but millions, microscopic
creatures that the man called “diatoms,” and that similar creatures
dye the Red Sea its famous color. Katherine, what a strange world this is where
the invisible can illuminate the waters and color the very sea red.
My
dear, I must go now. It is late, and I miss you terribly, and I hope you are
not lonely. Please do not worry about me. In truth, I was a little frightened
when I left, and sometimes when I lie in bed, I question why I am going. I
still don’t have an answer. I remember what you told me in London, that
it is such noble work, that it is my duty to my country, but this cannot be: I
never enlisted in the army when I was young, and have little interest in our
foreign affairs. I know it made you angry when I suggested that it was my duty
to the piano and not the Crown, but I still feel very strongly that Dr. Carroll
is doing the proper thing, and that if I can help in the cause of Music,
perhaps
that
is my duty. Part of my decision certainly rests in my
confidence in Dr. Carroll, and a sense of shared mission with him and his
desire to bring the music I find beautiful to places where others have only
thought of bringing guns. I know that such sentiments often pale when faced
with reality. I do miss you dearly, and I hope that I am not on some hopeless
mission. But you know that I am not one to take unnecessary risks. I might be
more frightened than you by stories I hear about the war and the jungle.
Why am I wasting words on my fears and insecurities when I have so much
that is beautiful to tell you? I suppose it is because I have no one else to
share these thoughts with. In truth, I am already happy in ways that I have
never known. I only wish you could be here with me to share this journey.
I will write again soon, my love.
Your devoted husband,
Edgar
He mailed the letter in Alexandria, a short
stop, where the ship took on new passengers, men in flowing robes who spoke a
language that seemed to come from deep within their throats. They stayed in
port for several hours, time only to wander briefly amid the smells of drying
octopus and the scented bags of the spice traders. Soon they were moving again,
through the canal at Suez and into another sea.
4
T hat night, as the boat steamed slowly through the waters of
the Red Sea, Edgar couldn’t sleep. At first he tried to read a document
provided to him by the War Office, a turgid piece about military campaigns
during the Third Anglo-Burmese War, but gave up in boredom. The cabin was
stifling, and the small porthole did little to welcome in the sea air. At last
he dressed and walked down the long corridor to the companionway leading onto
the deck.
Outside it was cool, the sky was clear and the moon full.
Weeks from now, after he has heard the myths, he will understand why this was
important. Although the English call the thin, anemic slivers of light
“new moons,” this is only one way to understand them. Ask any child
of the Shan, or the Wa, or the Pa-O, and they will tell you that it is the full
moon which is new, for it is fresh and sparkling like the sun, and it is the
thin moon which is old and frail, and soon to die. And thus full moons mark
beginnings, eras when change begins and one must pay close attention to
portent.
Yet there remain many days before Edgar Drake arrives in
Burma, and he does not yet know the divinations of the Shan. That there are
four classes of auguries, those being the omens from the sky, the omens of
flying birds, the omens of feeding fowl, and the omens of the movement of
four-footed beasts. He doesn’t know the meanings of comets or halos or
showers of meteorites, that divination can be found in the direction of a
crane’s flight, that one must look for augury in the eggs of hens, in the
swarming of bees, and not only if but also where a lizard, rat, or spider drops
on one’s body. That if water in a pond or river turns red, the country
will be laid waste by a devastating war; such a
creatures that the man called “diatoms,” and that similar creatures
dye the Red Sea its famous color. Katherine, what a strange world this is where
the invisible can illuminate the waters and color the very sea red.
My
dear, I must go now. It is late, and I miss you terribly, and I hope you are
not lonely. Please do not worry about me. In truth, I was a little frightened
when I left, and sometimes when I lie in bed, I question why I am going. I
still don’t have an answer. I remember what you told me in London, that
it is such noble work, that it is my duty to my country, but this cannot be: I
never enlisted in the army when I was young, and have little interest in our
foreign affairs. I know it made you angry when I suggested that it was my duty
to the piano and not the Crown, but I still feel very strongly that Dr. Carroll
is doing the proper thing, and that if I can help in the cause of Music,
perhaps
that
is my duty. Part of my decision certainly rests in my
confidence in Dr. Carroll, and a sense of shared mission with him and his
desire to bring the music I find beautiful to places where others have only
thought of bringing guns. I know that such sentiments often pale when faced
with reality. I do miss you dearly, and I hope that I am not on some hopeless
mission. But you know that I am not one to take unnecessary risks. I might be
more frightened than you by stories I hear about the war and the jungle.
Why am I wasting words on my fears and insecurities when I have so much
that is beautiful to tell you? I suppose it is because I have no one else to
share these thoughts with. In truth, I am already happy in ways that I have
never known. I only wish you could be here with me to share this journey.
I will write again soon, my love.
Your devoted husband,
Edgar
He mailed the letter in Alexandria, a short
stop, where the ship took on new passengers, men in flowing robes who spoke a
language that seemed to come from deep within their throats. They stayed in
port for several hours, time only to wander briefly amid the smells of drying
octopus and the scented bags of the spice traders. Soon they were moving again,
through the canal at Suez and into another sea.
4
T hat night, as the boat steamed slowly through the waters of
the Red Sea, Edgar couldn’t sleep. At first he tried to read a document
provided to him by the War Office, a turgid piece about military campaigns
during the Third Anglo-Burmese War, but gave up in boredom. The cabin was
stifling, and the small porthole did little to welcome in the sea air. At last
he dressed and walked down the long corridor to the companionway leading onto
the deck.
Outside it was cool, the sky was clear and the moon full.
Weeks from now, after he has heard the myths, he will understand why this was
important. Although the English call the thin, anemic slivers of light
“new moons,” this is only one way to understand them. Ask any child
of the Shan, or the Wa, or the Pa-O, and they will tell you that it is the full
moon which is new, for it is fresh and sparkling like the sun, and it is the
thin moon which is old and frail, and soon to die. And thus full moons mark
beginnings, eras when change begins and one must pay close attention to
portent.
Yet there remain many days before Edgar Drake arrives in
Burma, and he does not yet know the divinations of the Shan. That there are
four classes of auguries, those being the omens from the sky, the omens of
flying birds, the omens of feeding fowl, and the omens of the movement of
four-footed beasts. He doesn’t know the meanings of comets or halos or
showers of meteorites, that divination can be found in the direction of a
crane’s flight, that one must look for augury in the eggs of hens, in the
swarming of bees, and not only if but also where a lizard, rat, or spider drops
on one’s body. That if water in a pond or river turns red, the country
will be laid waste by a devastating war; such a
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