Ms. Okoye worked in the lost-property office at the central station. She said that every object has a home.
On Tuesday afternoon a conductor brought a battered accordion case. It had no name. "It smells of the sea," said Ms. Okoye. "There are three grains of rice inside, so it was at a wedding. And here is a torn label: '…vel's Repairs, Harbor T…'"
She phoned the Harbor Town shop. "That is old Mr. Welka's accordion," the repairman said. "He plays at every wedding on the coast." Mr. Welka was seventy-six, and his granddaughter's wedding was the next day at noon. The last train left at 8:40.
Ms. Okoye closed the office, put on her coat and took the accordion on her knees. At eleven at night Mr. Welka hugged the case. The next day she was at the wedding.
