For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. “This is not a matter altogether for levity, Anna,” she said. The program was to include a Bach cantata, her favorite piece from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, and for the first time ever, a student composition, a Concerto, by a precociously talented fellow student named Martin Chen. The necessity of defending herself and assuming a confident and secure tone did much to dispell the sense of being exposed and indefensible in a huge dingy world that abounded in sinister possibilities.
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