknewbetterthantodisturbhim.

“Sir?”shewhispered.

Theyhadbeenspeakingnotfiveminutesbeforebutnowhelookedatherasifhewasconfused.Hiseyeswereredandwatery,especiallyhislefteye,whichwasrimmedinblistersnobiggerthanpinheads.

Carmenwaitedforhimtospeaktoherbuthesaidnothing.Itwasuptohertostarttheconversation.“Forgivemeforbotheringyouagain,General,butRoxaneCossaskedmetoaskyou...”Shepaused,thinkingsurelyhewouldcutheroff,tellhertogoaway,buthedidn’t.Hedidnothing.Hadheturnedawayandgonebacktoreadinghispapers,shewouldhaveunderstoodthat.Shewouldhaveknownhowtoactifheshoutedather,butGeneralBenjaminonlystared.Shetookinherbreath,straighteneduphershoulders,andstartedagain.“RoxaneCosswouldliketogooutsidetospeaktoCesar.Cesarinthetree?Shewantstotellhimhedidwell.”Againshewaitedbutnothinghappened.“Ithinkthetranslatorwouldhavetogo,too,ifCesarwastounderstandwhatshewassaying.Wecouldsendsomeguardsoutwiththem.Icouldgetmygun.”Shestoppedandwaitedpatientlyforhimtodenytherequest.Shehadneverconsideredanyotherpossibility,buthedidn’tsayanything,andforaminuteheclosedhiseyessoasnottolookatheranymore.Sheglanceddownatthepapershewasholdingandfeltachillpassthroughherthinchest.ShewassuddenlyafraidthattheGeneralhadreceivedbadnews,thattherewassomethinginthosepapersthatwouldruinherhappiness.

“GeneralBenjamin,”shesaid,leaningoversothatonlyhecouldhearher.“Sir,arethingsallright?”Herhairfellloosefrombehindoneearanditbrushedagainsthisshoulder.Itsmelledlikelemons.RoxanehadwashedCarmen’shairinsomeofthelemonshampooMessnerhadhadflowninforherallthewayfromItaly.

Thesmelloflemons.Heisaboyinthecity,aquarterlemonclenchedbetweenhisteethasherunstoschool,thebrightlemonyellowofthepeelshowingbetweenhisopenlips,theimpossibletartness,theutterclarityoftastethathewasaddictedto.Hisbrother,Luis,iswithhim,runningalongbesidehim,alittleboy.HeisyoungerthanBenjaminandsoheisBenjamin’sresponsibility.He,too,hasalemoninhismouthandtheylookatoneanotherandbegintolaughsohardtheyhavetoraisetheirhandstotheirmouthstocatchthenowemptyrinds.Thesmelloflemonssnapshimback.Carmenwantedsomethingelse.Hewasstillinthelivingroom.Whywasitonlynowthatheunderstoodthatthingswouldendbadly?Itdidn’tseemstrangethatheknewit,butthathehadn’tknownitfromtheverystart,thathehadn’tturnedhistroopsaroundandrunthemstraightbackintotheairventstheseconditwasestablishedthatPresidentMasudawasnotattheparty.Thatmistakewasalmostimpossibletocomprehendnow.Itwasallthefaultofhope.Hopewasamurderer.

“Shewantstogooutside?”hesaid.

“Yes,sir.”

“Cesarisstilloutthere?”

“Ibelieveso,sir.”

GeneralBenjaminnoddedhishead.“Theweatherisgoodnow.”Helookedoutthewindowforalongtimetomakesurethatwhathewassayingtoherwastrue.“Takethemalloutside.TellHectorandAlfredo.Putsomesoldiersalongthewall.”HelookedatCarmen.Ifhehadknownanythinghewouldhavepaidmoreattentiontoher.“Weneedsomeairinhere,don’tyouthink?Getsomesunonthem.”

“Everyone,sir?DoyoumeanMissCossandthetranslator?”

“Imeanallofthem.”Hesweptahandacrosstheroom.“Getthemoutofhere.”

ThatwashowithappenedthatontheverydayafterCarmenhadtakenGenoutside,therestofthepartywasallowedtogoaswell.ShedidnotwanttobetheonetotelltheGeneralsHectorandAlfredo,butshedidsoasadirectorder.Shestoodatthedoorofthestudystillstunnedbythenews.Outside.TheGeneralswerewatchingsoccer.Theysatontheedgeofthesofa,theirhandsgrippingtheirknees,yellingatthetelevisionset.Therewasanabandonedcardgamehalfplayedonthetableinfrontofthem,twoautomaticpistolsstickingoutfrombetweenthecushions.Whenshewasabletogettheirattention,shedidnottellthemthatshehadaskedthatanyonebeallowedtogooutside,orthatRoxaneCosswishedtospeaktoCesarinthetree,sheonlysaidthatGeneralBenjaminhadmadeadecisionandshewasinstructedtoinformthemofthatdecision.Sheusedasfewwordsaswaspossible.

“Outside!”GeneralAlfredosaid.“Insanity!Howarewesupposedtocontrolthemoutside?”Hegesticulatedwiththehandthatwasshorttwofingers,asightthatalwaysfilledCarmenwithpity.

“Whatistheretocontrol?”GeneralHectorsaid,stretchinghisarmsabovehishead.“Asiftheywouldgoanywherenow.”

Itwasasurprise.Hectorwasusuallyagainsteveryidea.IfhehaddisagreedstronglytheycouldhaveprobablymadeGeneralBenjaminchangehismind,butthesunwaspouringthrougheverywindowandtherewasastalenessthathadgrownuparoundthem.Whynotopenthedoors?Whynottodayifeverydaywasexactlythesame?TheywentintothelivingroomandthethreeGeneralscalledthetroopstogetherandtoldthemtogettheirgunsandloadthem.Evenaftersomanymonthsoflyingoncouchestheboys,alongwithBeatrizandCarmen,couldstillmovequickly.Theydidn’tknowwhytheywereloadingtheirguns,theydidn’task.Theyobeyedtheirorders,andindoingsotheireyestookonacertaincoldness.GeneralBenjamincouldnothelpbutthink,IfItoldthemtokilleveryonenow,theywouldstilldoit.TheywoulddowhatItoldthemto.Theideaoftakingeveryoneoutsidewasagoodone.Itwouldputthesoldierstowork.Itwouldremindthehostagesofbothhisauthorityandhisbenevolence.Itwastimetogetoutofthehouse.

RoxaneCosshadMr.Hosokawa’sarmtoleanon,butGenwasleftalonetowatchhisloverrunningacrosstheroomwiththesoldiers,herrifleheldhighagainstherchest.

“Idonotunderstandthis,”Mr.Hosokawawhispered.HecouldfeelRoxanetremblingbesidehimandhepressedherhandbetweenhisown.Itwasasifaswitchhadbeenthrownandthe

peopletheyknewweresuddenlypeopletheyhadneverseenbefore.

“Canyouunderstandwhatthey’resaying?”RoxanewhisperedtoGen.“What’shappened?”

Ofcoursehecouldunderstandwhattheyweresaying.Theywereshoutingit,afterall.Loadyourweapons.Prepareformations.ButtherewasnosenseintellingRoxanethat.Theotherhostageswerestandingwiththemnow.Theypushedtogetherlikesheepinanopenfieldofhardrain.Thirty-ninemenandonewoman,thesuddennervousnessrisingoffofthemlikesteam.

ThenGeneralBenjaminsteppedforwardandsaid,“Traductor!”

Mr.Hosokawatouchedthetranslator ’sarmashesteppedforward.Genwishedhewasabraveman.EventhoughCarmenwasn’twiththemnow,hewishedshecouldseehimasbrave.

“Ihavedecidedthateveryoneshouldgooutside,”GeneralBenjaminsaid.“Tellthepeopletheyaretogooutsidenow.”

ButGendidn’ttranslate.Thatwasnolongerhisprofession.Insteadheasked,“Forwhatpurpose?”Iftherewastobeanexecutionhewouldnotbetheonetoleadthesesheepouttobelinedupagainstthewall.Itwasn’tenoughtotranslatewhatwassaid,youhadtoknowthetruth.

“Whatpurpose?”GeneralBenjaminsaid.HesteppedtowardsGen,soclosethatGencouldseeredlineshalfthethicknessofsewingthreadswebbingacrosshisface.“IwastoldRoxaneCossrequestedtogooutside.”

“Andyou’relettingeveryoneout?”

“Youobjecttothis?”GeneralBenjaminwasabouttochangehismind.Whathadheevershownthesepeoplebutdecencyandnowtheystaredhimdownlikeamurderer?“YouthinkIwilltakeyououtsideandshootthelotofyou?”

“Theguns—”Genhadmadeamistake.Hecouldseethat.

“Protection,”theGeneralsaid,histeethclampedtogether.

Genturnedawayfromhimandfacedthepeoplehethoughtofashispeople.Hewatchedtheirfacessoftenatthesoundofhisvoice.“Wearegoingoutside,”GensaidinEnglish,inJapanese,inRussian,Italian,French.“Wearegoingoutside,”hesaidinSpanishandDanish.Onlyfourwordsbutineverylanguagehewasabletoconveythattheywouldnotbeshot,thiswasnotatrick.Thegrouplaughedandsighedandshookawayfromoneanother.Thepriestcrossedhimselfquicklyingratitudeforanansweredprayer.Ishmaelwentandopenedthedoorandhostagesfiledoutintothelight.

Gloriouslight.

VicePresidentRubenIglesias,whothoughthewouldnotlivetofeelonceagainthesensationofgrassbeneathhisfeet,steppedofftheshalestonewalkwayandsankintotheluxuryofhisownyard.Hehadstaredatiteverydayfromtheliving-roomwindowbutnowthathewasactuallythereitseemedlikeanewworld.Hadheeverwalkedaroundhisownlawninthe

evening?Hadhemadeamentalnoteofthetrees,themiraculousfloweringbushesthatgrewuparoundthewall?Whatweretheycalled?Hedroppedhisfaceintothenestofdeeppurpleblossomsandinhaled.DearGod,ifheweretogetoutofthisalivehewouldbeattentivetohisplants.Maybehewouldworkasagardener.Thenewleaveswerebrightgreenandvelvetytotouch.Hestrokedthembetweenhisthumbandforefinger,carefulnottobruise.Toomanyeveningshehadcomehomeafterdark.Hesawthelifeinhisgardenasaseriesofshadowsandsilhouettes.Iftherewaseversuchathingasasecondchancehewouldhavehiscoffeeoutsideinthemorning.Hewouldcomehometohavelunchwithhiswifeintheafternoonsonablanketbeneaththetrees.Histwogirlswouldbeinschool,buthewouldholdhissononhiskneesandteachhimthenamesofbirds.Howhadhecometoliveinsuchabeautifulplace?Hewalkedthroughthegrasstowardsthewestsideofthehouseandthegrasswassoheavyheknewitwouldbedifficulttocut.Helikeditthatway.Maybehewouldneverhavethegrassmownagain.Ifamanhadaten-footwallthenhecoulddowhateverhewantedwithhisyard.Hecouldmakelovetohiswifelateatnightintheplacewherethewallmadeapocketoflawnandthreeslendertreesgrewinasemicircle.Theycouldcomeoutafterthechildrenwereinbed,aftertheservantswereasleep,andwhowouldseethem?Theearththeyliedownonisassoftastheirbed.Hepicturedherlongdarkhairundoneandspreadovertheheavygrass.Hewouldbeabetterhusbandinthefuture,abetterfather.Hegotonhiskneesandreachedbetweenthetallyellowlilies.Hepulledupaweedthatwasashighastheflowers,itsstemasthickasafinger,thenanother,andanother.Hefilledhishandswithgreenstems,rootsanddirt.Therewasagreatdealofworktobedone.

Thesoldiersdidnotpushthepeopleordirecttheminanyway.Theysimplystoodagainstthewall,spacingthemselvesapartatregularintervals.Theyleanedagainstthewallandtookinthesun.Itwasgoodtodosomethingdifferent.Itwasgoodeventoallbearmedagain,tobealineofsoldiersholdingguns.Thehostagesraisedtheirarmsabovetheirheadsandstretched.Someofthemlaydowninthegrass,othersexaminedtheflowers.Genwasnotlookingattheplants,hewaslookingatthesoldiers,andwhenhefoundCarmenshegavehimaverysmallnodandpointedthetipofherrifleeversoslightlyinthedirectionofCesar ’stree.Everyonelookedsogladtobeoutinthedaylight.Carmenwantedtosay,Ididthisforyou.I’mtheonewhoasked,butshekeptperfectlyquiet.ShehadtolookawayfromGentokeepfromsmiling.

GenfoundRoxanewithMr.Hosokawa,walkinghandinhand,asifthiswassomeothergardenandtheywerealone.Theylookeddifferentthismorning,notsoimprobabletogether,andGenwonderedifhelookeddifferentaswell.Hethoughtperhapsheshouldn’tbotherthem,buthehadnoideahowlongtheywouldbeallowedtostayoutside.

“I’velocatedtheboy,”Gensaid.

“Theboy?”Mr.Hosokawasaid.

“Thesinger.”

“Oh,yes,theboy,ofcourse.”

GensaiditagaininEnglishandtogetherthethreeofthemwalkedtoatreeneartheverybacksectionofwall.

“He’supthere?”Roxanesaid,butshecouldbarelyconcentrate,thebreezedistractedher,thelushintertwiningplants.Shefeltthesuncurvingoverhercheeks.Shewantedtotouchthewall,shewantedtotangleherfingersupinthegrass.Shehadnevergivenathoughttograssbeforeinherlife.

“Thisishistree.”

Roxanecockedherheadbackandsureenoughshesawthebottomsolesoftwobootsdanglinginthebranchs.Shecouldmakeouthisshirt,theundersideofhischin.“Cesar?”

Afacelookeddownbetweentheleaves.

“Tellhimhesingsbeautifully,”shesaidtoGen.“TellhimIwanttobehisteacher.”

“She’sfoolingme,”Cesarcalleddown.

“Whydoyouthinkwe’realloutside?”Gensaid.“Doesthislooklikefoolingtoyou?Shewantedtocomeoutsideandtalktoyou,andtheGeneralsdecidedthateveryonecouldcomealong.Doesn’tthatseemimportantenoughtoyou?”

Itwastrue.Cesarcouldseeeverythingfromwherehesat.AllthreeoftheGeneralsandeveryoneofthesoldiersexceptGilbertandJesuswereoutside.Theymusthavebeenleftbehindtoguardthehouse.Everyoneofthehostageswaswalkingaroundtheyardlikehewasdrunkorblind,touchingandsniffing,weavingandthensuddenlysittingdown.Theywereinlovewiththeplace.Theywouldn’tleaveifyoutorethewalldown.Ifyoupokedtheminthebackwithyourgunandtoldthemtogetgoingtheywouldstillruntoyou.“Soyou’reoutside,”Cesarsaid.

“Heisn’tplanningonstayinginthattree,ishe?”Roxaneasked.

ItwasremarkableeventoCesarthathehadnotbeencalleddownforduty.Hewouldhavegone.Hecouldonlyimaginethatintheexcitementofdecidingtoleteveryoneoutsidehehadbeenforgotten.HehadbeenforgottenbyeveryonebutRoxaneCoss.

“Shedoesn’tthinkI’mafool?”

“Hewantstoknowifyouthinkhe’safool,”Gensaid.

Shesighedattheself-indulgenceofchildren.“Stayingupinthetreeseemsfoolish,butthesinging,notatall.”

“Foolishforthetreeandnotthesinging,”Genreported.“Comedownandtalktoher.”

“I’mnotsure,”Cesarsaid.Buthewassure.Hehadalreadypicturedthetwoofthemsingingtogether,theirvoicesrising,theirhandsclasped.

“Whatareyougoingtodo,liveinthetree?”Gencalled.Hisneckwasachingfromdroppinghisheadback.

“HowdoyousoundsomuchlikeCarmen?”Cesarsaid.Hereacheddownandtookholdofthebranchbeneathhim.Hehadbeenuptherealongtime.Oneofhislegswasstiffandtheotherwascompletelyasleep.Whenhisfeethitthegroundtheydidnothingtosupporthimandhefellintoapileattheirfeet,strikinghisheadagainstthetrunkofthetreethathadheld

him.

RoxaneCossdroppedtoherkneesandputherhandsoneithersideoftheboy’shead.Shecouldfeelthebloodjumpinginhistemples.“MyGod,Ididn’tmeanforhimtothrowhimselfoutofthetree.”

Mr.HosokawacaughtaflashofasmilecrossCesar ’sface.Itwasreleasedandthenjustasquicklysuppressed,thoughtheboyneveropenedhiseyes.“Tellherhe’sfine,”Mr.HosokawasaidtoGen.“Andtelltheboyhecangetupnow.”

GenhelpedCesarintoasittingposition,leanedhimlikeafloppydollagainstthetree.ThoughCesar ’sheadwassplittinghedidn’tmindopeninghiseyes.RoxaneCosswascrouchingdownsoclosetohimitwasasifhecouldseeinsideher.Lookattheblueofhereyes!Theyweresomuchdeeper,morecomplicatedthanhecouldhaveimaginedfromadistance.ShestillhadonabathrobeandwhitepajamasandnottwelvecentimetersfromhisnoseherpajamasformedaVwherehecouldseetheplaceherbreastscametogether.WhowasthisoldJapanesemanwhowasalwayswithher?HelookedtoomuchlikethePresident.Infact,CesarsuspectedthatmaybehewasthePresident,regardlessofanylieshemighthavetold,rightinfrontofthemthewholetime.

“Payattention,”shesaid,andthenthetranslatorsaiditinSpanish.Shesangfivenotes.Shewantedhimtolistenandrepeat,tofollowthenotes.Hecouldseerightinsidehermouth,adamp,pinkcave.Itwasthemostintimatethingofall.

Heopenedhismouthandcroakedalittle,thenhetouchedhisheadwithhisfingertips.

“That’sallright,”shesaid.“Youcansinglater.Didyousingathome,beforeyoucamehere?”

Certainlyhesangthewaypeoplewillsing,notthinkingaboutitwhenhewasdoingsomethingelse.Hecouldmimicthepeopletheyheardsometimeswhentheradioworked,butthatwasn’taboutsingingsomuchasitwasaboutmakingpeoplelaugh.

“Doeshewanttolearn?Wouldhebewillingtopracticeveryhardtoseeifhehasarealvoice?”

“Topracticewithher?”CesaraskedGen.“Justthetwoofus?”

“Iimaginetherewouldbeotherpeoplethere.”

CesartouchedGen’ssleeve.“TellherI’mshy.TellherI’dworkmuchbetterifwecouldbealone.”

“OnceyoulearnEnglishyoucantellherthatyourself,”Gensaid.

“Whatdoeshewant?”Mr.Hosokawasaid.Hewasstandingoverthem,tryingtokeepthesunoutofRoxane’seyes.

“Impossiblethings,”Gensaid.ThenhesaidtotheboyinSpanish,“Yesorno,doyouwanthertoteachyoutosing?”

“OfcourseIdo,”Cesarsaid.

“We’llstartthisafternoon,”Roxanesaid.“We’llstartwithscales.”ShepickedupCesar ’shandandpattedit.Heturnedpaleagainandclosedhiseyes.

“Lethimrest,”Mr.Hosokawasaid.“Theboywantstosleep.”

LotharFalkenputhishandsflatagainstthewallandstretchedhishamstrings,pressingoneheeldownandthentheother.Hetouchedhistoesandrockedhishipsfromsidetosideandwhenhefelthislegswerewarmandlimberhebegantorunbarefootthroughthegrass.Thesoldiersbristledatfirst,leanedforward,aimedtheirrifleshalfheartedlyinhisgeneraldirection,buthekeptrunning.Itwasalargeyardintermsofthesizeoflawnsincities,butitwasstillsmallintermsofatrack,andafewminutesafterLotharhadgoneoutsidethesightofanyoneperson,hehadloopedbackaroundagain,hisheadup,hisarmspumpingbyhischest.Hewasaslendermanwithlong,gracefullegs,andwhileitmighthavegoneunnoticedwhilehewaslyingonthecouch,hereinthesun,runningringsaroundthevice-presidentialmansion,itwaseasytoseethatthemanufacturerofGermanpharmaceuticalshadoncebeenanathlete.Witheverylaphefelthisbodyagain,therelationofmuscletobone,theoxygenstirringhisblood.Hekickedhisfeethighbehindhim,everystepgoingdeepintothethickgrass.AfterawhileManuelFloresofSpainbegantorunalongsidehim,keepingpaceatfirstandthenfallingback.SimonThibaultbegantorunandprovedhimselftobealmostFalken’smatch.VictorFyodorovhandedhiscigarettetohisfriendYegorandjoinedinfortworounds.Suchabeautifulday,torunseemedonlyfitting.Hecollapsedexactlywherehehadstarted,hisheartbeatingatthecageofhisribswithamanicfury.

Whiletheothersran,RubenIglesiasweededoneofthemanyflowerbeds.Itwasasmallgestureinthefaceofsomuchworkbutallheknewtodowasstart.OscarMendozaandtheyoungpriestknelttohelphim.

“Ishmael,”theVicePresidentcalledouttohisfriend.“Whyareyoustandingthereholdingupthewall?Comeoverhereandgettowork.Wecanusethatrifleyou’resoproudoftoaeratethesoil.”

“Don’tpickontheboy,”OscarMendozasaid.“He’stheonlyoneIlike.”

“YouknowIcan’tcomeover,”Ishmaelsaid,shiftinghisrifletohisothershoulder.

“Ah,youcouldcomeover,”Rubensaid.“Youjustdon’twanttogetyourhandsdirty.You’rekeepingthemniceforthechessgames.Youdon’twanttowork.”Rubensmiledattheboy.Truly,hewishedhecouldcomeover.Hewouldteachhimwhichoftheplantswereweeds.HefoundhimselfthinkingthatIshmaelcouldbehisson,hisotherson.Theywerebothonthesmallside,andanyway,peoplewouldbelievewhateveryoutoldthem.Therewouldbeplentyofroomforonemoresmallboy.

“Iwork,”Ishmaelsaid.

“I’veseenhim,”OscarMendozasaid,rubbingthedirtfromhishands.“Hedoesmorethanalltheothers.Notsobigperhaps,buthe’sstrongasanox,andsmart.Youhavetobesmarttowinchessgames.”Thebigmanleanedtowardsthewall,towardstheboy.“Ishmael,Iwouldgiveyouajob,ifyouwantedone.Whenthisisoveryoucouldcomeandworkforme.”

Ishmaelwasusedtobeingteased.Hehadbeenteasedcruellybyhisbrothers.Hehadbeen

teasedplentybytheothersoldiers.Oncetheycalledhimabucketandtiedhisfeettogetherandloweredhimupsidedownintothewelluntilthetopofhisheadsankintocoldwater.HelikedtheVicePresident’swayofteasingbecauseitmadehimfeelsingledoutassomeonespecial.ButOscarMendozahewasn’tsureof.Therewasnothinginhisexpressionthatgavethejokeaway.

“Doyouwantajob?”Oscarsaid.

“Hedoesn’tneedajob,”Rubensaid,pullingastackofweedsintohislap.Hesawhischance.Oscarhadgivenhimtheopening.“He’lllivewithme.He’llhaveeverythingheneeds.”

Oscarlookedathisfriendandeachmansawthattheotheronewasserious.“Everymanneedsajob,”hesaid.“Hewilllivewithyouandworkforme.Doesthatsoundfine,Ishmael?”

Ishmaelputhisgunbetweenhisfeetandlookedatthem.Hewouldliveinthishouse?Hewouldstayon?Hewouldhaveajobandearnhisownmoney?Heknewheshouldlaughandtellthemtoleavehimalone.Heshouldmakeajokeofithimself:No,hewouldneverbecaughtdeadlivinginsuchaplace.Thatwastheonlywaytomanageifyouwerethepersonbeingteased.Laughbackatthem.Buthecouldn’t.Hewantedtoomuchtobelievetheyweretellinghimthetruth.“Yes.”Thatwasallhecouldsay.

OscarMendozaheldouthisdirtyhandtoRubenIglesiasandtheyshook.“We’reshakingforyou,”Rubensaid,hisvoicebetrayinghishappiness.“Thissealsthedeal.”Hewouldhaveanotherson.Theboywouldbelegallyadopted.TheboywouldbeknownafterthatasIshmaelIglesias.

Thepriest,whohadonlybeenwatching,nowsatbackonhisheels,hisgrimyhandsrestingonhisthighs.Hefeltsomethingcoldandstartlingmovethroughhisheart.ThemenshouldnotbetalkingtoIshmaelthisway.Theywereforgettingthecircumstances.Theonlywaythingscouldworkwouldbeforeverythingtostayexactlyasitwas,fornoonetospeakofthefutureasifspeakingofitcouldbringiton.

“FatherArguedasherewillteachyoucatechism.Won’tyou,Father?Youcancomebacktothehouseforthelessonsandwe’llallhavelunchtogether.”Rubenwaslostinhisstorynow.Hewishedhecouldcallhiswifeandtellherthenews.HewouldtellMessnerandMessnerwouldcallher.Onceshemettheboyshewouldfallinlovewithhim.

“OfcourseIwill.”Thepriest’svoicewasweak,butnoonenoticeditatall.

ten

mr.Hosokawacouldfindhiswayinthedark.Somenightsheclosedhiseyesratherthanstrainthemtryingtosee.Heknewthescheduleandhabitsofeveryguard,wheretheywalkedandwhentheyslept.Heknewwhomadetheirbedonthefloorandhowtostepoverthemcarefully.Hefeltthecornersofwallswithhisfingertips,avoidedboardsthatcreaked,couldturnadoorknobassilentlyasaleaffalls.Hewassoproficientatmovingthroughthehousethathethoughtthatevenifhehadnoplacetogohemightbetemptedtogetupandstretchhislegs,gofromroomtoroomjustbecausehecould.Itevenoccurredtohimthathemightbeabletoescapenowifhewantedto,simplywalkdownthefrontpathtothegateatnightand

sethimselffree.Hedidnotwantto.

EverythingheknewhelearnedfromCarmen,whotaughthimwithoutbenefitofatranslator.Toteachsomeonehowtobeperfectlyquietyoudon’tneedtospeaktothem.EverythingMr.HosokawaneededdesperatelytoknowCarmentaughthimovertwodays.Hestillcarriedaroundhisnotebook,addedtennewvocabularywordstohislisteverymorning,buthestruggledagainstthetideofmemorization.Forsilence,though,hehadagift.HecouldtellfromtheapprovalinCarmen’seyes,fromthelighttouchofherfingersonthebackofhishand.Shetaughthimhowtogetfromplacetoplaceinthehouseinplainsightofeveryoneandyetnoonesawthembecauseshewasteachinghimtobeinvisible.Itwaslearninghumility,tonolongerassumethatanyonewouldnoticewhoyouwereorwhereyouweregoing.Itwasn’tuntilshebegantoteachhimthatMr.HosokawasawCarmen’sgenius,becausehergeniuswastonotbeseen.Howmuchharderthatwouldbeforabeautifulyounggirlinahousefullofrestlessmen,andyethefoundthatshedrewalmostnoattentionatall.Shehadmanagedtopassasaboy,and,moreimpressively,hadmanagedtomakeherselfutterlyforgettableaftershehadbeenrevealedasabeautifulgirl.WhenCarmenwalkedthroughtheroomwithoutwantingtobeseenshehardlymovedtheairaroundher.Shedidn’tsneak.Shedidnotdarttohidebehindthepianoandthenachair.Shewalkedthroughthemiddleoftheroom,askingfornothing,keepingherheadlevel,makingnosound.Infact,shehadbeenteachinghimthislessonsincethedaytheywerefirstinthehousetogether,butitwasonlynowthathecouldunderstandit.

Shewouldhaveaccompaniedhimupstairseverynight.ShetoldthattoGen.Butitwasbetterthatheknowhowtogoonhisown.Nothingmadepeopleasclumsyasfear,andshecouldshowhimhownottobeafraid.

“Sheisanextraordinarygirl,”Mr.HosokawasaidtoGen.

“Sheseemstobe,”Gensaid.

Mr.Hosokawagavehimasmall,avuncularsmileandpretendedthattherewasnothingelsetosay.Thatwaspartofit,too.Theprivatelife.Mr.Hosokawahadaprivatelifenow.Hehadalwaysthoughtofhimselfasaprivateman,butnowhesawthattherewasnothinginhislifebeforethathadbeenprivate.Itdidn’tmeanthathehadnosecretsthenandnowhedid.Itwasthatnowtherewassomethingthatwasstrictlybetweenhimselfandoneotherperson,thatitwassocompletelytheirownthatitwouldhavebeenpointlesstoeventrytospeakofittosomeoneelse.Hewonderednowifeveryonehadaprivatelife.Hewonderedifhiswifehadone.Itwaspossiblethatallthoseyearshehadbeenalone,neverknowingthatacompleteworldexistedandnoonespokeofit.

Duringtheirentirecaptivityhehadsleptthroughthenight,butnowheknewhowtosleepandhowtowakeupinthepitch-blackdarknesswithouttheaidofaclock.OftenwhenhewokeupGenwasgone.Thenhewouldstandandwalk,sopeacefully,soabovesuspicion,thatifsomeoneweretowakeandseehimtheywouldhaveonlythoughthewasgoingtogetadrinkofwater.Hesteppedoverhisneighbors,hiscompatriots,andmadehiswaytothebackstairsbehindthekitchen.Oncehesawalightonbeneathaclosetdoorandthoughtheheardwhispering,buthedidn’tstoptoseewhatitmightbe.Itdidn’tconcernhim,whichwaspartofbeinginvisible.Hefloatedupthebacksteps.Hehadneverbeensoeasyinsidehisown

skin.Hethoughtatoncehehadneverbeensoaliveandsomuchaghost.Itwouldhavebeenfineifheweretoclimbthesestepsforever,alwaysthelovergoingtomeethisbeloved.Hewashappythen,andeverystepheclimbedhewashappier.Hewishedhecouldstoptime.AsmuchasMr.Hosokawawasoverwhelmedbylove,hecouldnevercompletelyshakewhatheknewtobethetruth:thateverynighttheyweretogethercouldbeseenasamiracleforahundreddifferentreasons,nottheleastofwhichwasthatatsomepointthesedayswouldend,wouldbeendedforthem.Hetriednottogivehimselfovertofantasies:hewouldgetadivorce;hewouldfollowherfromcitytocity,sittinginthefrontrowofeveryoperahouseintheworld.Happily,hewouldhavedonethis,givenupeverythingforher.Butheunderstoodthatthesewereextraordinarytimes,andiftheiroldlifewaseverrestoredtothem,nothingwouldbethesame.

Whenheopenedthedoortoherroomthereweretearsinhiseyesmoreoftenthannot,andhewasgratefulforthedarkness.Hedidn’twanthertothinkthatanythinghadgonewrong.Shecametohimandhepressedhisdampfaceintothefalloflemon-scentedhair.Hewasinlove,andneverhadhefeltsuchkindnesstowardsanotherperson.Neverhadhereceivedsuchkindness.Maybetheprivatelifewasn’tforever.Maybeeveryonegotitforalittlewhileandthenspenttherestoftheirlivesremembering.

Inthechinacloset,CarmenandGenmadeadecision:twofullhoursofstudyingbeforetheymadelove.CarmenwasstilleverybitasseriousaboutlearningtoreadandwriteinSpanish,lookatalltheprogressshe’dmade!Haltingly,shecouldreadanentireparagraphwithoutaskingforhelp.ShewascompletelycommittedtolearningEnglish.Shecouldfullyconjugatetenverbsandknewatleastahundrednounsandotherpartsofspeech.SheheldouthopesforJapanesesoshecouldspeaktoGeninhisownlanguagewhenallofthiswasoverandtheywouldbeinbedtogetheratnight.GenwasequallyfirmontheirresolvetocontinueCarmen’slessons.Itwouldbepointlesstohavecomesofarandthenjustabandoneverythingbecausetheywereinlove.Wasn’tthisexactlywhatlovewas?Towantwhatwasbestforsomeone,tohelpthemalongasCarmenandGenhelpedeachother?No,theywouldstudyandpracticefortwohours,nolessthantheyhaddonebefore.Afterthat,yes,theirtimewastheirownandtheycoulddowhatevertheywanted.Carmenstoletheeggtimerfromthekitchen.Theysettledintowork.

Spanishfirst.CarmenhadfoundasatchelofschoolbooksstuffedintheclosetoftheVicePresident’sdaughter,skinnybookswithpicturesofrollingpuppiesonthefront,afatterbookofpaperwithsolidlinesanddottedlinestopracticepenmanship.Thegirlhadonlyusedfivepages.Shehadwrittenthealphabetandhernumbers.Shehadwrittenhername,ImeldaIglesias,overandoveragaininsweetlycurvedletters.Carmenwrotehernamebeneaththat.ShewroteoutthewordsGentoldher:pescado,calcetín,sopa.Fish,sock,soup.Allhewantedwastopresshislipsagainstthesideofherneck.Hewouldnotstopthelesson.Shewasleaningoverhernotebook,workingsohardtomakeherlettersasniceasthoseoftheVicePresident’seight-year-olddaughter.Twothickstrandsofhairfellforwardontothenotebook.Carmenignoredthemandfoldedherlowerlipintohermouthtoconcentrate.Hewonderedifitwaspossibletodiefromwantingsomeonesomuch.Inthisnarrowhallofplatesallhecouldsmellwasher,lemonsandthedusty,sun-bleachedsmellofheruniform,thesofter,morecomplicatedsmellofCarmen’sskin.Thirtysecondstokissherneck,that

wasn’taskingsomuch.Hewouldnotevenmindifshekeptonwriting.Hewouldkissherthatgently,herpencilneedneverleavethepage.

Whenshelookeduphisfacewasveryclosetohersandshecouldnolongerrememberthewordhesaidandifhewastosayitagainshewouldnotknowhowtospellitorhowtobendasingleletteroutofastraightline.Allsheneededwasakiss,asinglekisstoclearherheadandthenshewouldbeallbusinessagain,rightbacktowork.Shecouldnotmakeherselfswalloworblink.Shewassurethatwithonekissshecouldstudyallnight.Itwouldnotmakeherlessofastudent.Shehadnomindforlettersanyway,allshecouldthinkofwasthegrass,thegrassandtreesanddarknightsky,thesmellofthejasminethefirsttimeheslidhershirtoverherheadandfelltohiskneestokissherstomach,herbreasts.

“Pastel,”Gensaid,hisvoiceunsteady.

Perhapsshewastrainedinwaysshedidn’tunderstand,likeapolicedog,andcakewasthewordthatreleasedher,becauseassoonashesaiditshefellonhim,bookandpencilskitteringacrossthefloor.Sheateoffofhim,huge,devouringgulps,pressedhertongueagainsthistongue,rolledagainstthelowercupboardswheresoupbowlswerestacked,onenestledperfectlyinsidetheother.

Theydidnotgobacktoworkthatnight.

Sothenextnighttheyagreed:anhourofstudyingbeforegivingin.Theyappliedthemselveswithgreatseriousness.Butinfactthatplanwasthreeminuteslesssuccessfulthantheonethey’dhadthenightbefore.Theywerehopeless,starving,reckless,andeverythingtheydid,theydidagain.

TheyexperimentedwithshorterlengthsoftimebutineveryattempttheywereunsuccessfuluntilGencameupwiththefollowingplan:theywouldmakeloveimmediately,thesecondtheyhadsecurelyclosedthedoorbehindthem,andthenafterthattheywouldstudy,anditwasthisplanthatwasbyfarthemostsuccessful.Sometimestheyfellasleepforawhile,CarmencurledagainstGen’schest,GeninsidethecrookofCarmen’sarm.Likesoldiersshotinbattle,theylaywheretheyfell.Othertimestheyhadtomakeloveagain,thefirsttimeforgottenassoonasitwasfinished,butforthemostparttheymanagedtogetsomeworkdone.BeforeitwasanywhereneargettinglighttheywouldkissgoodnightandCarmenwouldgobacktosleepinthehallwayinfrontofRoxane’sdoorandGenwouldgobacktothefloornexttoMr.Hosokawa’scouch.Sometimestheydetectedtheslightestsoundofhismovementashecamedownthestairs.SometimesCarmenpassedhiminthehall.

Didtheothersknow?Possibly,buttheywouldn’thavesaidanything.TheysuspectedonlyRoxaneCossandMr.Hosokawa,whodidnothesitatetoholdhandsorexchangeabriefkissduringtheday.IfanyonesuspectedGenandCarmenofanythingitwasonlythatperhapstheyhelpedthefirstcoupleintheirmeetings.RoxaneCossandMr.Hosokawa,howeverimprobabletothosearoundthem,weremembersofthesametribe,thetribeofthehostages.Somanypeoplewereinlovewithherthatofcourse,itwasonlynaturalthatsheshouldfallinlovewithoneofthem.ButGenandCarmenwereanothermatter.EveniftheGeneralsreliedonGen’stranslationsandpolishedsecretarialskills,eveniftheyfoundhimextremelybrightandpleasantenough,theyneverforgotwhohewas.Andeventhoughthehostageshad

asoftspotforCarmen,thewayshekepthereyesdown,herunwillingnesstopointhergunatanyonedirectly,whentherewasanycallfromtheGenerals,shewentandstoodwiththem.

Recentlylifehadimprovedforallthehostages,notjustthosewhowereinlove.Oncethefrontdoorhadbeenopened,itopenedregularly.Everydaytheywentoutsideandstoodinthehotsun.LotharFalkenencouragedothermentotakeuprunning.Heledthemthroughaseriesofexerciseseverydayandthentheywentinapackaroundandaroundthehouse.Thesoldiersplayedsoccerwithaballtheyhadfoundinthebasementandsomedaystherewasanactualgame,theterroristsagainstthehostages,thoughtheterroristsweresomuchyoungerandtrainedintobettershapethattheyalmostalwayswon.

WhenMessnercamenowheoftenfoundeveryoneintheyard.Thepriestgotupfromhisdiggingandwaved.

“Howistheworld?”FatherArguedassaidtohim.

“Impatient,”Messnersaid.HisSpanishkeptimproving,butstillheaskedforGen.

FatherArguedaspointedtothesprawled-outfigurebeneathatree.“Sleeping.Itisaterriblethingthewaytheyworkhimsohard.Andyou.Theyworkyoutoohardaswell.Ifyoudon’tmindmysaying,youlooktired.”

ItwastruethatrecentlyMessnerhadlostthesangfroidthateveryonehadfoundsoreassuringinthebeginning.Hehadagedtenyearsinthefourandahalfmonthstheyhadbeenlivinghere,andwhileeveryoneelseseemedtominditlessandless,Messnerclearlymindeditmore.“Allthissunlightisnogoodforme,”Messnersaid.“AllSwisscitizensweremeanttoliveintheshade.”

“It’sverywarm,”thepriestsaid.“Buttheplantsdowonderfully,rain,sun,drought,there’snoholdingthemback.”

“Iwon’tkeepyoufromyourwork.”Messnerpattedthepriestontheshoulder,rememberinghowtheyhadtriedseveraltimestolethimgoandhowthepriestwouldhavenoneofit.Hewonderedif,intheend,FatherArguedaswouldbesorrytohavestayed.Probablynot.Regretdidn’tseemtobeinhisnaturethewayitwasinMessner ’s.

PacoandRanatoranupfromthesidelawn,whichtheynowcalledtheplayingfield,andmadeanextremelyhalfheartedefforttofriskhimthatconsistedofnothingmorethanafewbriskslapsnearhispockets.Thentheyranbacktojointhegame,whichhadbeenstoppedforthispurpose.

“Gen,”Messnersaid,andtappedthesleepingbodyontheshoulderwiththetoeofhisshoe.“ForGod’ssake,getup.”

Genwassleepingthesleepoftheheavilydrugged.Hismouthwasopenandslackandhisarmsflungstraightouttotheside.Asmall,ripplingsnorecameupfromhisthroat.

“Hey,translator.”HeleanedoverandpickeduponeofGen’seyelidsbetweenhisthumbandforefinger.Genshookhimoffandopenedhiseyesslowly.

“YouspeakSpanish,”Gensaidthickly.“Youhavefromthebeginning.Nowleavemealone.”Herolledoveronhissideandpulledhiskneesuptohischest.

“Idon’tspeakSpanish.Idon’tspeakanything.Getup.”Messnerthoughthefeltashakingintheearth.SurelyGenmustfeelit,lyingwithhischeekpresseddowntothegrass.Wasithisimaginationthattheearthmightactuallycaveinbeneaththem?Howmuchdidtheseengineersknow?Who’stosaythatthegroundwouldn’tswallowthemup,operadivaandcommoncriminalinthesamefatalbite.Messnergotdownonhisknees.Hepressedhispalmstothegrassandwhenhehaddecidedthathewasonlyexperiencingatemporarymadness,heshookGenagain.“Listentome,”hesaidinFrench.“Wehavetotalkthemintosurrendering.Today.Thiscan’tgoon.Doyouunderstandme?”

Genrolledontohisback,stretchedlikeacat,andthenfoldedhisarmsbeneathhishead.“Andthenwe’lltalkthetreesintogrowingbluefeathers.Haven’tyoupaidattentionatall,Messner?Theyaren’tgoingtobetalkedintoanything.Especiallynotbythelikesofus.”

Thelikesofus.MessnerwonderedifGenwasimplyingthathehadnotdonehisjobwellenough.FourandahalfmonthslivinginahotelroomhalftheworldawayfromGenevawhenallhehadcomehereforinthefirstplacewasaholiday.Bothpartieswereintractableandwhatthepartyinsidethiswalldidn’tunderstandwasthatthegovernmentwasalwaysintractable,nomatterwhatthecountry,whatthecircumstances.Thegovernmentdidnotgivein,andwhentheysaidtheyweregivingintheywerelying,everytime,youcouldcountonit.AsMessnersawit,itwashisjobnottohammeroutacompromisebutmerelytosteerthemclearofatragedy.Therewasn’tmuchtimeleftforthiswork.Despitetherhythmicthudoftherunnersandtheboysplayingsoccer,hecoulddefinitelyfeelsomethinghappeningintheground.

ThesignoftheRedCross,liketheverysignofSwitzerland,stoodforpeacefulneutrality.Messnerhadstoppedwearinghisarmbandalongtimeagobuthedidn’tbelieveinitanyless.MembersoftheRedCrossbroughtfoodandmedicine,sometimestheywouldferrypapersforarbitration,buttheywerenotmoles.Theydidnotspy.JoachimMessnerwouldhavenomoretoldtheterroristswhatthemilitaryhadplannedthanhewouldtellthemilitarywhatwashappeningontheothersideofthewall.

“Getup,”hesaidagain.

Sluggishly,GensatupandraisedanarmtoMessnertobepulledtohisfeet.Wasthisapicnic?Hadtheybeendrinkingsoearly?Nooneseemedtobesufferingintheleast.Infacttheyalllookedpink-cheekedandenergetic.“TheGeneralsareprobablystilloverattheplayingfield,”Gensaid.“Theymightbeinthegame.”

“Youhavetohelpme,”Messnersaid.

Genpushedhishairbackintosomesemblanceoforderwithhisfingersandthen,finallyawake,threwhisarmacrosshisfriend’sshoulder.“WhenhaveInothelpedyou?”

TheGeneralswerenotplayingballbuttheyweresittingattheedgeofthefieldinthreewrought-ironchairspulledoverfromthepatio.GeneralAlfredowasshoutinginstructionsattheplayers,GeneralHectorwaswatchingwithintentsilence,andGeneralBenjaminhadhisfacetilteduptomakeanevenplaneforthesun.Allthreehadtheirfeetburiedinthehighgrass.

GilbertkickedabeautifulshotandGenwaiteduntiltheplaywasovertoannouncetheirguest.“Sir,”hesaid,meaningwhoeverlookedup.“Messnerishere.”

“Anotherday,”GeneralHectorsaid.Thesecondarmofhisglasseshadbrokenoffthatmorningandnowheheldthemuptohisfacelikeapince-nez.

“Ineedtospeaktoyou,”Messnersaid.Ifhisvoicehadtakenonsomenewurgencynoneofthemhearditoverthewhoopingandshoutingoftheboysinthegame.

“Permissiontospeak,”GeneralHectorsaid.GeneralAlfredohadn’ttakenhiseyesoffthegameandGeneralBenjaminhadn’topenedhiseyesatall.

“Ineedtospeaktoyouinside.Weneedtotalkaboutnegotiations.”

ThenGeneralAlfredoturnedhisheadinMessner ’sdirection.“Theyarereadytonegotiate?”

“Yournegotiations.”

GeneralHectorwavedhishandatMessnerasifhehadneverbeensoboredinallhislife.“You’retakingupourtime.”Heturnedhisattentionbacktothegameandcalledout,“Francisco!Theball!”

“Listentomewithseriousness,”MessnersaidquietlyinFrench.“Onetime.Ihavedoneagreatdealforyou.Ihavebroughtinyourfood,yourcigarettes.Ihavecarriedyourmessages.Iamaskingthatyousitdownwithmenowandtalk.”EveninthebrightsunMessner ’sfacewasdrainedofcolor.Genlookedathimandthenhetranslatedthemessage,tryingtokeepMessner ’stoneofvoice.ThetwoofthemstoodtherebuttheGeneralsdidnotlookupagain.UsuallythiswasMessner ’ssigntogobuthestoodtherewithhisarmsfoldedacrosshischestandwaited.

“Enough?”GenwhisperedinEnglish,butMessnerdidn’tlookathim.Theywaitedformorethanhalfanhour.

Finally,GeneralBenjaminopenedhiseyes.“Allright,”hesaid,hisvoiceastiredasMessner ’s.“We’llgotomyoffice.”

Cesar,whohadbeensofearlesswhenhesangfromToscainfrontofthefullhouse,reallydidprefertopracticeintheafternoonswheneveryoneelsewasoutside,especiallysincepracticingsooftenmeantscales,whichhefounddegrading.AndheandRoxaneCosswereneveralone,therewasnosuchthingasalone.KatowastheretoplaythepianoandMr.Hosokawawastherebecausehewasalwaysthere.Today,Ishmael,whowasregularlyhumiliatedinsoccer,hadsetupthechesssetonalowtablenearthepianoandplayedwithMr.Hosokawa.HeandCesarbothhadgunsbecauseiftheybothchosetostayinthehousethentheywerethedefaulthouseguards.IfCesarcomplainedaboutotherpeoplestayingtolistenandiftherewassomeonetheretotranslatefromSpanishtoEnglishandbackintoSpanishagain(andseveralpeoplecoulddothis),RoxaneCosswouldtellhimthatsingingwasintendedtobeheardbyotherpeopleandhemightaswellgetusedtoit.Hewantedtolearnsongs,arias,entireoperas,butmostlyshemadehimsingscalesandnonsenselines.Shemadehimroarandpuckerhislipsandholdhisbreathuntilhehadtositdownquicklyandputhisheadbetweenhisknees.Hewouldhaveinvitedeveryoneinifshehadlethimsingasongwiththepiano,butthat,shesaid,wassomethingtobeearned.

“There’saboywhosingsnow?”Messnerasked.“IsthatCesar?”HestoppedinthelivingroomtolistenandGeneralBenjaminandGenstoppedwithhim.Cesar ’sjacketwastooshortinthesleevesandhiswristshungoutlikebroomstickswithhandslooselyattached.

GeneralBenjaminwasclearlyproudoftheboy.“He’sbeensingingforweeksnow.You’vesimplycomeatthewrongtime.Cesarisalwayssinging.SeñoritaCosssayshehasthepotentialtobetrulygreat,assheisgreat.”

“Rememberyourbreath,”Roxanesaid,andinhaleddeeplytoshowCesarwhatshemeant.

Cesarstumbledoveranote,suddenlynervoustoseetheGeneralthere.

“Askherhowhe’sdoing,”BenjaminsaidtoGen.

RoxaneputherhandonKato’sshoulderandheliftedhisfingersfromthekeysasifshehadtouchedanoffswitch.Cesarsangthreemorenotesandthenstoppedwhenherealizedthemusicwasgone.“We’veonlybeenatthisaveryshorttime,butIthinkhehasenormouspotential.”

“HavehimsinghissongforMessner,”GeneralBenjaminsaid.“Messnerisinneedofasongtoday.”

RoxaneCossagreed.“Listentothis,”shesaid.“We’vebeenworkingonthis.”

ShesangafewwordsunderherbreathsothatCesarknewwhathewastosing.HecouldnotreadorwriteinSpanishandcertainlyhedidn’tunderstandItalian,buthisabilitytomemorizeandrepeatasound,torepeatitwithsuchpathosthelistenercouldonlyimagineheunderstoodwhathewassayingcompletely,wasuncanny.OnceshehadpromptedCesar,KatobegantoplaytheopeningofBellini’s“Malinconia,NinfaGentile,”thefirst,shortsongfromSeiAriette.Genrecognizedthemusic.Hehadhearditfloatingthroughthewindowsintheafternoons.Theboyclosedhiseyesandthenlookedtowardstheceiling,Oh,Melancholy,yougracefulnymph,Idevotemylifetoyou.Whenheforgotaline,RoxaneCosssangitinasurprisingtenorvoice:IaskedtheGodsforhillsandsprings;theylistenedtomeatlast.ThenCesarrepeatedtheline.Itwasnotunlikewatchingacalfriseupforthefirsttimeonspindlylegs,atthesametimeawkwardandbeautiful.Witheverystephelearnedthebusinessofwalking,witheverynotehesangwithmoreassurance.Itwasaveryshortsong,finishedalmostassoonasitwasstarted.GeneralBenjaminclappedandMessnerwhistled.

“Don’tpraisehimtoomuch,”Roxanesaid.“He’llberuined.”

Cesar,hisfaceflushedfromprideorlackofbreath,bowedhisheadtothem.

“Well,youcan’ttellitfromlookingathim,”GeneralBenjaminsaidashewalkeddownthebackhallwaytohisofficewithMessnerandGen.Itwastrue.TheonlythingmorecrookedthanCesar ’steethwasCesar ’snose.“Itmakesyouwonder.Allthebrilliantthingswemighthavedonewithourlivesifonlywesuspectedweknewhow.”

“IknowIwillneversing,”Messnersaid.

“Iknowthatmuchaswell.”GeneralBenjaminflippedthelightonintheroomandthethreemensatdown.

“Iwanttotellyouthatsoonnowtheywillnotletmecomehereanymore,”Messnersaid.

Genwasstartled.LifewithoutMessner?

“Youarelosingyourjob,”theGeneralsaid.

“Thegovernmentfeelsthatthey’veputenougheffortintonegotiations.”

“Ihaveseennoeffortatall.Theyhavemadeusnoreasonableoffers.”

“Iamtellingyouthisassomeonewholikesyou,”Messnersaid.“Iwillnotpretendthatwearefriends,butIwantwhatisbestforeveryonehere.Givethisup.Doittoday.Walkoutsidewhereeveryonecanseeyouandsurrender.”Messnerknewthiswasnotconvincingandstillhehadnoideahowtomakeitso.Inhisconfusionhewanderedbackandforthbetweenthelanguagesheknew:German,whichhehadspokenasaboyathome;French,whichhehadspokeninschool;English,whichhehadspokenforthefouryearshelivedinCanadawhenhewasayoungman;andSpanish,whichheknewbettereveryday.Gentriedhisbesttokeepupwiththepatchwork,butwitheverysentencehehadtostopandthink.ItwasMessner ’sinabilitytostaywithonecountrythatfrightenedGenmorethanwhathewassaying.Therewasnotimetoconcentrateonwhathewassaying.

“Whataboutourdemands?Haveyouspokentotheminasimilarway?Haveyouspokentothemasfriends?”

“Theywillgiveupnothing,”Messnersaid.“Thereisnochance,nomatterhowlongyouwait.Youhavetotrustmeonthis.”

“Thenwewillkillthehostages.”

“No,youwon’t,”Messnersaid,rubbinghiseyeswithhisfingers.“Isaiditthefirsttimewemet,youarereasonablemen.Evenifyoudidkillthemitwouldn’tchangetheoutcome.Thegovernmentwouldbeevenlessinclinedtobargainwithyouthen.”

FromdownthelonghallwayinthelivingroomtheycouldhearRoxanesingaphraseandthenCesarrepeatthephrase.Theywentoveritagainandagainandtherepetitionwasbeautiful.

Benjaminlistenedtothemusicforawhileandthen,asifhehadheardanotethatdidn’tagreewithhim,hestruckthetabletheyusedforchesswithhisfist.Notthatitmattered,thegamewasintheotherroom.“Whyisitourresponsibilitytomakeeveryconcession?Areweexpectedtogiveupjustbecausewehavesuchalonghistoryofgivingthingsup?IamtryingtofreethemenIknowfromprison.Iamnottryingtojointhem.Itisnotmyintentiontoputmysoldiersdowninthosecaves.Iwouldsoonerseethemdeadandburied.”

Youmightseethemdead,Messnerthought,butyouwon’thavethechancetoseethemburied.Hesighed.TherewasnosuchplaceasSwitzerland.Truly,timehadstopped.Hehadalwaysbeenhereandhewouldalwaysbehere.“I’mafraidthoseareyourtwochoices,”hesaid.

“Themeetingisover.”GeneralBenjaminstoodup.Youcouldchartthecourseofthisstoryonhisskin,whichwasburningnow.Theshinglesflaredwitheverywordhespokeandeverywordhelistenedto.

“Itcannotbeover.Wehavetokeeptalkinguntilwereachsomeagreement,thatisimperative.Iambeggingyoutothinkaboutthis.”

“Messner,whatelsedoIdoallday?”theGeneralsaid,andthenhelefttheroom.

MessnerandGensataloneintheguestbedroomsuite,wherehostageswerenotallowedtositwithoutguards.TheylistenedtothesmallFrenchenamelclockstrikethehourofnoon.“Idon’tthinkIcanstandthisanymore,”Messnersaidafterseveralminuteshadpassed.

Standwhat?Genknewthateverythingwasgettingbetterandnotjustforhim.Peoplewerehappier.Look,theywereoutsiderightnow.Hecouldseethemfromthewindows,running.“Itisastandoff,”Gensaid.“Maybeapermanentone.Iftheykeepushereforever,we’llmanage.”

“Areyouinsane?”Messnersaid.“Youwerethebrightestonehereonce,andnowyou’reascrazyastherestofthem.Whatdoyouthink,thatthey’lljustkeepthewallupandpretendthisisazoo,bringinyourfood,chargemoneyfortickets?‘Seedefenselesshostagesandviciousterroristslivetogetherinpeacefulcoexistence.’Itdoesn’tjustgoon.Someoneputsastoptoitandthereneedstobeadecisionastowhowillbeinchargeofthestopping.”

“Doyouthinkthemilitaryhasplans?”

Messnerstaredathim.“Justbecauseyou’reinheredoesn’tmeantherestoftheworldjustshutdown.”

“Sotheywillarrestthem?”

“Atbest.”

“TheGenerals?”

“Allofthem.”

ButallofthemcouldnotpossiblyincludeCarmen.ItcouldnotincludeBeatrizorIshmaelorCesar.WhenGenscannedthelisthecouldn’tthinkofonehewouldbewillingtogiveup,eventhebulliesandthefools.HewouldmarryCarmen.HewouldhaveFatherArguedasmarrythemanditwouldbelegalandbinding,sothatwhentheycameforthemhecouldsayshewashiswife.Butthatwouldonlysaveone,albeitthemostimportantone.Fortheothershehadnoideas.Howhadhecometowanttosaveallofthem?Thepeoplewhofollowedhimaroundwithloadedguns.Howhadhefalleninlovewithsomanypeople?“Whatdowedo?”Gensaid.

“Youcantrytotalkthemintogivingup,”Messnersaid.“Buthonestly,I’mnotevensurewhatgooditwoulddothem.”

Allhislife,Genhadworkedtolearn,thedeeprollingRinItalian,theclutterofvowelsinDanish.AsachildinNagano,hesatinthekitchenonahighstool,repeatinghismother ’sAmericanaccentwhileshechoppedvegetablesfordinner.ShehadgonetoschoolinBostonandspokeFrenchaswellasEnglish.Hisfather ’sfatherworkedinChinaasayoungmanandsohisfatherspokeChineseandhadstudiedRussianincollege.Inhischildhood,itseemedthatlanguagechangedonthehourandnoonewasbetteratkeepingupthanGen.Heandhissistersplayedwithwordsinsteadoftoys.Hestudiedandread,printednounsontoindex

cards,listenedtolanguagetapesonthesubway.Hedidnotstop.Evenifhewasanaturalpolyglot,heneverreliedsolelyontalent.Helearned.Genwasborntolearn.

ButtheselastmonthshadturnedhimaroundandnowGensawtherecouldbeasmuchvirtueinlettinggoofwhatyouknewastherehadeverbeeningatheringnewinformation.Heworkedashardatforgettingashehadeverworkedtolearn.HemanagedtoforgetthatCarmenwasasoldierintheterroristorganizationthathadkidnappedhim.Thatwasnotaneasytask.EverydayheforcedhimselftopracticeuntilhewasabletolookatCarmenandonlyseethewomanheloved.Heforgotaboutthefutureandpast.Heforgotabouthiscountry,hiswork,andwhatwouldbecomeofhimwhenallofthiswasover.Heforgotthatthewayhelivednowwouldeverbeover.AndGenwasn’ttheonlyone.Carmenforgot,too.Shedidnotrememberherdirectorderstoformnoemotionalbondstothehostages.Whenshefounditwasastruggletoletsuchimportantknowledgeslipfromhermemory,theothersoldiershelpedherforget.IshmaelforgotbecausehewantedtobetheothersonofRubenIglesiasandanemployeeofOscarMendoza.HecouldpicturehimselfsharingabedroomwithRuben’sson,Marco,andbeingahelpfulolderbrothertotheboy.CesarforgotbecauseRoxaneCosshadsaidhecouldcomewithhertoMilanandlearntosing.Howeasyitwastoimaginehimselfonastagewithher,arainoftenderblossomspouringdownontheirfeet.TheGeneralshelpedthemtoforgetbyturningablindeyetoalltheaffectionandslacknessthatsurroundedthem,andtheycoulddothatbecausetherewassomuchtheywereforgettingthemselves.Theyhadtoforgetthattheyhadbeentheonestorecruittheseyoungpeoplefromtheirfamiliesbypromisingthemworkandopportunityandacausetofightfor.TheyhadtoforgetthatthePresidentofthecountryhadneglectedtoattendthepartyfromwhichtheyhadsoelaboratelyplannedtokidnaphimandsotheychangedtheirplansandtookeveryoneelsehostage.Mostly,theyhadtoforgetthattheyhadnotcomeupwithawaytoleave.Theyhadtothinkthatonemightpresentitselfiftheywaitedlongenough.Whyshouldtheythinkaboutthefuture?Nooneelseseemedtorememberit.FatherArguedasrefusedtothinkaboutit.EveryonecametoSundaymass.Heperformedthesacraments:communion,confession,evenlastrites.Hehadputthesoulsinthishouseinorderandthatwastheonlythingthatmattered,sowhyshouldhethinkaboutthefuture?ThefutureneverevenoccurredtoRoxaneCoss.Shehadbecomesoproficientatforgettingthatsheneverconsideredthewifeofherloveranymore.ShewasnotconcernedthatheranacorporationinJapan,orthattheydidnotspeakthesamelanguage.Eventheoneswhohadnorealreasontoforgethaddoneso.Theylivedtheirlivesonlyforthehourthatlayaheadofthem.LotharFalkenthoughtonlyofrunningaroundthehouse.VictorFyodorovthoughtofnothingbutplayingcardswithhisfriendsandgossipingabouttheirloveforRoxaneCoss.TetsuyaKatothoughtofhisresponsibilitiesasanaccompanistandforgotabouttherest.Itwastoomuchworktorememberthingsyoumightnothaveagain,andsoonebyonetheyopeneduptheirhandsandthemletgo.ExceptforMessner,whosejobitwastoremember.AndSimonThibault,whoeveninhissleepthoughtofnothingbuthiswife.

SoeventhoughGenunderstoodthattherewassomethingrealanddangerouswaitingforthem,hebegantoforgetitalmostassoonasMessnerleftthehousethatafternoon.HebusiedhimselftypingupfreshlistsofdemandsfortheGeneralsandwhenitgotlaterhehelpedservedinner.Hewenttosleepthatnightandwokeupattwo A.M.tomeetCarmeninthechinaclosetandhetoldher,butnotwiththeurgencyhehadfeltintheafternoon.Itwasthesenseof

urgencyhehadmanagedtoforget.

“WhatMessnerwassayingworriedme,”Gensaid.Carmenwassittinginhislap,bothofherlegstotheleftofhim,bothofherarmsaroundhisneck.Worriedme.Shouldn’thehavesaidsomethingstrongerthanthat?

AndCarmen,whoshouldhavelistened,whoshouldhaveaskedhimquestionsforherownsafetyandthesafetyoftheothersoldiers,herfriends,onlykissedhim,becausetheimportantthingwastoforget.Itwastheirbusiness,theirjob.Thatkisswaslikealake,deepandclearandtheyswamintoit,forgetting.“We’llhavetowaitandsee,”Carmensaid.

Shouldtheydosomething,trytoescape?Theremustbeawaybynow,everyonewaslax.Hardlyanyonewaswatchinganymore.Genaskedher,hishandsupunderhershirt,feelinghershoulderbladesflexbeneathhisfingertips.

“Wecouldthinkaboutescaping,”shesaid.Butthemilitarywouldcatchherandtortureher,that’swhattheGeneralstoldthemintraining,andunderthepainsoftortureshewouldtellthemsomething.Shecouldnotrememberwhatitwasthatsheshouldn’ttellbutthatwouldbethethingthatwouldgeteveryoneelsekilled.Therewereonlytwoplacesintheworldtogo:insideandoutside,andthequestionwaswherewereyousafer?Insidethishouse,inthischinacloset,shehadneverfeltsosafeinallherlife.Clearly,SaintRoseofLimalivedinsidethishouse.Shewasprotectedhere.Shewasrewardedforherprayerswithabundance.Itwasalwaysbettertostaywithyoursaint.ShekissedGen’sthroat.Allgirlsdreamedofbeinginlovelikethis.

“Sowe’lltalkaboutit?”Gensaid,butnowhershirtwasoffanditstretchedoutlikeacarpetforthemtolieon.Theyclosedtheanglebetweentheirbodiesandthefloor.

“Let’stalkaboutit,”shesaid,sweetlyshuttinghereyes.

AssoonasRoxaneCossfellinlove,shefellinloveagain.Thetwoexperienceswerecompletelydifferentandyetcomingastheydid,onerightontopoftheother,shecouldnothelpbutlinkthemtogetherinhermind.KatsumiHosokawacametoherroominthemiddleofthenightandforthelongesttimehejuststoodthereinsideherbedroomdoorandheldher.Itwasasifhehadreturnedfromsomethingnooneismeanttosurvive,aplanecrash,ashiplostatsea,andhecouldimaginenothingmorethanthis:herinhisarms.TherewasnothingtheycouldsaytooneanotherbutRoxanewasfarbeyondthinkingthatspeakingthesamelanguagewastheonlywaytocommunicatewithpeople.Besides,whatwastheretosay,really?Heknewher.Sheleanedagainsthim,herarmsaroundhisneck,hishandsflatagainstherback.Sometimesshenoddedorherockedherbackandforth.Fromthewayhewasbreathingshethoughthemightbecryingandsheunderstoodthat,too.Shecriedherself,shecriedforthereliefthatcameinbeingwithhiminthatdarkroom,thereliefthatcamefromlovingsomeoneandfrombeingloved.Theywouldhavestoodthereallnight,hewouldhaveleftwithouteveraskingforanythingelseifshehadn’treachedbehindheratsomepointandtakenoneofhishands,ledhimtheretoherbed.Thereweresomanywaystotalk.Hekissedherasshewasleaningback,thecurtainsclosed,theroomcompletelydark.

Inthemorningshewokeupforaminute,stretched,rolledover,andwentbacktosleep.Shedidn’tknowhowlongsheslept,butthensheheardsingingandforthesecondtimeshewas

struckbythethoughtthatshewasn’talone.Itwasn’tthatshewasinlovewithCesar,butshewasinlovewithhissinging.

Itwaslikethis:everynightMr.HosokawacamebacktoherbedroomandeverymorningCesarwaitedtopractice.Iftherewassomethingelsetowantsheforgotwhatitmightbe.

“Breathe,”shesaid.“Likethis.”Roxanefilledupherlungs,tookinmoreairandthensomemore,andthenheldit.Itdidn’tmatterthathedidn’tunderstandthewordssheused.Shesteppedbehindhimandputherhandflatonhisdiaphragm.Whatshewassayingwasclear.Shepushedallofthebreathfromhisbodyandthenfilledhimupagain.ShesangalineofTosti,movingherhandbackandforthlikeametronome,andhesangitbacktoher.Hewasnotaconservatorystudentwhothoughtthattopleasewastobecareful.Hedidnothavealifetimeofmediocreinstructiontoovercome.Hewasnotafraid.Hewasaboy,fullofaboy’sbravado,andwhenthelinecamebackitwasloudandpassionate.Hesangeveryline,everyscale,asifthesingingwouldsavehislife.Hewassettlingintohisownvoicenowanditwasavoicethatamazedher.Itwouldhavelivedanddiedinajungle,thisvoice,ifshehadn’tcomealongtorescueit.

Itwasafinetime,exceptforthefactthatMessnerdidn’tlingeranymore.Hewasthinnernow.Hisclotheshungfromhisshouldersasiftheyweresittingaloneonawirecoathanger.Heonlydroppedthingsoffandthenwasinahurrytogetaway.

Cesarhadhislessoninthemorning,andnomatterhowhardhebeggedthemtogooutside,everyonesatdownandlistened.Hewasimprovingsoquickly,eventheotherboysknewthatwhattheywereseeingwasmoreinterestingthantelevision.Hedidn’tsoundathinglikeRoxaneanymore.Hewasfindinghisowndepth.Everymorning,heunfoldedhisvoicebeforethemlikeararejeweledfan;themoreyoulistened,themoreintricateitbecame.Thecrowdassembledinthelivingroomcouldalwayscountonthefactthathewouldbeevenbetterthanhehadbeenthedaybefore.Thatwaswhatwassoastonishingaboutit.Hehadyettoshowtheslightesthintoffindingtheedgesofwhathewascapableof.Hesangwithhypnoticpassionandthenwithpassionatelust.Howimpossibleitseemed,somuchvoicepouringoutofsuchanaverageboy.Hisarmsstillhunguselessathissides.

WhenCesarreleasedhisfinalnote,theywereraucous,stampingtheirfeetandwhistling.“Hail,Cesar!”theycalled,hostageandterroristalike.Hewastheirboy.Therewasnotamanorwomantherewhodidnotacclaimhisgreatness.

ThibaultleanedoverandwhisperedintheVicePresident’sear.“Onemustwonderhowourdivaistakingthis.”

“Withabraveface,nodoubt,”Rubenwhisperedback,andthenheputtwofingersinhismouthandblewalong,highwhistle.

CesartookafewnervousbowsandwhenhewasthroughthecrowdbegantocallforRoxane.“Sing!Sing!”theydemanded.Sheshookherheadseveraltimes,buttheydidnotacceptthis.Itonlymadethemcalloutmore.Whenshefinallystoodshewaslaughing,becausewhodidnotfeelthejoyinsuchmusic?Sheraisedherhandstotryandsilencethem.

“Onlyone!”shesaid.“Ican’tcompetewiththis.”SheleanedoverandwhisperedinKato’s

earandhenodded.Whatwasshewhispering?Theydidnotspeakthesamelanguage.

KatohadtranscribedthemusicfromIlBarbierediSivigliaforthepianoandhisfingersspranghighoffthekeysasiftheywerescorchingtothetouch.Therewasatimewhenshehadmissedtheorchestra,thesweetweightofsomanyviolinsinfrontofher,butsheneverthoughtaboutitnow.Shesteppedintothemusicasifitwasacoolstreamonahotdayandbegan“UnaVocePocoFa.”Themusicsoundedexactlyrighttohernow,andshethoughtthiswasthewayRossinihadalwaysintendedittobe.Despitewhatanyonemightwhisper,shecouldcertainlycompete,andshecouldwin.Hersingingwasameringue,andwhenshetrilledpastthehighestnotessheputherhandsonherhipsandrockedthembackandforth,smilingwickedlyattheaudience.Shewasanactress,too.ShemustteachthatparttoCesar.Athousandwaywardtricks,andsubtlewiles,I’dplaybeforetheyshouldguidemywill.Theycheeredforher.Oh,howtheylovedthoseridiculouslyhighnotes,theimpossibleacrobaticsthatshetossedoffasiftheywerenothingatall.Attheendshemadethemdizzy,andthenshethrewupherhandsandsaid,“Outside,allofyou,”andeventhoughtheydidn’tknowwhatshewassaying,theyfollowedhercommandandwentoutintothesunlight.

Mr.Hosokawalaughedandkissedhercheek.Whocouldbelievesuchawomanexisted?HewenttothekitchentomakeheracupofteaandCesarsatbesideheronthepianobench,hopingthathislessonmightbeextendednowthateveryonewasgone.

Therestwentoutsidetoplaysoccerorsitinthegrassandwatchthesoccergame.Rubenhadbeenabletopetitionaspadeandasmallhandrakefromthegardener ’sshed,whichwaslocked,andheturnedoverthesoilintheflowerbeds,whichhehadmeticulouslyclearedofweedsandgrass.Ishmaelskippedthegameinordertohelphim.Hedidn’tmind.Heneverlikedtoplay.Rubengavehimasilverservingspoonwithwhichtodig.“Myfatherhadawonderfulwaywithplants,”Rubentoldhim.“Allhehadtodowassayafewkindwordstothegroundandheretheywouldcome.Hehadmeanttobeafarmer,likehisfather,butthedroughtcaughtthemall.”Rubenshruggedandslippedhisspadeintothehardsoil,turneditover.

“Hewouldbeproudofusnow,”Ishmaelsaid.

Theboyswhowereonguardclimbedintotheivybanksattheedgeoftheyard,leanedtheirgunsagainstthestuccowall,andjoinedthegame.Therunnersgaveuptheirrunningtoplay.“UnaVocePocoFa”stillbouncedaroundintheirheads,andeventhoughtheycouldnothumit,theychasedtheballtotherhythmofthesong.BeatrizhadgottentheballawayfromSimonThibaultandkickeditovertoJesus,whohadaclearshottotakeitpasttwochairsthatweresetupasthegoal,andtheGeneralsyelledtohim,“Now!Now!”Thelightwascuttolacebythetreesthathadgrownsothickwithleavesinthelastfewmonthsbutstillthelightwaseverywhere.Itwasearly,hoursbeforelunch.KatoleftthepianoandcameoutsidetositonthegrassinthesunbesideGen,sotheonlysoundwasthekickoftheball,thecallingofnames,Gilbert,Francisco,Paco,astheyran.

WhenRoxaneCossscreameditwasbecauseshesawamanshedidn’trecognizewalkingquicklyintotheroom.Shewasn’tstartledbyhisuniformorbyhisgun,shewasusedtothose,butthewayhecametowardsthemwasterrifying.Hewalkedlikenowallcouldstophim.Whateverhemeanttodo,hismindwasmadeup,andnothingshecouldsayorsing

wouldevermakeadifference.Cesarjumpedupfromthepianobenchwherehehadbeensittingandbeforehehadgottenanywhereclosetothedoorhewasshot.Hefellstraightforward,notputtingouthishandstosavehimself,notcallingforanyonetohelp.Roxanecrouchedbeneaththepiano,hervoicesoundingoutthealarm.Shecrawledtowardstheboywhoshewassurewasmeanttobethegreatestsingerofhistime,andcoveredhisbodywithherown,lestsomethingelseshouldhappentohim.Shecouldfeelhiswarmbloodsoakinghershirt,wettingherskin.Shetookhisheadinherhandsandkissedhischeeks.

Atthesoundoftheshotitseemedthemanwiththegundivided,firstintotwoandthenfour,eight,sixteen,thirty-two,sixty-four.Witheveryloudpopmorecameandtheyspreadthroughthehouseandjumpedthroughthewindows,pouredthroughthedoorsintothegarden.Noonecouldseewheretheyhadcomefrom,onlythattheywereeverywhere.Theirbootsseemedtokickthehouseapart,toopenupeveryentrance.Theycoveredtheplayingfieldwhiletheballwasstillrollingawayfromthegame.Thegunsfiredoverandoveranditwasimpossibletosayiftheoneswhoweredroppingweretryingtoprotectthemselvesoriftheyhadbeenhit.Itwasaninstantandinthatinstanteverythingthathadbeenknownabouttheworldwasforgottenandrelearned.Themenwereshoutingsomething,butwiththerushingofbloodinhisears,thesickeningspinofadrenaline,thedeafnessleftoverfromthegunfire,notevenGencouldunderstandthem.HesawGeneralBenjaminlookbacktowardsthewall,possiblygaugingitsheight,andthenwithashotBenjaminwasdown,thebulletcatchinghimsquarelyinthesideofhishead.Inoneshothelostbothhislifeandthelifeofhisbrother,Luis,whowouldsoonbetakenfromprisonandexecutedforconspiracy.GeneralAlfredohadalreadyfallen.Humberto,Ignacio,Guadalupe,dead.ThenLotharFalkenputhishandsupandFatherArguedasputhishandsup,BernardoandSergioandBeatrizputtheirhandsup.“OrtundStellebleiben!”Lotharsaid,stayput,butwherewasthetranslator?Germanwasuselesstohimnow.GeneralHectorstartedtoputuphishandsbuthewasshotbeforetheyhadpassedhischest.

Thestrangerscutthegroupapartasiftheykneweverymemberintimately.Therewasnotasecond’shesitationastowhowastobepulledaway,handeddownthelineofmentowardsthebackofthehousewherethesoundsofgunsbeingfiredreportedbacktothemwithoutanypause.Therewerenotthatmanypeopleinthehouse.Eveniftheymeanttoshooteveryoneofthemahundredtimes,theywouldnothavefiredsomanyshots.Ranatowasoffhisfeet,twistingandscreaminglikeawildanimalashewaspulledawaybytwomen,eachholdingoneofhisarms.FatherArguedasrushedforwardtohelptheboyandthenjustasquicklyhewashit.Hethoughthehadbeenshot,abulletbearingintothebackofhisneck,andinthatmomentherememberedhisGod.Butwhenhewasonthegrassheknewhewaswrong.Hewasverymuchalive.HeopenedhiseyesandfoundhimselflookingatIshmael,hisfriend,nottwominutesdead.TheVicePresidentwascryingintotheboy’sneck,hiseyespressedclosed,hismouthstretchedopenwide.Hewasholdinghischild’slovelyheadinhishands.InIshmael’shandswasthespoonwithwhichhehadbeendigging.

BeatrizheldherhandsupstraightaboveherheadandthesunhitthecrystalofGen’swatchandthrewaperfectcircleoflightagainstthewall.Allaroundherwerethepeoplesheknew.TherewasGeneralHectorlyingonhisside,hisglassesgone,hisshirtasoggymess.TherewasGilbert,whoonceshehadkissedoutofboredom.Hewasflatonhisback,hisarms

stretchedouttothesidesasifhemeanttofly.Thentherewassomeoneelse,butthatwasawful.Shecouldn’ttellwhoitwas.Shefeltafraidofthemnow,thepeoplesheknew.Shehadmoreincommonwiththestrangerswhowereshootingbecausesheandtheywereallalive.Shewouldkeepherarmsthestraightestofthemall.Thatwasthedifference.Shewoulddoexactlywhatshewastoldandshewouldbespared.Sheclosedhereyesandlookedforherdarkpileofsins,hopingshecouldreleaseafewmoreonherownwithoutthehelpofthepriest,thinkingthatfewersinswouldgiveheralightnessthatthesenewmenwouldrecognize.Butthesinsweregone.Shelookedandlookedbehindthedarknessofhereyelidsbuttherewasnotasinglesinleftandshewasamazed.SheheardOscarMendozacallinghername,“Beatriz!Beatriz!”andsheopenedhereyes.Hewascomingtowardsher,hisarmsstretchedout.Hewasrunningtowardsherlikealoverandshesmiledathim.Thensheheardanothergunshotbutthistimeitknockedheroffherfeet.Apainexplodeduphighinherchestandspitheroutofthisterribleworld.

GensawBeatrizfallandcalledforCarmen.WherewasCarmen?Hedidnotknowifshewasoutside.Hecouldnotseeheranywhere.NoonewasmorecleverthanCarmen.Noonewasmorelikelytoescape,unlessshedidsomethingstupid.Whatifshehadsomeideaofsavinghim?“Sheismywife!Sheismywife!”hecriedintothebedlam,becausethatwastheonlyplanhehadeverdevised,eventhoughhehadneveraskedhertomarryhim,oraskedthepriesttoblessthem.Shewashiswifeineverywaythatmatteredandthatwouldsaveher.

Butnothingcouldsaveher.Carmenwasalreadydead,killedrightatthestart.ShehadbeeninthekitchenputtingthedishesbackintothechinaclosetwhenMr.Hosokawacameintomakethetea.Hebowedtoher,whichalwaysmadehersmileshyly.HehadnotreachedthekettlewhentheyheardRoxaneCoss.Notasongbutascreamandthenalong,wolflikehowl.Togethertheyturnedtowardsthedoor,Mr.HosokawaandCarmen.Theyrantogetherdownthehallway,Carmen,younger,faster,infrontofhim.TheywerethroughthediningroomwhentheyheardtheshotthatbroughtdownCesar.Theysteppedintothelivingroomjustasamanwithagunturnedtofacethem,justasRoxanetookthebodyofherstudentinherarms.Time,solongsuspended,nowcamebackwithsuchforcethatitoverlappedandeverythinghappenedatonce.Roxanesawthemasthemanwiththegunsawthem,CarmensawCesar,andMr.HosokawasawCarmenandhescoopedherfromthespaceinfrontofhim,theforceofhisarmhittingthesideofherwaistlikeablow.Hewasinfrontofhertheinstantshewasbeingthrownbehindhim,theinstantthemanwhosawherstandinginfront,separatefromMr.Hosokawa,firedhisgun.Fromsixfeetawaytherewouldhavebeennomissingherexceptfortheconfusion,thefiringofguns,thefrenzyofvoices,themanwhowasonthelisttosavesteppinginfrontofher.Oneshotfixedthemtogetherinapairingnoonehadconsideredbefore:CarmenandMr.Hosokawa,herheadjusttotheleftofhisasifshewaslookingoverhisshoulder.

epilogue

whentheceremonywasover,theweddingpartywalkedoutintothelateafternoonsun.EdithThibaultkissedthebrideandgroomandthenkissedherownhusbandforgoodmeasure.Therewasabrightnessinherthattheotherthreelacked.Shestillbelievedshewaslucky.ShehadbeentheonewhoinsistedthatsheandSimoncometoLuccaforthedaytobewitnesses

forGenandRoxane.Itwasonlyrighttowishthemwell.“Ithoughtitwasbeautiful,”shesaidinFrench.ThefourofthemspokeFrench.

Thibaultheldhiswife’sarmasifhewasdizzy.ItwouldhavebeenniceifsomeonehadthoughttoflyFatherArguedasuptoperformtheceremony,butnoonehadthoughtofitandnowthethingwasdone.TheFrenchgovernmentfullyexpectedThibaultwouldresumehispostafteranadequateperiodofrest,butwhentheThibaultsleftthehouseforParistheytookalloftheirpersonalbelongingswiththem.SimonandEdithwouldneversetfootinthatgodforsakencountryagain.Quelbled,theysaidnow.

ItwasearlyMayandthetouristseasonhadnotyetbeguninLucca.Theoldstonestreetswouldsoonbepackedsolidwithcollegestudentsholdingguidebooks,butfornowitwascompletelyempty.Itfeltliketheirownprivatecity,whichwasexactlywhatthebridewanted,averyquietweddinginthebirthplaceofGiacomoPuccini.Abreezecameupandshehelddownherhatwithherhand.

“I’mhappy,”Roxanesaid,andthenshelookedatGenandsaiditagain.Hekissedher.

“Therestaurantswon’tbeopenyet,”Edithsaid.Shescannedthesquarewithonehandshadinghereyes.Itwaslikeanancient,abandonedcity,somethingbroughtupcleanfromanarchaeologicaldig.NopartofPariswaseverlikethis.“Goandseeifthere’sabarsomewhere,willyou?Weshouldhaveaglassofwinetotoast.RoxaneandIcanwaithere.Thesestreetsweren’tmeantforheels.”

Thibaultfeltasmallflushofpanic,butjustasquicklyhegotholdofit.Thesquarewastooopen,tooquiet.Hehadfeltbetterinsidethechurch.“Adrink,absolutely.”Hekissedheroncenearhereyeandthenkissedheragainonthelips.Itwasaweddingday,afterall,aweddingdayinItaly.

“Youdon’tmindwaiting?”GenaskedRoxane.

Shesmiledathim.“Marriedwomendon’tmindwaiting.”

EdithThibaulttookherhandandadmiredthebrightnewring.“Theyminditterribly,buttheywouldstilllikeaglassofwine.”

Thetwowomensatdownontheedgeofafountain,Roxanewithabouquetofflowersinherlap,andwatchedasthemenwanderedoffdownoneofthenarrow,identicalstreets.WhentheyturnedoutofsightEdiththoughtshehadmadeamistake.SheandRoxaneshouldhavetakenofftheirshoesandgonealong.

GenandThibaultcrossedtwopiazzasbeforeeitherofthemsaidanythingandtheirsilencemadetheclapoftheirheelsechoupthehighwalls.“Soyou’llliveinMilan,”Thibaultsaid.

“It’sabeautifulcity.”

“Andyourwork?”BecauseGen’sworkhadbeenMr.Hosokawa.

“Imostlytranslatebooksnow.Itleavesmyschedulemoreflexible.IliketogotorehearsalswithRoxane.”

“Yes,ofcourse,”Thibaultsaidabsently,andpushedhishandsdeepintohispocketsasthey

walked.“Imisshearinghersing.”

“Youshouldcomevisit.”

Aboyonabrightredmopedspedpastandthentwomenwithdachshundscameoutofabakeryandwalkedtowardsthem.Thecitywasn’tdesertedafterall.“WillyoumissJapan?”

Genshookhishead.“It’sbetterforherhere,betterforme,too,I’msure.AlloperasingersshouldliveinItaly.”Hepointedtothebuildingonthecorner.“There’sabarthat’sopen.”

Thibaultstopped.Hewouldhavemissedit.Hehadn’tbeenpayingattention.“Good,thenwe’vedoneourjob.Let’sgobackforourwives.”

ButGendidn’tturn.Hestaredatthebarforalongtimeasifitwereaplacehehadoncelivedyearsbefore.

Thibaultaskedhimifsomethingwaswrong.Hefrozeuplikethatfromtimetotimehimself.

“Iwantedtoaskyou,”Gensaid,butittookhimanotherminutetofindthewords.“CarmenandBeatrizarenevermentionedinthepapers.EverythingI’vereadsaystherewerefifty-ninemenandonewoman.IsthatthewaytheyreporteditinFrance?”

Thibaultsaidtherehadbeennomentionofthegirls.

Gennodded.“Isupposeitmakesabetterstorythatway,fifty-nineandone.”Heworeawhiteroseboutonniereonhisweddingsuit.EdithhadbroughtitforhiminacardboardboxalongwiththebouquetofwhiterosesforRoxanetocarry.Shehadpinnedthefloweronhislapelherself.“I’vecalledthepapersandaskedthemtopublishacorrection,butnooneisinterested.It’salmostasiftheyneverexisted.”

“Nothingyoureadinthepapersistrue,”Thibaultsaid.Hewasthinkingaboutthefirsttimetheyhadtocookdinner,allthosechickens,andthegirlsandIshmaelcominginwiththeknives.

StillGenwouldn’tlookathim.Hetalkedasifheweretellingthestorytothebar.“IcalledRuben,didItellyouthat?Icalledtotellhimaboutthewedding.Hesaidthathethoughtweshouldwait,thatwewouldbewrongtorushintoanything.Hewasverykindaboutit,youknowhowRubenwouldbe.Butwedidn’twanttowait.IloveRoxane.”

“No,”Thibaultsaid.“Youdidtherightthing.Gettingmarriedwasthebestthingthateverhappenedtome.”ThoughnowhewaswonderingaboutCarmen.Whyhadheneverthoughtofitbefore?Hecouldplainlyrememberthemtogether,timeaftertimestandingatthebackoftheroom,whispering,thewayherfacebrightenedwhensheturnedittoGen.Thibaultdidnotwishtoseeherfaceagain.

“WhenIhearRoxanesingIamstillabletothinkwelloftheworld,”Gensaid.“Thisisaworldinwhichsomeonecouldhavewrittensuchmusic,aworldinwhichshecanstillsingthatmusicwithsomuchcompassion.That’sproofofsomething,isn’tit?Idon’tthinkIwouldlastadaywithoutthatnow.”

EvenwhenThibaultclosedhiseyesandrubbedthemwithhisthumbandforefingerhecouldstillseeCarmen.Herhairinabraidonthebackofherslenderneck.Sheislaughing.“Sheis

abeautifulgirl,”hesaid.Theyhadfoundthebar.HeneededtogetbacktoEdithnow.Heloopedhisarmaroundhisfriend’sshoulderandguidedhimbackinthedirectionofthePiazzaSanMartino.Hefelthimselfgrowingbreathless,andhehadtoconcentrateonthemusclesinhislegstokeepfromrunning.HewassurethatGenandRoxanehadmarriedforlove,theloveofeachotherandtheloveofallthepeopletheyremembered.

Whentheyturnedthecornerthestreetopenedintothebrightsquareandtherethewiveswere,stillsittingontheedgeofthefountain.TheywerelookinginthedirectionofthecathedralbutthenEdithturnedandwhenshesawhim,thejoyinherface!Theystoodupandwalkedtowardsthetwomen,Edithwithherdarkhairshining,Roxanestillinherhat.Eitheroneofthemcouldhavebeenthebride.Thibaultwassuretherehadneverbeensuchbeautifulwomen,andthebeautifulwomencametothemandheldouttheirarms.

MyloveandgratitudetomyeditorRobertJones.

FriendshipandLove:AnInterviewwithAnnPatchett

FromherhomeinNashville,theauthorspokebyphonewithSeanAbbott,asenioreditoratHarperCollins,onApril6,2001.

SA:AsIreadBelCanto,Iimaginedthemiseenscèneintwoways:Ididtheusualmentaltranslationofnovel-into-filmthatIdowhenIreadarealisticnovel,butIalsoreaditasnovel-into-opera.Ofcourse,astoryinwhichanoperasingerisheldhostagebyguerillasneednotnecessarilybeseenasthebasisforanopera,butBelCantoisclearlythat.Doyouagreewiththisreading?

AP:Ido.IwantedsomehowtogetallofthoseelementsthatIloveaboutoperaintoanovel.Iwantedtowriteabookthatwouldbelikeanoperainitsstructure,itsgrandeur,itsmusicality,itsmelodrama.

SA:Really—melodrama?

AP:Writersarereallydiscouragedfrombeingmelodramatic.CertainlyasawritingteacherItrytoturnmystudentsawayfrommelodrama.Andyetoperaissowonderfullymelodramatic.Iwantedtowriteabookthatwouldbeflat-outmelodramaticinthatoperaticway.

SA:Ican’trememberasinglemelodramaticpassageinBelCanto.

AP:Well,itisanditisn’tamelodrama.It’snotmelodramaticinabadsoap-operakindofway,Iwouldhope,butithasalloftheelementsofmelodrama.

SA:Buteverythingisearned,whichisneverthecaseinaflat-outmelodrama,andnotoftenthecaseinplentyofoperas,forthatmatter.IttakesalongtimefortheprincipalromancestodevelopinBelCanto,andlongerstillbeforetheloversareinbedtogether.Everythingistotallybelievableonahumanscale,intermsoftheprogressoftimeandrelationships.

AP:Right.ButIwasthinkingaboutacoreconceptofmelodramawhenwritingthisbook.Thatitislargerthanlife.Everythingissortofworsethanyoucanimagineandbetterthanyoucanimagine.

SA:Well,then,let’stalkabitabouttherealitybehindthis.BecauseanobvioussourceofinspirationforBelCantowastheguerillaseizureoftheJapaneseembassyinLimaafewyearsago.Thatalsostretchedoverseveralmonths,Ibelieve.[OnDecember17th,1996,fourteenheavilyarmedmembersoftheTupacAmaruRevolutionaryMovement(MRTA)seizedmorethan400peopleattendingadiplomaticreceptionattheresidenceoftheJapaneseambassadorinLima.OnApril22,1997,Peruvianspecialforceslaunchedaraidontheembassycompound,killingallfourteenoftheMRTAinsurgentsandfreeingtheremainingseventy-twohostages.]

AP:Youknow,nobodygetsthat.

SA:Really?

AP:Ofallthepeoplewho’vereadthebook,maybethreepeoplehavesaidthattome.AndIfinditfascinatingbecauseIthoughtthattheresponsewouldbejusttheopposite:“Howdareyouco-optthisthingthathappenedtothesepeople!”Butnobodyhasaclue.

SA:Well,that’sgoodoldAmericanobliviousnessforyou,Iguess.Buttobefair,atonepointinthebookit’sobservedthat,afterafewweeks,lifehasreturnedtonormalinthecitywherethis“hostagedrama”isplayingout.Andthat’sexactlywhathappenedinreality,Ithink.Certainlybythetimethemilitarywentinandkilledalltheguerillas,theresponseupherewas,“Oh,right—that.”

AP:Right.

SA:Howmuchresearchdidyoudointothisactualincident?DidyouvisitPeru?

AP:It’ssortofafunnystorybecauseit’soneofthoseclassicpointlessnovel-researchjunketsinonesense.IwantedtogotoPeru,IfeltIowedittothebook,butIkeptputtingitoff.Thewholeideamademenervous.Idon’tspeakSpanish;IknewalmostnothingaboutPeru.Finally,Karl,mylong-termperson,sortofpushedmeintodoingit.Hesaid,“YouneedtogotoPeru,solet’sgo.”Thetripgottobealittlecomplicated.Originally,IwasgoingtosetthebooknotinLimabutupinthemountains,becauseIwantedtodosomethingwithaltitudesicknessanditsaffectonthecharacters.SowewentuptoLaPazandLakeTiticacaaswell.

SA:Didyouexperiencealtitudesickness?

AP:Well,that’sjustthething—itgoesawayafterafewdays,soitwasn’tgoingtoworkforthebook.Itwouldn’thavebeeninteresting,becausethebooktakesplaceoversuchalongperiodoftime.SowegottoLimaataboutteno’clockatnightandaskedourdrivertotakeusinthemorningovertotheJapaneseembassy,andhesaid,“No,wedon’ttakepeopleoverthereontours.Wedon’tliketotalkaboutthat.”Finallyweconvincedhimtoatleastdriveusbythatsamenight.Wegettothisveryniceneighborhood,whichcouldbeaveryniceneighborhoodanywhere,andofcoursethere’snoembassy.Thebuildinghadbeentorndown.Thereareplanstobuildamemorialthereeventually,butfornowit’sjustanemptylotwithawallsurroundingit.Youcan’tseeoverthewallandthere’snothingtoseeanyway.SowepassthewallandIsaythankyouverymuch,andwedriveon.Karlsaystome,“That’sit?WecametoPeruforthat?You’refinishedwithyourresearch?”[Laughs]Wedidn’tevenget

outofthecar.I’msureIcouldhavewrittenthebookwithoutseeingit,butitwasgoodtobethereinsomeindefinableway.

SA:Itwasanemptyspacethatyouhadtofillin,repopulate,bringbacktolife.

AP:Sure.

SA:AndactuallybeinginLimamusthavehelpedwithsomeshading.

AP:Smalldetails,tinythings.Forexample,Beatricecomplainsatsomepointthatshewantstobeoutsideagain,walkingdownthestreetandhavingmenhonktheirhornsather.ThatIpickedupthere—notbecauseanyonewashonkingatme,ofcourse![Laughs]ButwhenayoungwomanwalksdownthestreetinLima,everymanwhodrivesbytootsthehornather.Twotaps,threetaps:it’sakindofMorsecodeofattractiveness.Thosearethekindsofthingsyoupickup,thelittleculturalnuances.

SA:Likethesoapoperas.There’ssomethingaboutthatLatinAmericanpassionforsoapoperas.IlovedthatearlysceneofthePresidentsittingontheedgeofthebed,watchinghissoap.

AP:Youknow,thatdetailistrue:[formerPeruvianPresidentAlberto]Fujimoriwasobsessedwithsoapoperasandwouldn’tholdmeetingsduringabroadcast.

SA:WashesupposedtohavebeenpresentatthatpartyattheJapaneseembassyandcancelledbecauseofasoapopera,oristhatyourembellishment?

AP:That’smyembellishment,buthedidhaveabigsoapoperaproblem.

SA:Sowhatweretheguerillasdoinginthatembassy?Whatwastheirgoal,doweknow?

AP:TheirgoalwastofreetheirjailedcomradesbutalsotodrawattentiontothePeruvianprisonsystem,whichisasbrutalandinhumaneastheycome.Theybasicallyburypeoplealiveinthesemountainprisons.Thecellsaredugintothemountainsalonganetworkoftunnels—littleroomsyoucan’tstandupin.They’retruly,trulyhorrible.

SA:AfactbroughttotheforeagainrecentlybytheBerensoncase.[AmericanLoriBerenson,thentwenty-six,wasconvictedin1996byasecretmilitarycourtofconspiringwiththeTupacAmaruRevolutionaryMovementtoattackPeru’scongress.AlifesentenceinprisonwasvoidedbyamilitarycourtinAugustof2000andanewciviltrialofthecasecommencedinMarchof2001.]

AP:Exactly.Andsotheirgoalwastocallattentiontothat.Now,Idon’twanttoseemtobesympathetictopeoplewhotakeothershostage,butIthinkthesepeoplehadaprettysolidargument.

SA:TheVicePresident’shouseinyourbook,bycontrast,ispreciselynotahellhole.It’saplaceofrefugewherethebesthumanqualitiesmayblossom.Aproposofthat,letmejustreadaloudthislovelyepigraphyouchosefromTheMagicFlute,which,cometothinkofit,isalsoakindofhostagedrama.

AP:Ilovethoselines.Goahead.

SA:Speaker:Stranger,whatdoyouseekoraskfromus?

Tamino:Friendshipandlove.

Speaker:Andareyoupreparedevenifitcostsyouyourlife?

Tamino:Iam.

AP:Doyouwanttoweep?

SA:Yeah,butalsoletmejusttakeoffmyeditor ’seyeshadeandplaceitovermyheart,becauseit’ssorarethatyougetanepigraphthat’srightonthemoneylikethat—oneyoucanflipbacktohavingjustfinishedthebookandsay,“Oh,perfect!”

AP:I’vealwaysthoughtanepigraphanexampleofreallygoodwritingfollowedbyanexampleofoftenreallymediocrewriting.[Laughter]

SA:Look,ifwestarttothinkthatwayherewe’llallbeoutofworkverysoon.[Laughter]But,friendshipandlove:YouevoketheseinBelCanto,youcreatethisidealsociety,andwithityoumakeusconfronttheenormousproblemsthatcomewiththecreationofanidealsociety.It’sasocietythatcameintobeingatgunpoint,organizeditselfaroundopera,chess,andFrenchcooking,andsoissuchamassivecontradictionthatitcannotpossiblysurvive—anddoesnot.Itpresentsaratherlargepoliticalandphilosophicalproblem,doesn’tit?

AP:Ithinkthattheproblemistwofold:One,theguerillasendupsavingthepeopletheydon’tcareaboutsaving.Ifyou’rethinkingintermsofsomesortofspiritualsalvation,they’retakingthewealthiestpeopleandsomehowredirectingtheirlivestowardsthebetter,whichwasnottheGenerals’intention.Atthesametimethey’retakingtheseverypoorchildrenandsavingthemthroughexposuretothekindsofthingsthatcomewithwealthandluxury.AlltheGeneralsreallyknowisthattheywantsomethingtobedifferentandsomethingtobebetter.Buttheyreallyhaven’tthoughtitoutbeyondthat.Andsowhattheygetisnotwhattheyhadvaguelyformulatedintheirminds.Theygetsomethingdifferentandtheygetsomethingbetter,butitisapassageintoaworldthatistiedtotheverymaterialismthatisofcoursebringingdown“theirpeople.”

SA:Right,andit’sthisthatthepeopleendupprayingfor.Here’sapassageaboutCarmenattheendofchapterfive:“Yes,theGeneralswantedsomethingbetterforthepeople,butweren’tthey[theguerillas]thepeople?Woulditbetheworstthingintheworldifnothinghappenedatall,iftheyallstayedtogetherinthisgeneroushouse?Carmenprayedhard....Whatsheprayedforwasnothing.SheprayedthatGodwouldlookonthemandseethebeautyoftheirexistenceandleavethemalone.”Aromanticdreamaboutabeautifulworldthatcannotpossiblybesustained.

AP:Right.

SA:Opera,ofcourse,isalsoabeautifulworldthatcan’tbesustained,whichisprobablywhypeoplebecomesonuttyaboutit.Mr.Hosokawaissuchanut.Attheriskofbeingbrusque,buttocomerightoutwithit,sinceyoudidwritethisbook,BelCanto,wheredoyoufallontheoperanutscale?

AP:I’mnotone,butIusedtohaveaboyfriendwhowasanoperanut.HewasonceaCanadianquizkidandhehadmemorizedtheGroveEncyclopediaofOperabythetimehewaseight.Hekneweverythingintheworldaboutopera.Intheyearsthatweweretogetherhe

playedoperaallthetimeandIwouldwalkintotheroomandthink,Ohthat’snice.[Laughs]Wenevertalkedaboutit.Probablysomethinglodgedinmybrainduringthoseyears,butIkickmyselfthatIneverdidtheworktofigureitalloutwhenthequizkidwasatmydisposal.Yearslater,whenIwaswatchingthis[Peruvianhostage]storyunfoldingonthenewsitseemedsomuchlikeanoperatome.ThoughatthatpointinmylifeIhadneverbeentoanopera.

SA:No!

AP:Yeah.

SA:Wow.

AP:ButIwaswatchingthisandIthought,Whatthistragedyneedsisanoperasinger.Istartedconstructingmyplot,andthenIsetaboutlearningopera.WhatIdiscoveredwasthatIreallygenuinelyloveopera.

SA:Howdidthiswantingtofigureitalloutinfluencethewritingofthebook?

AP:Verysimply,ifRoxanewassingingsomethinginagivensceneIwouldputtheariaonandhaveitplaytentimesover.IwouldtrytowritethemomentasIwaslisteningtoit.Ibecamehugely,hugelyinterestedinopera.

SA:Whatanamazingstory.AndtothinkthatthisuglyepisodeinLimaledyoutooperaandtothisbook.Butitseemsappropriate,becauseacentralthemeofBelCantoisthebringingtogetherofpeopleintoacommunitywhowouldotherwisehavehadnothingtodowitheachother.

AP:Right.

SA:Let’stalkaboutthelanguageproblem,becauseofcourseonlypocketsofpeoplecanactuallyspeakdirectlytooneanotherinthebook.Everythingelsehastogothroughthisextraordinaryfellow,Gen[SApronouncesthisJen],thetranslator.

AP:WhichisactuallyGen[hardG].

SA:Oh.

AP:Noone[whohasreadthebook]hassaidGen;everyonesaysJen.

SA:Yeah,whydowedothat?

AP:InamedthischaracteraftersomeoneIknow,GenWatanabe,becauseGenWatanabeistheJapaneseequivalentofJohnSmith.Gentoldmerightfromthestart,“TheonlyproblemwithusingmynameisthateveryonewillsayJen.”Idon’tknowwhatI’mgoingtodowhenIhavetogiveareadingfromthisbook.Idon’tknowhowtopronouncemanyofthenamesofthesecharacters.

SA:Uhoh!Butonthatnote,let’spausetoconsiderthattillnowyourbookshavebeensetintheUnitedStates:let’ssee—Kentucky[ThePatronSaintofLiars,1992];Memphis[Taft,1994];andL.A.[TheMagician’sAssistant,1997].What’sitlikeasanovelisttoradicallyshiftcoordinateslikethis?

AP:Well,youmightnoticethatBelCantotakesplacelargelyinsidealivingroom[laughs],soitdoesn’tmatteratall,really,wherethebookisset.ButIwillsaythatmybooksareinspiredbymybooks.TherecanbesomethingthatI’llgetintoinaminorwayinonebookandthenI’llthinkthatIwanttoopenitupsomemorelateron.TheMagician’sAssistantwasabookaboutpeoplewhowereallfromsomeplaceelse,tryingtoassimilateinsomesense.IwasveryinterestedinthatthemeandIthoughtI’dliketodoalotmorewithitinmynextbook.SothatwaspartofthereasonthatIgottoSouthAmericaforBelCanto.But,let’sbehonest—it’snotanespeciallyboldorinsightfulrenderingofSouthAmerica.It’saboutalivingroominSouthAmerica.[Laughs]

SA:Gettingbacktotranslation:ofcourse,translationisthebiggestprobleminopera.WeweretalkingabouttheEnglishNationalOperatheotherday.

AP:Right.

SA:WhichhasthisridiculouspolicythateverythingmustbesunginEnglish.IsawaproductionofParsifaltherein1986.ENO’stenorwassicksotheyflewinSiegfriedJerusalemtosingParsifal,andofcoursehecouldsingthepartinhissleep,butinGerman.Sohe’ssingingawayinGermanandeveryoneelseissinginginEnglish.And—nosurprise—theywereequallyunintelligible.Tomyears,anyway.

AP:Right.

SA:Now,inthispassageearlyinchaptersixyourevealthatthesingersaresometimestotallyignorantofwhattheyaresinging:RoxanesingsRusalkabeautifully,ofcourse,butGen—whospeaksCzech—isawarethatshe“didnotknowawordofCzechoslovakian.Shesangthepassageofeverysyllable,butnoneofthesyllablesactuallymanagedtoformintorecognizablewordsofthelanguage.Itwasquiteobviousthatshehadmemorizedtheworkphonetically,thatshesangherloveforDvořákandherloveforthetranslatedstory,butthattheCzechlanguageitselfwasastrangerwhichpassedherbywithoutamoment’srecognition.”Beautiful!Nowweknow!

AP:Iappreciatethecomplimentbutthestory’snotmine.ThatcamefromChristopherPotter[AP’sU.K.editoratFourthEstate].ChristopherwasoneofthefirstpeopletoreadthisbookwhenIwasfinishedwithit.He’sthegreatestoperabuffintheworld.ItoldChristopherthatIwouldn’tsendthebooktoanyotherpublisherintheU.K.andthatthey[FourthEstate]couldpaymewhatevertheyfeltlikepayingmeinreturnforhiseditingthebookforopera.

SA:Whatadeal.

AP:Thedealwasallmine.Hewasgreat.Hetookoutalotof—I’mnotasentimentalpersonbuttherewereprobablytwentysappylinesinthebookandChristophertookthemallout.IwassoembarrassedwhenIgotthemanuscriptbacktoseehehaddrawnlinesthroughthesereallyemotional,cornythingsIhadwrittenaboutmusic.ButthewholethingaboutRusalkawashis.He’dgonetoseeRusalkawithsomefriends,oneofwhomwasCzech,andtheycameoutravingabouthowgreatitwasandtheCzechfriendsaidofthesingers,“Yeah,buttheycouldn’tspeakCzech.Theyhadnoideawhattheyweresinging.”That’sthekindofthingthatIneverwouldhavecomeupwithonmyownandIfeelsofortunatetohavebeenabletostealifoffsomebodyelse.

SA:Well,that’swhatbeingawriterisallabout.

AP:Yes,absolutely.[Laughter]

SA:UnlikesomeauthorsI’veknown,whobasicallywanttheirpublishertooperatelikeakindofsouped-upKinko’s,youseemtoreallyenjoythegive-and-takeoftheeditorialprocess.

AP:It’sveryimportant.MyfriendElizabethMcCracken,whoiscompletelyinvestedinmyfictionasIaminvestedinhers,editsmybooksforme.She’stheonlypersonwhoreadsmyworkwhileI’mwritingitandItakewhatevershehastosayveryseriously.Originallythebookhadafirstpersonprologueandafirstpersonepilogue,bothbyGen—whichthenimpliedthatthewholebookwaswrittenbyGen.Thebasicthemeoftheprologuewas,“ThisisthestoryofhowImetmywife.”Elizabethtoldmetogetridoftheprologue.Whatshetoldme,andIthinkthisisabsolutelyright,wasthatIhadafearaboutpullingoffthethirdpersonnarration,soIhadstuckinafirstpersonprologuesothatIcouldsay,“Whatlookslikeathirdpersonnarrativereallyisnot.”

Thebiggestachievementofthisbookforme,thethingthatIammostproudof,isthenarrativestructure—thatkindofthirdpersonnarrativethatIthinkofasRussian,whereinthepointofviewjustseamlesslymovesamongthecharacters.Thatwasthehardestpartofwritingthebook.Itwaswhattookmesolong.It’sthethingI’vewantedtodosinceIstartedwritingfiction.

SA:Thatmakesalotofsense,becauseGenasnarratorwouldhaveseriouslyunbalancedastoryaboutthefindingoffriendshipandlove,Ithink.MuchofBelCantoisdedicatedtohislearningtotranslatetheseemotionsforhimself.TakeFyodorov’sdeclarationofloveforRoxane:ithadthewonderfuleffectofthrustingGenintotheprofessionalrolethatRoxaneoccupies—thatis,professingemotion,notjustprocessinginformation.It’saninterestingreversalofthatRusalkapassage,becausehereGenmustconfrontthefactthatwhileheknowswhathe’ssaying,heunderstandshowtocommunicatetheemotionofwhathe’ssayingaboutaswellasRoxaneunderstandsCzech.It’salsoausefulpreludetowhatis,finally,asurpriseintheepilogue.Butletmeaskyou,becausethesemattersofmeaningandinterpretationseemsowellfunded—doesyourinterestintranslationstemfromyourownexperiences?Doyouspeakorreadanyotherlanguages?

AP:Wellhereyougo,there’sthereallypenetratingandembarrassingquestion.

SA:Withdrawn!

AP:No,no—becausesomethingthisbookgrowsoutofismyenormousshameofnotspeakinganyotherlanguages.IcandoahotelandrestaurantFrench,andahotelandrestaurantItalian,butIdon’thaveanotherlanguageandit’ssomethingthatIreally,reallydislikeaboutmyself.AndofcoursetheotherthingisthatIhavenotalentortrainingatallinmusic—

SA:Iwasgoingtoaskthatnext.

AP:Ithinkofthesequalitiesasbeingtwogreatmeasuresofwhatitmeanstobeaculturedperson,andIcompletelydroppedtheballonbothofthem.Truly,thewritingofthisstory

comesoutofthatshame,andwantingtoexamineitandmakepeacewithit.

ThereareallsortsofthingsthatIsetupformyselftodowhenIwriteanovel.Butintheendtheydon’thaveanythingtodowiththestory.Thatwasone—comingtotermswithmymusicalandforeignlanguagedeficits,andtheotherone,whichismoreimportant,wastotrytofindawaytogrieveforthethingsthatyoureadaboutinthenewspaper.Becauseoncewegetintothesebignumbers—planecrashes,earthquakesandtyphoons,hostagesituationsandschoolshootings—weseeitandweexperienceitforasecondandthenweabstractit.It’stoofaraway,ortherearetoomanypeople,orit’snotacircumstancewecouldeverbeinvolvedin.Andso,aswewerediscussingearlier,weforgetallaboutit.

ButIwassomovedbytheJapaneseembassystoryandittookplaceoversuchalongperiodoftimethatIreallygottothinkaboutwhatwashappeningthere.WhentheguerillaswereallshotIreallydidwanttoexperienceit.Iwantedtofindawaytotakesometimetofeelbadaboutthatloss.I’llneverknowwhatreallyhappened.IcanbeprettysureitborelittleresemblancetowhatIheardonthenews.Still,Iwantedtofindawaytoexperienceit,totakeemotionalresponsibilityforit.Onamorallevel.Tobeabletosaythere’sbeenareallossandIneedtostopandgrieveforthesepeople.

***

AbouttheAuthor

ANNPATCHETTistheauthorofthreepreviousnovels,ThePatronSaintofLiars,whichwasaNewYorkTimesNotableBookoftheYear;Taft,whichwontheJanetHeidingerKafkaPrize;andTheMagician’sAssistant.Shehaswrittenformanypublications,includingtheNewYorkTimesMagazine,VillageVoice,GQ,ParisReview,andVogue.ShelivesinNashville,Tennessee.

Credits

JacketdesignbyRobertodeVicqdeCumptich

AboutthePublisher

AustraliaHarperCollinsPublishers(Australia)PtyLimited25RydeRoad(

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)Pymble,NSW2073,Australiahttp://www.harpercollins.com.au

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UnitedStatesHarperCollinsPublishersInc.

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Содержаниеone.2two.17

three.40

four.60

five.74

six.93

seven.115

eight132

nine.154

ten.169

epilogue.184

FriendshipandLove:AnInterviewwithAnnPatchett187

AbouttheAuthor.194

Credits.194

AboutthePublisher.194

one

TableofContentsone.2two.17

three.40

four.60

five.74

six.93

seven.115

eight132

nine.154

ten.169

epilogue.184

FriendshipandLove:AnInterviewwithAnnPatchett187

AbouttheAuthor.194

Credits.194

AboutthePublisher.194

one