Water Music (7 page)

It might be better if Katarina and I speak alone,
Director, said Clare. Would you please excuse us?

Of course, said Petrova, her mouth a straight vermilion line.

The door closed behind her with a sharp click.

The directors footsteps receded, her heels tapping a staccato rhythm on the polished corridor floor. The silence that came when Petrova turned the corner was a relief. Clare turned to Katarina.

Youre playing at the Gala tonight? she asked.

Only because Rosa left, said Katarina. It was made quite clear to me that this is a one-off. At short notice. Because I know the pieces Rosa was going
to play.

The wind blew open a window. Katarina closed it quickly, but not before it had scattered her score across the floor. Clare helped the girl pick it up.

What is this? asked Clare, scrutinising the annotations the curves of the handwritten trebles, the plump clefs.

I found this piece that Rosa composed.

Can you play some of it? asked Clare.

Katarina picked up her cello. Her nails were
bitten to the quick but the music flowed with a haunting lightness, though with an ebb of something darker.

Abruptly, Katarina stopped. Rosa said it was what the lagoon sounded like, the one near where she grew up, said Katarina. Beautiful and strange.

A bit like Rosa herself?

I suppose so, said Katarina. She should have handed it in; all material produced while students are here, is copyright
of the school. It is in the contract we sign, but she must have forgotten it.

Where did you find it?

In her locker.

Clare looked at the row of lockers, opening the one with no name on it.

Was this one hers?

Yes. I looked in there after she left, said Katarina. It was at the bottom, there was nothing else there. She must have taken everything else.

What did you think when she didnt come back,
Katarina?

The question seemed to startle the girl.

I didnt, she said. Its been exams. She just left. She didnt say goodbye, nothing. She snapped closed her cello case.

Are you happy here? asked Clare.

It looked like such an opportunity… she began.

But it isnt?

Katarina did not reply.

Wherere you from? asked Clare.

Luderitz, said Katarina, Namibia.

Thats a small place, said Clare. Like
Churchhaven. You and Rosa mustve had a lot in common.

Katarina tore a sliver of skin along her nail.

So when Rosa didnt come back, you understood, didnt you, Katarina? said Clare. But why didnt you look for her?

She didnt want to be here any more.

Why not? asked Clare. What happened?

Nothing, said Katarina, turning away. It was nothing.

Tell me. You must, if Im going to help Rosa. Clare
took the girl by shoulders, made her look at her.

She hated it here, OK?

Why?

Katarina shrugged off Clares hands and picked up her instrument. She wasnt used to it. The people, the practising, being away from home. She just wanted to escape. Be herself again.

So you didnt hear from her after she left?

No, said Katarina. Its what she wanted. To get away.

That didnt worry you?

Ive been too
busy, said Katarina. Theres my own work, and now the concert. I havent had time to think about anything, not with all the rehearsals.

I saw in Rosas records that she went to see Dr Patrick a couple of times, said Clare.

Shes the college doctor, said Katarina.

Did she say what was wrong?

Youll have to ask her, said Katarina. She never mentioned anything to me.

Clare found the number in her
notes but the phone went to voicemail, the doctor instructing her to leave a message. Asking Dr Patrick to call her back urgently, Clare walked over to the poster tacked onto the wall. It was the same one shed seen at the entrance.

Tell me about Lily, said Clare, pointing to the blonde girl at the centre.

Whats to tell? said Katarina. Shes perfect, she has a voice that makes people forget things,
forget pain, unhappiness. Everybody loves her.

Do they love her, or do they want her? asked Clare.

Isnt it the same thing?

Her friend Jonny Diamond, hes good looking, said Clare.

I suppose.

You know him?

A bit, said Katarina, the colour in her cheeks deepening.

Is he a student?

Not any more, said Katarina. There was trouble.

What sort of trouble?

The usual. Katarina evaded Clares gaze.

Drugs? asked Clare. Was he dealing?

Thats not what we were told.

But its what you heard?

There are so many rumours in a place like this.

Ive seen boys like him before. Clare watched Katarinas face. Smooth, beautiful, cruel. Is that what hes like?

Katarina said nothing.

Any rumours about Rosa and drugs, Katarina?

No, said Katarina, her voice sure once again. She said she liked to feel like
herself.

And Lily? asked Clare.

Thats not my world. Tears welled in Katarinas eyes.

Katarina, what is it that makes you so unhappy here? Clare reached into her jacket pocket for a tissue. As she did so, she pricked her finger on the porcupine quill. The tissues were in her other pocket. She gave one to the girl, and dabbed at the blood on her finger with the other.

Thank you, said Katarina,
blowing her nose. Nobody cares about you here. Were just music machines. We have to be perfect, perfect. All the time.

Is that what made Rosa so unhappy?

Its too much. Rosa escaped. There was a flash in Katarinas eyes.

Where did she go?

Didnt she go to her grandfather? asked Katarina. She wouldve done anything for him.

She didnt get that far, said Clare. So you really dont know why she went
to see Dr Patrick?

Katarina shook her head. She was packing up her things, avoiding Clares gaze again.

Are you going back to your residence? asked Clare.

Katarina nodded.

Then lets take a look at Rosas room.

Handel House was tucked away in the corner of the grounds, an old stable that had been converted into student accommodation. A gnarled olive tree spread its branches around the house, protecting it from the worst of the wind. On the stoep, stained-glass windows pooled reddish light.

Clare and Katarina stepped inside, where a worn-looking woman in a blue housecoat was flicking through a magazine.

Hello, Agnes, said Katarina. This is Dr Hart. Shes looking for Rosa.

Thats bad, said Agnes, sharp eyes on Clare.

Rosa was Agness favourite, said Katarina.

Her grandfather hasnt seen her since the weekend before she withdrew, said Clare.

No one has seen her, said Katarina.

Can we have the key to her room? asked Clare. Id like to have a look.

Are you the police? asked Agnes.

Clare nodded.

I knew there was something wrong, said Agnes, leaning her broom against the wall. Come with me.

Clare followed her down the passage, where she unlocked the last door on the left. The air that escaped smelt like stale breath. Clare switched on the light; it flickered, revealing the cramped room. There were two posters on the wall: Maria Callas, and Yo-Yo Ma holding his cello. A stripped bed, a
side table, an old desk, a chair, sagging curtains over a window that opened onto a rectangle of litter and weeds.

Was Rosa involved with anyone? asked Clare, checking the desk drawers. They were empty. Nothing on the bedside table. It was empty too.

Rosa is a good girl, said Agnes. She glanced at Katarina. No boys. She never brings them here. Not like some of the other girls.

Did you know
of any boys, Katarina? asked Clare.

No one special. Katarina blushed. She wasnt into that stuff really. She got teased, but she kept to herself.

Teased, how? asked Clare.

Some people called her the nun, said Katarina. Thought she was too good for everyone.

Its all rubbish, said Agnes. Rosa knew what was right, what was wrong.

Where did Rosa usually go when she went out? asked Clare. Who did
she see?

She practised nearly all the time, said Agnes. She didnt have friends so much.

Not even weekends, or Sundays?

She went home for weekends, Agnes said to Clare, twisting a button on her housecoat. To her Oupa, mostly. She liked that. Shed bring me things. Sometimes a fish her Oupa caught, or some konfyt. Things from up the West Coast.

What else did she do? asked Clare. Who did she see?

They work too hard, these students, said Agnes. The director always tells them where she grew up there was no time for dreaming. Only work. So most weekends they play their instruments. Here, for weddings, for parties. She played on the yacht for the tourists.
The Siren
, the one that belongs to Milan Savić. Hes that guy who owns the castle.

Did Rosa know him?

Why dont you ask him that? said
Katarina. Hell be at the Gala tonight. Ill be doing Rosas solo.

Clare turned to Agnes.

Why do you think she left, Agnes? she asked. You seem to know her quite well.

Ja, I did know her. Shed come and sit in the kitchen with me and drink tea, said the woman. I thought maybe the rain got too much for her. She said she missed her Oupa, she wanted to be with him more, but I dont know. She loves
the sun, Rosa. Its because of where she grew up. On the West Coast the sun is hot. Very hot. She used to go walking. Thats what shed do a lot. Walk, here on the mountain. I told her mos about the skollies that go up there. How people walk up and never come back. She wouldnt listen, though. Shed just tell me, Agnes, Ill be fine. I know how to look after myself.

Did you see her before she left?

Ja, I saw her, but I didnt speak to her. I went to clean her room. Agnes adjusted her headscarf. But everything was gone. All she left was a jar of honey for me and her trunk in the storage. Ive got the honey still. We can go down and look in her trunk if you want.

They followed Agnes down the steps into the chilly basement. The single light bulb hesitated before illuminating a jumble of trunks
and boxes, and Agnes made her way over to a battered old army trunk.

Thats her stuff, said Katarina when Clare opened the trunk.

Shoes neatly packed in pairs. Size five. Panties, bras turned in on themselves. An Aran jersey and jeans. Underneath, folded summer dresses, shirts and a red scarf. Some paperbacks right at the bottom.

Clare flicked through a book, and flyers for an organic produce
market fell to the floor.

We went there once in February when it was really hot, said Katarina. Its just up the valley. Me and her and a couple of other girls went up one weekend. Played some folk music there, jammed with the drumming circle. It was nice. We all ate off one big platter. Like we were a real community.

Did she go there again?

Katarina shrugged. If she did, she didnt ask me to
go with her.

The light flickered and went out.

Man, theres a spook down here, said Agnes. You need anything else?

Not down here, said Clare, pocketing the flyer.

Agnes and Katarina followed her up the stairs.

Ive got to practise before supper, said Katarina.

Ill see her out, Kat, said Agnes.

Phone me, said Clare, if you think of anything.

Katarina slipped Clares card into her pocket and
took her leave with a wan smile. Her bedroom door, two down from Rosas, closed with a quiet but definite click, then the sound of scales floated along the corridor.

They work hard, these students, said Clare.

Ja, much too hard, said Agnes, moving towards the door. They are young, they need to live. She walked Clare to the front door, and said, Whats happened to Rosa, where is she?

I was hoping
you could tell me, help me find out.

I cant say anything, said Agnes. Its not easy to get a job, a woman like me with no education.

Is there anything you want to tell me about the college?

I cant say, said Agnes. I just do my job, make sure the girls are all right.

But Rosa isnt, is she?

Agnes shook her head, had nothing more to say.

Theres one thing, said Clare, turning towards the housekeeper.
You said Rosa had left you some honey just before she left.

Shes very generous, said Agnes. She thinks of others.

So its not the first time she gave you honey? asked Clare.

No, she was mos generous, like I said.

Do you know where the honey came from?

Not from the supermarkets, said Agnes. Its thick, tastes like farm honey to me.

Can I see it? asked Clare.

Come this way. Agnes led her down
a dark corridor. The housekeepers room was narrow and cold. An iron bedstead, a hotplate, a boxy TV. Agnes opened the cupboard above the stove, pushing boxes and tins out of the way.

Here. She held a bottle up, the honey gleaming against the afternoon light. A hand-painted label with a beehive. She just brought a bottle sometimes when she went away. She said it makes her life sweeter. Maybe it
can make my life sweeter too. She forgot about my diabetes, maybe.

She didnt get this up the West Coast, said Clare, putting her hand in her jacket pocket and pulling out the flyer from Rosas trunk.

Its the same, mos, said Agnes, comparing the two images. She must have got it there.

So she didnt always go home, then, said Clare.

You never know about people, do you? said Agnes.

Can I keep
the honey? asked Clare.

You can take it, said Agnes, walking Clare back to the front door. Itll kill me if I eat it.

Clare got into her car and Agnes walked back to her chilly room.

Katarina Kraft, standing at the window, watched as Clare disappeared down the darkening driveway. She stood for a moment, felt in her pocket. The Valium was there, small, yellow, comforting. She put the pill in
her mouth and swallowed it dry.

The Whole Soul Food Market looked bedraggled in the rain; some of the stalls outside were closing, the dim afternoon drifting towards night. In the old barn, a few stalls were still open. Hand-knitted jerseys, bunches of limp herbs, glistening loaves of bread.