I asked her, “How are Helena and her husband?”
“They’re a bit strange, Ma. Helena is kind to me, but sometimes, I’m not sure how she feels about Sylvie. And I can’t figure out Willem.”
“Why not?”
“He seems to be watching me a lot, when he thinks I’m not looking.”
I caught my breath. Then I gave a little laugh. “Oh, all girls think he was very handsome back in the village.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant.” Amy lowered her voice. “Ma, do you know anything about a treasure?”
I said in my careful, useless English, so long trained not to speak of it, “What you mean?”
“Cousin Helena was going on about some incredibly valuable jewelry that she thinks Grandma had. There was a burglary and then it disappeared. Helena seems to think it has something to do with Sylvie.”
That Helena dared accuse my daughter of such a shameful thing. But if Sylvie had taken the jewelry—not stolen, because my ma would have meant to give it to her—then it might mean she was still all right. Rage and hope warred inside me. Perhaps Sylvie was waiting for the calm to come and then she would reappear, as the goddess Kuan Yin manifested herself on the surface of a muddy lake, the beauty of a lotus that bloomed above the muck.
“There was something,” I said. “But it has been many years since anyone has seen it. I not know if it still there. Maybe Grandma sold it.”
“Helena says she saw it herself. Do you think there’s any chance Sylvie took it?” Amy sounded so young, a cub reaching out for her mother. If only I could tell her that when we get to the mountain, there will be a way through it. When the boat reaches the bridge-head, it naturally goes straight with the current.
Instead I said, “Try find out. If treasure still there, Grandma give to Sylvie. Will be okay. Not worry.”
After we hung up the phone, I thought about the gold. Of course Helena wanted the jewelry more than anything. We were distant cousins who had never met until she returned from Holland with her wealthy parents. Some who would put the tall hat of flattery on my head had called me the beauty of our village, but Helena had something more valuable to offer: a foreign road. Any man who married her would be able to leave the Central Kingdom and all of his family could follow, one by one. She was a lifeline. She had no trouble finding a husband there.
Helena did not want the gold for the value of it. She had enough wealth of her own. She desired it to spite me, to take something of mine from my mother. She had already had Grandma to care for her boy all these years—must she steal my inheritance as well? That jewelry had been passed down in our family from mother to daughter, hidden away through wars and revolutions, accumulated through pain and death.
I had seen it long ago and remembered it: the finest jade, which grew greener and more vibrant against the skin of the deserving owner; twenty-four-carat gold, untainted, unlike silver, considered undesirable because it tarnished. That gold was too soft, helpless in its purity, too yielding to be of this world. Like my mother and me, it belonged to an age gone by. Its strength was in its ability to bend, but how much could it withstand before it broke for good?
Chapter 13
Sylvie
Wednesday, April 6
After excluding me from their meal last Saturday, Helena had tried to make up for it in her own way.
The next morning, she had spoken to me at breakfast. “I got you a few things. Here is an OV-chipcard. Do you know what that is?”
I shook my head.
“You can use it to check in and out on any type of public transportation. It is loaded with enough money for you to travel for a while. I also bought you some toiletries.”
I opened my mouth to say I had plenty of my own, but recognized this as a peace offering and thanked her instead. “That is very kind of you.”
Helena handed me the OV-chipcard and a wicker basket filled with shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, and hair gloss.
I pulled the familiar large green bottle of shower gel from the basket, flipped open the lid, and sniffed it. Mmm, green tea and cucumbers. “I used to love this. You remembered.”
“Of course, I took care of you for all those years,” she said briskly. She held her head high and cleared her throat. “I apologize for the confusion yesterday. There is plenty of food for you in the refrigerator when Willem and I are working. Please help yourself, Sylvie.”
Since then, we had all coexisted in peace, but as was always the case with Helena and me, our tranquility was short-lived. I spent much of my time helping Isa with Grandma, her labored breathing acting as a constant backdrop. I escorted her to the toilet and bath, exposing pale skin untouched by the sun, arms and legs grown so spindly and frail, an intimacy she had never shared with me before. Grandma’s chin had trembled the first time, but I said, “When you love someone, there is no shame. When I see you, I only know that you are my grandma and you are beautiful. You did this for me when I was young. Now it is my turn. You always said, the old become children once again.”
The first time I tried to make rice congee, I set off the smoke alarm (Grandma: “Lukas! Can you get to the batteries? Quick! What will the neighbors think?” Lukas, balancing on a stool to reset the shrill alarm. Grandma, muttering, “How can a person burn congee? It is all water.”)—and so I was no longer allowed near the stove. Instead, I cut her steamed chicken and vegetables with rice and fed her bites on the bad days, the ones when she barely moved, her thin hands picking listlessly at the coverlet.
Mostly, Lukas, Isa, and I took Grandma outside for walks. After carrying her wheelchair downstairs, Lukas would guide her down, walking backward, one slow step at a time, a sturdy buttress should she fall (Grandma, giving Lukas’s biceps a good squeeze: “So strong and handsome like his father. A tiger father does not beget a dog son.”), Grandma gripping the banister with her left hand as I held tight to her upper arm, Isa behind us with the oxygen tank and other equipment. We would pause often so Grandma could take a few shallow breaths, trading alarmed looks if she seemed to overexert herself. Once outside, her faded eyes would brighten as she smelled the wind, delighting in the green blades of grass that had survived the winter and the ever-changing swirl of clouds across the sky.
“The water wind is good here. Better than people mountain, people sea,” Grandma had said one morning—she had always hated crowds—and suddenly her eyes were awash with unshed tears. “But it is still not the Central Kingdom.”
My heart ached, understanding how she must long for the land of her youth as she neared the end of her life.
Lukas stepped closer to her and laid his arm across her frail shoulders. He dipped his dark head to rest his cheek gently on top of her dandelion hair. His Chinese had never been as good as mine, but it was far better than Amy’s. He said, “But your granddaughter with her limpid eyes of autumn water is not in the Central Kingdom.”
I flushed as Grandma smiled through her tears. “This is true. You both accompany me with the grace of floating clouds and flowing water, and open the heart of this old woman with joy.”
This morning, I had a special treat for her. I could not wait to show her the photos and videos of Ma, Pa, and Amy that I had brought on my phone. But after a few minutes, Lukas placed his broad hand on my shoulder and gestured with his chin toward Grandma. I had been so absorbed in my presentation that I had not noticed she was weeping silently, her mouth gaping in mute anguish.