Ms. Okoye was sixty, and for thirty-one years she had run the lost-property office at the central station. She said that every object has a home, and her job was to find the road.
On Tuesday afternoon a conductor brought her a battered accordion case from the 6:10 train from the coast. It had no name and no address. Ms. Okoye reasoned aloud. "It smells of salt and sea air. In the lining there are three grains of rice, so it has been to weddings. And inside the lid there is a torn repair label: '…vel's Repairs, Harbor T…'"
She phoned the repair shop in Harbor Town. "Pavel's!" a man said. "That is old Mr. Welka's accordion. He plays at every wedding on the coast." Mr. Welka was seventy-six. His granddaughter's wedding was the next day at noon, and he had promised to play the first waltz. The last train to the coast left at 8:40.
Ms. Okoye closed the office for the first time in thirty-one years and took the accordion on her knees. At eleven at night the whole family was waiting on the platform in the rain.
