Cursed or not, she drew her bow across as she would draw her breath. Queer or not, she would play with a cursed bow and be called an abomination. Trans or not, deviant or not, that did not mean that there was anything wrong with her love.
Miss Satomi once told her that the violin’s difficulty is one of the greatest mistruths in all of music. There are only four strings, tuned in perfect fifths. The relations between the courses are inviolate; one’s hand rests in familiar places, positions, whether playing a melody up and along one string, or over to the next. When you are in tune, the entire instrument sings in sympathetic resonance.
But when it stops singing?
What then?
Standing alone, Katrina looked into the darkness and, from her own emptiness, her own hollows, played the music that she knew for herself was right.
And suddenly, Katrina realized how much she was enjoying herself. Tomorrow she would be gone. She would miss Astrid and Miss Satomi. She’d miss Shirley so very much.
But they would be fine.
Katrina thanked Béla Viktor János Bartók and sent him a prayer. For here, where in his in-between notes, in his lonely intonations, she had said everything she needed to say. In the dissonances and off tones beyond the reach of the piano, beyond even Aubergine. Katrina would now be fine, as well.
For stripped of familiarity, of decency, of hope, even damned, she realized, more powerfully than ever, that her music, this music, still holds.
Before a befuddled audience she could not see, Katrina held and was held. And to them, Katrina Nguyen played her farewell. It was a song of neither forgiveness nor gratitude. Nor of trust nor anything else the world might think she owed.
Instead, she offered her love and her truth, regardless of whether or not they recognized them as such. She offered all the music she had, that they might hear their own music and play.
And then Katrina glanced at the dogwood bow. It was as if the entire weight of her teacher’s curse shifted upon her, for she realized this night had already been a lie.
36
With the cursed bow in her hand, Katrina waited for the inevitable empty applause.
But there was nothing.
She bowed. Maybe they didn’t know the piece had concluded.
Still, not even rustling in the seats.
What had happened? Was the audience even there?
A tiny part of her began to panic.
Was this one last trick of the dogwood bow? What if she had done something wrong?
But then she felt Aubergine stir. Above her, around her, the applause exploded like light in a pitch-black sky.
She bowed again and exited as directed.
But the roar of the crowd kept going. There was a curtain call. Then another.
Then another.
Applause fell like waves of daybreak, like torrents of song. It continued unabated until the audience realized the music was coming from themselves, and it would be there tomorrow, and the sun would be high overhead.
Once offstage, Katrina was whisked past more well-wishers, remaining musicians, and crew. She was led into a small, elegant waiting room that Mr. Tso had readied for her. Apparently, he couldn’t wait until that night.
But when the door opened, it was not Mr. Tso.
“Miss Satomi!” Katrina said in relief.
She was with Lan the Donut Lady. They did make a wonderful couple, didn’t they?
And then Katrina saw the look on her teacher’s face.
“I notice you’ve stolen my bow.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Satomi!” Katrina bowed her head and readied herself for whatever else Miss Satomi had to say.
But then her teacher smiled and hugged her.
“Oh, you silly, wonderful girl! No harm done.” Then, from inside her coat, Miss Satomi retrieved something impossible.
“As I said, this bow is not for you,” Miss Satomi said.
What? What was going on?
Wasn’t the bow still in her hand?
But before she could say a word, the door flew open once more.
“What did you do?” shouted Tremon Philippe.
Shizuka turned to Tremon. “I finally fooled you, you old toad. You were so focused on Katrina that you stopped paying attention to me.”
Tremon lurched for the bow Miss Satomi held. But before he could reach her, Shizuka snapped it like a dusty bone. Broken pieces fell to the floor in a cacophony of shattered voices and splintered songs.
Katrina shuddered. It sounded nothing like the music she had played.
Tremon bent to pick up the smoldering shards.
“Shizuka Satomi, I should burn you where you stand,” he murmured.
Lan reached for her blaster, but Shizuka held her arm.
“Oh hush, Tremon. Stop being dramatic. Just take the bow to Lucía Matía. She’d appreciate the business. Also, since the contract says nothing about early delivery, and today is still the fourteenth, my time is not over yet.”