‘Reverend Quade! What is it?’
She continued sobbing for some moments, then controlled herself and, placing her right forefinger on her lips to indicate that Krenek must not react noisily and attract attention, she whispered: ‘Ambassador St. Près, your men will find him at the Emerald Pool.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened?’
‘Natural causes, one supposes.’
‘You saw him? You’re sure he was dead?’
‘At the pool. They’ll find him there.’
‘And you want us to keep it quiet? Till the body has been removed? And the doctors can give us an explanation?’
‘Yes. There’s no need to create distress in there,’ and she motioned toward the dining room, which was now filled.
‘I’ll go out myself to fetch him,’ Krenek said, and before Helen left the office, two strong workmen arrived to receive instructions: ‘A sad task, men. We have to do it in complete secrecy,’ and the three set off for the Emerald Pool.
When Reverend Quade entered the dining room she paused at the door, studied the tables and said to herself: ‘These are my flock whom I have elected to serve till I die.’ As she studied the familiar faces she realized how deeply she loved these serious people who had made their decisions relating to the last years of their lives. She wished each of them well, and many years of contentment.
At that moment it seemed to her that she could hear organ music she had known long ago. She was a young missionary in China and had been dispatched to a small branch church in the hinterlands to conduct a week of services in a ramshackle building, which contained a fine German organ. An elderly Chinese man had taught himself to play the simple tunes required, and at the end of each service, as she was leaving the pulpit, he played a splendid piece of music with obvious enthusiasm.
On the fourth night she lingered to ask him what the refrain was, and he had handed her a well-worn sheet of music with the heading ‘Recessional. To be played at the close of service.’ It bore no publisher’s name, no date at which it was printed nor the name of the composer. It had no text, it was just a sheet of music dating far back in the history of Christianity, but it was a powerful accompaniment to the close of worship and the filing out of the faithful.
‘Recessional,’ she whispered softly to herself as she studied the dining room. ‘We’re all passing slowly, honorably away.’
Then her eyes drifted toward the round table in the corner, where the tertulia was now deprived of its second member. Whom would they move into their circle to take the ambassador’s place? Perhaps Maxim Lewandowski. But did it have to be another man?
As she moved quietly to join President Armitage and Senator Raborn as they waited at the round table, she noticed that Ms. Oliphant was lecturing somebody about something. The Mallorys were regaling a table with a story about their latest evening on the town.
And once again the yogurt machine was on the blink.
BY JAMES A. MICHENER
Tales of the South Pacific
The Fires of Spring
Return to Paradise
The Voice of Asia
The Bridges at Toko-Ri
Sayonara
The Floating World
The Bridge at Andau
Hawaii
Report of the Country Chairman
Caravans
The Source
Iberia
Presidential Lottery
The Quality of Life
Kent State: What Happened and Why
The Drifters
A Michener Miscellany: 1950–1970
Centennial
Sports in America
Chesapeake
The Covenant
Space
Poland
Texas
Legacy
Alaska
Journey
Caribbean
The Eagle and the Raven
Pilgrimage
The Novel
James A. Michener’s Writer’s Handbook
Mexico
Creatures of the Kingdom
Recessional
Miracle in Seville
This Noble Land: My Vision for America
The World Is My Home
with A. Grove Day
Rascals in Paradise
with John Kings
Six Days in Havana
About the Author
JAMES A. MICHENER, one of the world’s most popular writers, was the author of the Pulitzer Prize–winning Tales of the South Pacific, the best-selling novels Hawaii, Texas, Chesapeake, The Covenant, and Alaska, and the memoir The World Is My Home. Michener served on the advisory council to NASA and the International Broadcast Board, which oversees the Voice of America. Among dozens of awards and honors, he received America’s highest civilian award, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, in 1977, and an award from the President’s Committee on the Arts and Humanities in 1983 for his commitment to art in America. Michener died in 1997 at the age of ninety.
James A. Michener, Recessional
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