Pinkerton:
 
Oh, the bitter fragrance
of these flowers
spreads in my heart like poison.
Unchanged is the room
Where our love blossomed.
But the chill of death is here.
My picture….  (He lifts a photograph from the table)
She has thought of me.
 
                                  Madame Butterfly, Act I
 
 
             Kate imagined how odd they must appear to people who strolled past them on deck, casting covert glances their way:  a blond, blue-eyed man and woman sitting in silence, on the man’s lap a child with a Japanese face and light hair.  All three of them motionless, staring out at the sea like revenants, the boy immobile as a statue, clutching  a multicolored string ball.
            She drew her blanket more tightly about her shoulders.  She should say something.  They would look less strange in conversation.
            “How can it be so cold in May?” she asked, trying to smile.
“The black current,” Frank said. “Kuro – kuroshiwo.” He made a snaking motion with one hand.  “It’s a mysterious, shifting current that runs along the coast of Japan and then out to sea. We should be leaving it soon.”
She gazed out at the gray water, the dark line of Japan receding, then at the boy.  Yes...