Read Online Grave on Grand Avenue by Naomi Hirahara - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Naomi Hirahara
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short movie that Nay’s made on her phone. The footage is bumpy, like Nay’s been in a 7.0 earthquake or something. But I still can make out the room and furnishings. I immediately recognize the spare Scandinavian furniture and colorful throw rugs and pillows from catalogues I get in the mail.
“Nice,” I tell Nay.
“He actually has a sense of style.”
She thinks he’s stylin’ just because he knows how to order from IKEA? I’m not going to say anything, however. The video clip includes the view out a large window. I can see a parking lot, palm trees and a weirdly shaped concrete building in the distance. I squint at the image and pause the video. What is that? It looks like a gigantic gray bucket.
“By the way, I was right.” Nay sounds proud of herself.
“About what?”
“About Xu and Cece doing the dirty. Washington got a call from Cece while we were at this one bar and I swear that I heard Xu’s voice on the line with her.”
“How did you know that it was him? It’s not like you know him or anything.”
“Because Washington called the person Xu, okay? Maybe I don’t speak Chinese but I get that much.”
I change the subject. “What are you doing later today? It’s my day off.”
“Well, Washington and I were talking about hanging out more. He’s pretty interesting.”
“I bet he is.”
“No, really. There’s a lot that I can learn from him.”
Nay’s talking like Washington is some kind of wise monk rather than an ordinary guy with a facility for language and a penchant for bad wardrobe choices.
“Just be careful, okay, Nay?”
“Yes, Officer!”
My phone is running out of juice, so I plug it into the outlet beside my bed. I pull last night’s program from where I left it on my nightstand, and reread both Cece’s and Xu’s bios. There, as a sidebar, is the brief story Kendra Prescott had written about the Stradivarius. “Cello of Secrets” is the headline. She writes that, constructed in the early 1700s in Italy, the instrument was taken over to China by Jesuit missionaries who performed classical music for royalty. One of the Chinese court members and generations of his family kept the cello safe and intact during various political turbulences in China’s history—the family even defied the ban on Western instruments during the Cultural Revolution, hence their desire to keep their identity a secret. Hearing Xu perform as a teenager at a local competition, the family was inspired to present the Stradivarius, now valued at five million dollars, to him anonymously. Since Xu’s uncle was a high-ranking official within the Communist Party, Xu was allowed to keep the instrument. There’s also a quote in there from Xu saying, “I play for China.”
Something about the story sounds off. Even though I just met Xu, I can’t imagine him declaring, “I play for China.” I return the program to the nightstand and get ready to start my day.
Once my bare feet hit the floor, Shippo is all over me.He’s right—it’s true I’ve been neglecting him, and I figure that he can use a good walk. I slip into an old PPW T-shirt and sweatpants, put on my glasses and grab the dog leash.
It’s warm today and I’m missing the few days of rain that we had back in February. My dad is all concerned about the drought and tells me that I need to take shorter showers to help in the conservation effort. Well, world, here we are—Shippo and I are members of the great unwashed, without one drop of wasted water.
When I turn the corner away from my house, it’s like those Christmastime car commercials when a sedan—a gift from a husband, wife or parent—magically appears outside of someone’s home. Except instead of having a big red bow around a new car, I find the Green Mile with a bunch of dead leaves on the roof. Pulling poor Shippo on his leash, I run up to it.
There are streaks of sap all over the car; those dead leaves aren’t going anywhere without a good power washing. It’s
“Nice,” I tell Nay.
“He actually has a sense of style.”
She thinks he’s stylin’ just because he knows how to order from IKEA? I’m not going to say anything, however. The video clip includes the view out a large window. I can see a parking lot, palm trees and a weirdly shaped concrete building in the distance. I squint at the image and pause the video. What is that? It looks like a gigantic gray bucket.
“By the way, I was right.” Nay sounds proud of herself.
“About what?”
“About Xu and Cece doing the dirty. Washington got a call from Cece while we were at this one bar and I swear that I heard Xu’s voice on the line with her.”
“How did you know that it was him? It’s not like you know him or anything.”
“Because Washington called the person Xu, okay? Maybe I don’t speak Chinese but I get that much.”
I change the subject. “What are you doing later today? It’s my day off.”
“Well, Washington and I were talking about hanging out more. He’s pretty interesting.”
“I bet he is.”
“No, really. There’s a lot that I can learn from him.”
Nay’s talking like Washington is some kind of wise monk rather than an ordinary guy with a facility for language and a penchant for bad wardrobe choices.
“Just be careful, okay, Nay?”
“Yes, Officer!”
My phone is running out of juice, so I plug it into the outlet beside my bed. I pull last night’s program from where I left it on my nightstand, and reread both Cece’s and Xu’s bios. There, as a sidebar, is the brief story Kendra Prescott had written about the Stradivarius. “Cello of Secrets” is the headline. She writes that, constructed in the early 1700s in Italy, the instrument was taken over to China by Jesuit missionaries who performed classical music for royalty. One of the Chinese court members and generations of his family kept the cello safe and intact during various political turbulences in China’s history—the family even defied the ban on Western instruments during the Cultural Revolution, hence their desire to keep their identity a secret. Hearing Xu perform as a teenager at a local competition, the family was inspired to present the Stradivarius, now valued at five million dollars, to him anonymously. Since Xu’s uncle was a high-ranking official within the Communist Party, Xu was allowed to keep the instrument. There’s also a quote in there from Xu saying, “I play for China.”
Something about the story sounds off. Even though I just met Xu, I can’t imagine him declaring, “I play for China.” I return the program to the nightstand and get ready to start my day.
Once my bare feet hit the floor, Shippo is all over me.He’s right—it’s true I’ve been neglecting him, and I figure that he can use a good walk. I slip into an old PPW T-shirt and sweatpants, put on my glasses and grab the dog leash.
It’s warm today and I’m missing the few days of rain that we had back in February. My dad is all concerned about the drought and tells me that I need to take shorter showers to help in the conservation effort. Well, world, here we are—Shippo and I are members of the great unwashed, without one drop of wasted water.
When I turn the corner away from my house, it’s like those Christmastime car commercials when a sedan—a gift from a husband, wife or parent—magically appears outside of someone’s home. Except instead of having a big red bow around a new car, I find the Green Mile with a bunch of dead leaves on the roof. Pulling poor Shippo on his leash, I run up to it.
There are streaks of sap all over the car; those dead leaves aren’t going anywhere without a good power washing. It’s
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