Old tunes from the fifties, like “Jailhouse Rock,” along with waltzes and tangos. “This is exactly why I said I’d never live in an apartment building again,” Mom told Dad on our third morning in Shanghai. “Remember the Schmidts in Hamburg? The parties they would throw?”“You were just mad they never invited you,” he said.“They ruined John Denver,” Mom said, ignoring him. “You could always tell a party was winding up when ‘Country Road’ started playing, over and over.”“Hey,” Sophie interrupted. “It stopped.”We all listened. She was right. The apartment was silent, except for the refrigerator whirr and a distant whine of traffic. Then “What a Wonderful World” started up.“That’s it,” Mom said, and stormed out. Five minutes later, she came back, mystified. “It’s not the neighbors,” she said. “I think it’s coming from outside.”We all crowded onto the balcony. It was just after seven, and the sun had barely risen.
