The Kimono girl escorted me over to a serious-looking gentleman in a nicely tailored charcoal suit with black pinstripes. He was studying the activities of the orchestra with great intensity. She said to him, “I think this is one of the people you’ve been waiting for, Mr. . . .” clearly not remembering his name she smiled and left us there.

“Hello,” I said. “My name is Ray Sherwood, and I’ve brought the musical parts for the piece that won your competition.”

He gave an efficient bow, reached into his pocket, and produced a card that identified him as Mr. Fumio Dakuzaku, special envoy from imperial Japan to the office of the Japanese general consul in San Francisco. He said in a crisp but courteous voice, “I had the honor of serving on the committee that selected the winning composition. May I ask if you are with the woman who composed it?”

I explained in a lowered tone about the tragedy that had occurred and said that I didn’t know if she would be able to attend. He made some low, sympathetic sounds and observed how tragic it was that her mother would not be able to witness her daughter’s public success. I agreed and assured him that I had overseen the arranging of the score from start to finish and that I would stay close at hand in case there were any questions, difficulties, or changes that had to be made.

He nodded gratefully and told me that, to help reduce expenses on the long trip with the orchestra from Tokyo, he was also serving as the band’s librarian. (Actually, he used the word curator, but I got the idea.) He asked for the music, which I gave to him, and invited me to meet the ensemble that would be playing Swing.

Chapter 42

42

The Verdict of The Court

He escorted me across the sea of white pebbles to the musician’s platform. The band members, all seemingly Japanese and all male, wore white shirts, pants, socks, and bucks. Their ties were bright red. Whether they were intentionally emulating their flag of the rising sun, I couldn’t say. I saw them go quiet as Dakuzaku led me toward the piano, which I assumed had been rented for the occasion. It was a creamy white, and its top was propped open.

Fumio stiffly introduced me to Mr. Katzumi Kitahara, leader of the Pan-Pacific Orchestra, who was also the band’s pianist. He was a young man with a great mop of black hair and golden skin.

“Mr. Sherwood! It’s an unexpected honor to meet you,” he said with earnest enthusiasm. “How did you become involved with this composition?”