Vanished (8 page)

The library was just outside
the art room. It was also Neela's favorite place in school. Except for kindergarten, all the other classrooms, including the art room, opened to it, with the library at the center like a hub. Even though the library wasn't enclosed, the air felt different there. Maybe it was the scent of books that made it so special. At any rate, Neela didn't mind sneaking out of Art if it meant going to the library, especially when she saw Lynne on a computer at the information center, busy copying something down onto a piece of paper.

The book aisles were arranged in a semicircle around the information center, which made it easy for Neela to creep unseen along an aisle behind Lynne. What exactly Neela wanted to do, she didn't know yet.

Just then, Lynne rose from her chair, rubbing the blunt end of her pencil. Apparently her lead had broken. Neela, who happened to know that the pencil sharpener was all the way on the other side of the library, decided this was her chance to see what Lynne was doing on the computer. As soon as Lynne had walked off, Neela sprang from the aisle to get a closer look at the screen.

That was what Lynne had entered in the search field. The results had returned several pages of information. On a piece of scrap paper, Lynne had written:
Missing in acci
dent?
But Neela had no time to think, ducking behind the bookcase again before Lynne saw her.

Neela leaned against the shelf. Veronica Wyvern, veena player, missing in accident? They seemed like three completely unrelated things. Neela was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't notice someone come up from behind her.

“Neela!”

She jumped.

“What are you doing out here?” asked Mrs. Averil. “And you too, Lynne.”

Neela saw that Lynne was wondering the same thing.

“Amanda told me she saw you both leave class without a hall pass.”

Neela cleared her throat. “I was bringing Lynne her notebook that she forgot.” She held it up for them to see.

Lynne took the notebook, surprised. “I was returning a book. I didn't know about a hall pass.”

“Everyone knows about hall passes.” Mrs. Averil frowned. “I'd like the two of you to come in over the lunch hour and help clean up the art room. That will probably help you remember better next time.”

Neela was about to make a face in protest. That was so unnecessary! But she controlled herself. Who knows? If she complained, maybe Mrs. Averil would keep them after school as well.

“Come along, girls,” Mrs. Averil said. “Art class is over.”

Their teacher couldn't have planned it better if she had arranged for a tidal wave to hit the art room. There were gobs of papier-mâché everywhere, on tables, chairs, and even the floor. Soggy paintbrushes with paint still on them dripped color onto paper towels, and scraps of paper littered the ground like confetti.

Mrs. Averil must have been dying to catch us in the hall, Neela thought. Maybe that was why someone was always getting into trouble in art class, so Mrs. Averil could have somebody around to clean up afterward. Neela watched as her art teacher ate a sandwich leisurely while reading a newspaper at her desk. “Girls, don't forget under the tables,” she said.

Neela's thoughts returned to Veronica Wyvern and the veena. But now she was starting to have second thoughts. Maybe Lynne's Web search in the library had nothing to do with Neela's missing veena. Maybe Lynne was interested in veenas, and she was just researching them for fun. It didn't seem like something most kids in their class might do, but then again, Lynne wasn't your average person. She happened to like dragons and photography and feathery shirts. Why not add large Indian stringed instruments to that list?

Maybe the first thing to focus on was the teakettle. That was where the whole mystery had started. If Lynne knew how to fix the teakettle, she might also know who Hal was and how to find him.

So as they picked up construction paper from the floor, Neela said, “I'm sorry for getting you caught in the library.” She wasn't actually sorry, because Lynne would have been caught anyway, but she figured it was a good way to begin.

Lynne shrugged. “It's not your fault that Amanda the weasel told on us.”

“Oh, her,” Neela said. “Yeah, she's always like that.”

“You mean thoughtless and dumb?”

Neela thought for a moment. “I guess Amanda has perfected herself over the years.”

Lynne grinned. She picked up some more paper from the ground and said, “So were you spying on me?”

“No,” Neela lied, “I was returning your notebook.” It was strange for Lynne to accuse her of spying—after all, hadn't Lynne been spying on
her
at the church?

“I knew I'd left it here. I was coming back for it.”

Neela decided that there was no other way but to be direct. “How did you know how to fix the teakettle at the church?”

When Lynne didn't answer, Neela went on. “I saw an old man use that teakettle, even though it's an antique and no one is supposed to touch it. I think he's the same person who stole my veena.”

“Girls, lunch hour is almost over,” Mrs. Averil called. “Maybe less chatting and you'll finish in time. I need the area near the sinks cleaned, too.”

Neela sighed. Just as she was getting close to an answer from Lynne, their teacher had to butt in. While she and Lynne were at the sinks, sponging the sides, Neela tried again. “So, have you used that teakettle before? Do you know the old man who was using it?”

Lynne looked uncomfortable. “I don't know anything about that teakettle.”

“You have to. Otherwise you wouldn't know how to fix the dragon.”

Lynne stopped sponging. “One day before art class, I was messing around in the kitchen, and the dragon head came off the kettle, just like it did for you. But I figured out it was removable, and I slid it back on. That's all there is to it.”

The bell for the end of the period rang. From outside the hall, they could hear the main school door opening and students returning inside from recess. Their voices echoed along the corridor, with the sounds of lockers opening and slamming shut.

Neela looked at Lynne skeptically. “What about Hal? Do you know him or Mary Goodwin?”

Lynne narrowed her eyes. “Hal? I don't know any Hal.”

“What about Mary Goodwin?” Neela pressed.

Lynne hesitated. “She works in the church office.”

“You're a chatty little duo, aren't you?” Mrs. Averil called out. She had finished both her lunch and her newspaper, which she tossed in the wastepaper basket. “The period's over. You're free to go. Next time, try not to leave class like that. You're big girls now and you know better.”

Big girls! Neela felt Lynne writhe next to her as they left the room.

Their next class was right across the hall. Neela started to feel desperate. So far, Lynne had answered none of her questions, except the one about Mary, and even then, Neela could tell that Lynne was dodging the truth somehow. Now class was beginning, and it would be too late to bring up the subject again. She had to think of something else, and fast.

“Wait,” she said. “Who is Veronica Wy…” She had no idea how to pronounce it.

Lynne froze. “You
were
spying on me!”

“I saw you writing at the computer,” Neela said in a rush. “And I wanted to know, because if she's a veena player, and I lost my veena, then—”

“Then what? That I took your veena? Or I know where it is? Why do you think I have something to do with your missing veena? And I don't know anything more about that stupid teakettle or Veronica Wyvern!” Lynne stormed off.

Neela stood frozen in place. Behind her, Penny and Amanda came back in from recess.

“Mrs. Averil's such a pain,” Penny said.

“Sorry you got stuck with Lynne,” Amanda said, though she didn't sound sorry at all.

“She doesn't even talk,” Penny added.

“Yeah,” Neela said, but she was barely listening. She was thinking how clearly Lynne had said the veena player's name: Veronica Wyvern. As soon as she said it, Neela remembered where she had heard it before. Hal!

It's a wyvern.
That's what Hal had said about the teakettle in the church. And it was the same name Lynne had written down in the library. Neela walked with her friends to their desks in a daze. She could hardly wait to talk to Pavi.

Every Wednesday after school
, Neela and Pavi carpooled forty minutes away to their veena lessons. Sudha Auntie's husband had passed away some years ago, and she now lived alone with two Pomeranian dogs that she kept in the backyard during lessons. She taught all her lessons in the parlor of her old Victorian house.

When Neela first heard about the parlor, she pictured a room with a roaring fire, lacy-looking lamps with tassels, and rocking chairs on which they might sit, having tea and cookies. Instead, Sudha Auntie's parlor contained one futon sofa and a brown vinyl recliner with rows of tufted buttons that looked like teeth. Around the room were several handicrafts from India (the exact term Neela's mother used was “junk”), in various states of disrepair. The fireplace, which had never seen a single fire during Sudha Auntie's time, roaring or otherwise, was used as a storehouse for books. In front of this makeshift bookcase, Sudha Auntie had laid down several rugs and rested her two student veenas, which her pupils used at their lesson so they wouldn't have to carry their instruments from home.

“So what did you girls think of Tannenbaum?” Sudha Auntie asked when they were settled.

Pavi shrugged. “He was good, I guess. The concert went too long, though.”

Sudha Auntie turned to Neela. “And you? Did you like Professor Tannenbaum?”

Neela frowned. From past experience, she knew this was a trick question. If she said yes, her teacher would hound her for reasons why. If she said no, her teacher would give her one of those disappointed looks, along with a lecture. “Yes,” Neela said carefully. “I liked his opening song.”

“Why didn't you talk to him, then?” Sudha Auntie persisted. “Why didn't you tell him that, instead of running off?”

Neela stared at her fingers. She didn't want to have to bring up the whole snapping string incident again. Why didn't her teacher ever bug Pavi? It didn't seem fair.

“He seemed to have plenty of other people to talk with,” she said. She thought of the young man with the ruby ring and the woman photographer.

“Never turn down an opportunity to learn from a master,” her teacher said. When neither Pavi nor Neela responded to this piece of unsolicited advice, she sighed. “All right, Neela, why don't you start first? Hopefully you practiced before this whole disaster struck.”

Reluctantly, Neela sat down in front of the student veena that she had, until six months ago, borrowed for three years. It was hard to believe she was back to this instrument, which now seemed so ugly, after playing for so many months on her grandmother's sleek veena. As she readied the instrument, Neela felt something scratch her leg. She peered at the underside of the veena and was surprised to find duct tape stuck to the bottom of the neck. Great. So it was a damaged veena now, too.

She began carefully, but her opening was poor, and she screwed up at least seven notes, conscious of the duct tape rubbing against her leg. Sudha Auntie made
tsk tsk
sounds the whole time, as if the wrong notes were driving her up the wall. Halfway through, she finally yelled, “You skipped an entire line! Memorization—it's not something you pick and choose.”

“Sorry,” Neela said meekly. Tears came to her eyes as she continued.

Pavi shifted uncomfortably. Neela was sure her tears would spill, but she blinked furiously and kept playing. In her mind she tried to imagine the way she was at home, the way it had been with her grandmother's veena all these months. But all she felt inside her was a resounding guilt. Her grandmother's veena gone, and
this
was her punishment for it.

Sudha Auntie continued
tsk
ing until Neela reached the end. “Practice is essential,” she chided.

But I do practice!
Neela thought the words silently to herself.

“Uh, it's kind of hard to practice without a veena,” Pavi said.

“She had three whole days before it happened,” Sudha Auntie pointed out unsympathetically.

“And I think she's worried about who took it,” Pavi added.

Neela watched them talking to each other. It's like I'm not even here, she thought.

“Such a beautiful instrument,” Sudha Auntie remarked. “It was too fancy for her, anyway.” She saw Neela's expression. “What? I can't think of anyone your age playing on a Guru original.” She looked off into space. “Though it's odd your veena disappeared like that. Because there's a story about one of Guru's veenas that kept vanishing.”

Behind Sudha Auntie, Pavi made the sign for crazy by spinning her finger in a circle next to her ear.

But Neela sat up instantly. “There's a story about a veena that vanishes?”

“Oh, yes. Everyone knew about it in Thanjavur, where I grew up. But I really heard it much later, after I married and moved to Chennai.”

Pavi was making the crazy sign more furiously, but Neela ignored her. Maybe this was the story of the curse her parents had brought up the other night. Of course Sudha Auntie would know about it. Why didn't Neela think of that before?

“How would the veena vanish?” she asked, hoping that would give Sudha Auntie all the material she needed. Usually Sudha Auntie didn't need much to launch into a story.

Pavi made a face and pretended to strangle herself.

“Well, since you asked.” Sudha Auntie settled down on the futon. “The story goes that Guru married a young woman named Parvati, who was very beautiful and an accomplished veena player. But with his profession and her background, they didn't have much money to spare. After they married, Guru made a beautiful veena for her, different from anything else that had been done. It's said he even used jewels Parvati wore at their wedding to decorate it. There were many things said about this veena—how splendid and grand it was, that it gave a rich, wonderful sound.”

“So what happened?” Neela asked. “Did it vanish in the middle of the night?”

“Goodness, no,” Sudha Auntie said. “That comes later. So as you might guess, for a veena maker in Thanjavur, times were tough. The money wasn't exactly rolling in. Eventually they ended up having to sell away many of their things, including that veena.”

“They sold the veena?” Neela exclaimed. “How could they?”

“Hey, you have to eat.” Pavi had been listening with interest despite herself.

“One day Guru went to Chennai,” Sudha Auntie said, “and sold the veena to a store. Not just any store but one of the most famous ones: The Chennai Music Palace.”

Neela gave a start. This was the same store that had mailed her grandmother's veena to her in the first place!

“Parvati was very upset,” Sudha Auntie continued. “That veena had been her life. But as it turns out, Guru's luck changed soon after. His veenas started selling like hotcakes, and he made money, and the bad time passed. Still, Parvati was so upset, that on the day Guru was at the store selling her veena, she put a curse on it, declaring that no one would ever be able to own her veena. Afterward, she gave up playing for good. As for her veena, it's said to disappear from anyone who tries to own it, and returns to that same store, to the same display case. Sometimes it returns immediately, sometimes it takes years, but it never stays with anyone for long before it disappears again. It's known as the
maya veena
, or ‘vanishing veena.' People say the veena is still looking for Guru's wife.”

“How tragic,” Neela sighed, imagining Parvati without her veena.

“What happened to the veena?” Pavi asked.

Sudha Auntie shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it's still vanishing. Maybe it joined an act on Broadway.” She looked at Neela, who was deep in thought. “Hey, that was a joke. I don't really know. It's just a story, of course.”

Pavi poked Neela. “You okay?”

She nodded absently. A tiny scrap of conversation from her parents came floating back to her, about Lalitha Patti being “spooked.” Was this the curse her parents were talking about? Did her grandmother own Parvati's
maya veena
?

“And that's all I've got for today,” Sudha Auntie said. “By the way, I talked with your parents. You may borrow my student veena again for as long as you need. Oh, and you might have noticed, but in the last few months, it got a small crack from where one of my dogs chewed on it. So unusual! They're normally very well behaved.” She glanced at the clock. “Look at the time! From the top, Neela. This time, no skipping.”

That evening after dinner, Neela made a beeline to the study. She had been waiting all day. On the computer, she opened a browser and entered
Veronica Wyvern veena player
into the search field just as Lynne had done in school. A list of links appeared.

Neela tried the first link, but it went to a site that didn't exist anymore. She kept trying until she clicked a link to a newspaper in India and retrieved an article from its archives. The headline read “Legendary American Veena Player Meets Untimely End,” and it was dated December 18, 1995. Intrigued, Neela scrolled down to read the full article.

So Veronica Wyvern was a veena player who had lived right here in Boston, until she died in a train crash in India many years ago. And Professor Tannenbaum knew her, too. But why would Lynne be interested in her?

Neela printed out a hard copy, then picked up the phone and dialed. “Go online,” she said.

Pavi sighed. “I'm in the middle of math homework.” But a few seconds later Neela saw Pavi's name turn bold on their messaging screen. She sent Pavi the link.

“Cool,” Pavi said after she was done. “Er, sad, I mean.”

Neela was remembering the list in Lynne's notebook. “Lynne wrote down a bunch of things about my veena, almost as if she were…comparing it to someone else's.”

“Maybe she wanted to know if you have Veronica's veena.”

“But that's impossible,” Neela said. “There's no way her veena could survive a train crash…could it?”

“Unless she didn't have it with her that day,” Pavi countered.

Neela heard typing on the other end. “What are you doing?”

“Wyvern looks so familiar,” Pavi mused out loud. Then she said, “Try this link.”

Neela clicked to the page Pavi sent. “It's a kind of dragon,” she said.

“My cousin has this video game with wyverns in it. I've seen the cover, and it has the word on the back. I didn't remember it until now.”

Neela looked more closely. “Pavi! Look how many feet the dragon has.”

The dragon, done in black and white, was lean and serpentlike, its body arched so the scaly underside showed, and its wings spread out like curtains. It stood on two clawed feet, and its face was sharp, triangular, and birdlike, with a pointed tongue curling from its mouth. Next to the drawing, the caption read, “Wyverns are common in medieval art, and are depicted both as a symbol of vengeance and as a sign of valor, strength, and protection.”