And Daniel Kar-Ching Tso at Xinhua Phoenix Investment Bank offered to bankroll a “Golden Rainbow Diversity Tour,” culminating in an appearance at the Bartók Festival in Hungary.
Oh, and he also bought her a Tesla.
But what makes me most happy is how Katrina continues to grow. She’s discovered the work of Julián Carrillo, whose microtonal explorations were even more extensive and visionary than Bartók’s.
And recently, Astrid said that Katrina has become quite taken with the conductor Alondra de la Parra, even seeing her as a model for her own career.
Wait.
Does that mean Katrina wants to conduct?
In the meantime, Astrid is teaching the neighborhood kids piano and sending them home with lemon tarts, persimmon preserves, pickled string beans, and aubergines.
She’s also asking their parents about basic Vietnamese, Cantonese, and Mexican cooking. After all, Katrina will have her bad days along with her good, and Astrid feels that the woman she is becoming might request congee or flautas instead of miso soup.
As for Lan and me?
We’re returning to deep space after another performance. Sometimes planets are at the verge of war. Sometimes they are in the middle of collapse.
Most often, however, we arrive at planets like this one … long forgotten after the Endplague has left them for dead.
I played Handel. The survivors cried. They told me of the crimes they had committed. I told them of mine.
Many were angry. More were ashamed. They asked, “Do we even have the right to hear this music? Is this okay?”
But as I played, they listened. And slowly, their music welcomed them home.
What did they find? Perhaps themselves. Perhaps each other—who am I to say?
All I know is that I was not playing alone.
After I finished, Lan brought out donuts. As we ate, she told stories of a faraway planet where there was Eggplant Parmigiana and peachy iced tea, and donuts even more delicious than those they were having now.
“And she said there will be a gamma ray burst—level five!” someone said.
“Really? Maybe we can visit one day?” ventured her friend.
“Yes! I heard they have a brand-new stargate!”
One might insist that no lives were saved. One might scoff that nothing was returned. But that is as it should be. The songs will change, but the music is never truly gone. A life ends. A life begins.
But always, it is here for us to play.
Lan guides the ship to the nearest stargate. She pulls up the viewscreen and points to our next destination.
“They’re waiting,” Lan says.
“What are they like?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” she replies.
I put on my sunglasses. I take her hand.
“Let’s do this.”
Our engines begin to hum. We surge, as only lovers can.
We go. We come.
We begin.
?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to:
Meredith Kaffel Simonoff and Lindsey Hall, to whom this book owes its life.
Thank you to:
Charlene Gima and Asher Yap, for sanctuary and support.
Thank you to:
The wonderful people at Benning Violins, Metzler Violin Shop, Rosa Musical Instrument, and Charles W. Liu Fine Violins, for giving so generously of their time and expertise.
The lady at Kindle’s Do-nuts and her amazing Texas Donut.
Jacey Mitziga, Rachel Bass, Sanaa Zahra Ali-Virani, Caro Perny, Renata Sweeney, Ana Deboo, Angie Rao, Steve Wagner, and Cindy Kay—go Team Space Koi!
Jamie Stafford-Hill, for Space Koi.
Thank you to:
Lucia Ochoa, Philip Littell, Victory Matsui, and Richard Becker, for giving me encouragement and confidence to tell this story.
Saki Yamanouchi Michaels and Adelina Huerta, for helping with Japanese and Spanish.
The Cornell University Creative Writing Program, the Southern California Writers’ Conference, and Lambda Literary, for helping me and so many others become writers.
Supernova Martial Arts, Santa Monica College, and Carlos Monzón for keeping my non-writing life healthy, fulfilling, and running smoothly.
Jon Shirota, Leslie Feinberg, Robert Morgan, and King-Kok Cheung, for showing me what was possible.
KB Boyce, Daphne Gottlieb, Chris Warfield, Bridger Fox, and Amy Tien, for guiding me toward safer skies.
My sister, who is finally reading this.
My students, for all you have taught me.
My trans family, for being all sorts of beautiful.
Sam Woo BBQ, for years of incredible duck.
And, most of all, Jean Jenkins, my first editor, who midwifed the earliest drafts of this book, yet left this world before she could see it come of age. Cheerleader, drill instructor, mentor, and reality check—you will always be a most uncommon star.