Searching for Sylvie Lee (38 page)

I yank the bag toward me. I open it and pull out the portfolio. Tears spring to my eyes as I press my knuckles to my lips. Inside is photo after photo of Sylvie. Sylvie in what must be Venice, with a gondola in the background, smiling, radiant with happiness. Sylvie’s wandering eye—her throat and lips. Strands of her hair, black in the wind against an Italian cathedral. Sylvie lying on the sofa bed behind me, stroking Couscous, stretched out across her stomach. If I hadn’t suspected it before, these photos would have revealed Lukas’s love or obsession to me. But I am taken in by the open warmth and vulnerability in Sylvie’s eyes as she gazes at the photographer.

Between the glossy photos, I find an old Polaroid. The edges of it are worn as if it’s been handled often in the intervening years. It’s yellowed and fading but the image is still clear: an awkward, homely Chinese girl, about eight years old, sitting on the floor and tucking herself into the corner like she wishes she could disappear. Her shoulders are hunched as if to ward off a blow that she knows is coming. One eye is hidden by a dark blue eye patch, the other glares from beneath her uneven bangs. She’s scowling, staring at the camera as if daring it to unveil her secrets. She is so different from the impeccably dressed, poised sister I’ve known most of my life that it takes me a moment to realize it is Sylvie. She’s in handmade clothes, probably sewn by Grandma: a funny little shirt with a Chinese Mandarin collar. That shirt could not have done a better job of marking her as different in this country.

Her mouth is strange and thick. I realize it’s because of the crooked front tooth that protrudes from her front lip. I’d completely forgotten. Sylvie had it fixed as soon as she went away to college. Was this what Sylvie had been—a child driven into the corner? I see resentment and a fierce intelligence on her expressive face, but there’s fear too. What had Willem and Helena done to her? I clutch the photo to my chest. This is why I have to find out what happened to her. This girl is counting on me.

More photos: Sylvie against the open Dutch sky, the flat fields laid out behind her. Sylvie on a bicycle in Amsterdam. Sylvie drinking tea at a café. Sylvie playing the cello in Helena’s living room. Sylvie laughing beside a bunch of trees, water behind her, a half-eaten sandwich in her hand. I recognize the spot. That’s where we found her body.

I look through all the photos and then rummage through the rest of the bag. Nothing.

I hear a car pull into the driveway outside. Oh no. I still haven’t found anything, except for evidence that Sylvie and Lukas had an intimate relationship. What was I expecting anyway? I quickly replace the photos and slide the portfolio back into the bag.

Couscous has padded upstairs by now and is playing with a part of the cello case. She wiggles her butt and then pounces on the frayed shoulder strap that is lying on the floor. I pause. Why isn’t the cello inside its case?

I hear voices from the lawn. They’re getting out of the car. Lukas will be back at any moment and I’m still inside his apartment. I hesitate, then run over and swiftly flip open the case.

There’s a worn velvet bag stuffed inside. I know what it is from the way it feels: Grandma’s missing jewelry. I am frozen in shock before I make myself move. Oh gods. It can’t be. It was Lukas after all. He took the treasure from her, then killed her. I can’t be caught in here when he comes back alone. The only exit is through the front door. The family must have gone into the main house by now. They’ll realize I’m not there and he might come looking for me.

I hear the key in the lock downstairs. I’m breathing so shallowly, I think I’m going to hyperventilate. As quickly and quietly as I can, I race down the stairs, still lugging the jewelry bag. The door is half-open now and I shove against it hard.

It bounces against Lukas, who lets out a yell, and then I’m through to the outside. He reaches to grab my arm. He has me, his grip bruising, he’s pulling me inside. I’m twisting and kicking and then I’m loose and I run for all I’m worth.

He yells, “What the—? What is that? Amy! Stop!”

I hear his footsteps heavy and swift behind me, his longer legs gaining on me quickly. The stones are slippery and I slide, almost trip, then I recover my balance and keep going.

In front of me, the living room lights are switched on in the main house and I can just make out the familiar figure standing behind the gauze curtain: Ma.

I pound on the door. I ring the doorbell again and again. Now Lukas is upon me. His giant hands are grabbing the back of my jacket. He is pulling me backward.

I hang on to the doorknob. “Open up! Please!”

The door falls away and Helena is staring at me, her mouth open. Lukas and I both freeze. I tear away from him and burst into the house, heaving and panting. I am drenched in clammy sweat. Everyone’s gaze is fixed upon us. I hear Lukas’s ragged breathing, and then focus on Ma’s and Pa’s familiar faces. It’s strange to see them in this foreign place. They’re sitting on the couch; Willem has stopped short before them with a tray of coffee and tea in his hands.

Ma is deflated like an empty trash bag, wrinkled, old, and sagging in a way I’ve never seen before. It’s as if the life has drained out of her with the passing of her mother and daughter. “Amy, what going on?” she says.

I catch my breath. I can’t believe what I have discovered. Am I somehow wrong? How can I devastate them further? Should I stay quiet as I always have? I am clutching the bag to my stomach. It’s hidden inside the folds of my unzipped jacket. I could take the treasure home with us and let it all be over. Except I can’t go back to the person I used to be. Lukas murdered Sylvie. The shock and horror of it echoes through my mind. In a trembling voice, I say, “We need to call the police.”

Lukas looms behind me. I can feel the heat of him, his rage and frustration. What will he do now?

Willem’s face is a polite mask. He sets down the tray with a clatter, but his voice is deliberate and calm. “Why would we need to do that?”

I am breathing so shallowly, I can barely say the words. “Because your son killed Sylvie.”

Helena gasps; her face blotches. Ma jerks as if I’ve dealt her a physical blow and Pa’s eyes bulge like those of the fish he kills. Lukas lurches toward me. As I wince away from him, he grabs the back of a chair and uses it to brace himself. He hangs his head so his hair curtains his face.

The stunned silence is broken by a long peal of laughter. Willem says, “A very dramatic joke, Amy.”

I open my jacket and reveal the velvet bag. The mocking smile disappears from Willem’s face. From the stricken look in Ma’s eyes, I know she recognizes it. I drop to my knees in front of the low opium table and pour out the contents. At first, a small plastic bag emerges and I’m afraid that I was mistaken. But then pouches of silk envelopes tied together with ribbons appear. I open one to reveal a gold necklace formed of apple-green jade droplets, each teardrop setting wrought in the shape of a lotus flower and studded with diamonds. Both Helena and Ma stare with longing on their faces, whether for the jewelry or Grandma’s love, I cannot say.

I stare at all of them. “I found this hidden in Lukas’s room.”

“What the hell were you doing in my apartment?” he bellows. He has his arms wrapped around himself, his teeth bared like a feral animal’s.

“That does not prove anything.” Helena dares to come over and start stuffing the jewelry back into the bag, as if she plans to return it to Lukas. She doesn’t meet our eyes. She speaks so rapidly I can barely understand her. “He has a right. Grandma raised him. Grandma must have given it to him. If Sylvie had the jewelry, she stole it.”

“Stop!” I am screaming as I grab her by the wrist. She freezes and her entire body goes rigid. “How dare you? Sylvie’s dead!” I cry out, keening. I dump out all of the contents again. No more hiding. “Why? What did she die for if he didn’t kill her? He has a photo of her at the exact spot where her body was found. They had a secret relationship. Sylvie was in love with him.” I hear Ma’s sharp intake of breath. I pull out the scrap of paper from my pocket. “Look at this. She wrote ‘Sylvie Tan,’ like a schoolgirl in love. Grandma meant the jewelry for Sylvie. He seduced Sylvie, took the gold from her, and then got rid of her and made it look like she ran away with it.”

Everyone except for Lukas crowds around to read the little scrap with Sylvie’s precise handwriting on it. Even when besotted, she had been clear and exact.

No one speaks. They are like wax figures in a horror show, transfixed and aghast. Lukas works his jaw but he too is unable to speak.

I turn to him. “You played the lover and then you murdered her.” My voice is shaking with rage now. I want to tear him apart.

He says in a hoarse voice, “You are right. I did kill her.” He rubs his eyes with his clenched fists. His face is haggard. “I regret her death more than I could ever say.” He convulses with ragged, tearing sobs. He moans, “Sylvie . . .”

Helena brings the back of her hand to her trembling lips. Then she steps to her son and wraps her arms around him like she would a small child.

I am shuddering so hard I can barely stand, but I am resolute. “No more silence. These secrets have taken Sylvie from us.”

Willem has staggered backward, ashen, his eyes feverish and overbright. His hand is clasped over his mouth as if to stop himself from confessing. He stares, not at me, but at my mother.

To my great surprise, it is Ma who speaks. She shakes her head in denial, her shoulders curled, her spine bent as if to protect herself. Her voice is choked with emotion but strong. “You are right that a secret killed my daughter. But the secret is not what you think.”

Chapter 29

Ma

Monday, May 16

I
need to speak Chinese now so I can express myself truly. Helena, would you please translate for Amy? I must chop nails and sever iron to get to the heart of the matter.

This was my fault. I have wronged all of you in this room. But heaven’s net is wide and none can escape its mesh. I too am punished.

Pa, I put the green hat of cuckoldry upon your head, although you did not deserve it. When I married you, I was already pregnant with another man’s child. I did not know for certain at the time but there was no excuse. I can only offer an explanation.

I grew up knowing I would not be allowed to choose whom I should marry. Our families were friends and we were promised to each other from when we were little. I was betrothed to Pa but I was in love with Willem. I know how it is to desire that which you do not have.

I did not dare to speak until it was too late. By then, you had come back, Helena, with your sophisticated foreign ways, the open beckoning road behind your every move. You could offer Willem freedom, wealth, and your whole heart. I loved you too, Pa, and that was why I was so conflicted with my affections divided.

But then, Helena and Willem married. They were to leave together and Willem and I had cast longing glances at each other for years. If one often walks by the riverside, one’s shoes will eventually get wet. Willem and I took our last chance to be together. Our heart blood rose in a tidal wave. We destroyed our cauldrons and sank our boats. We were leaving for separate countries, different lives, and would never see each other again, so we thought.

Pa and I married almost immediately afterward and then we too left China. The two of you moved to Holland, and we headed for the Beautiful Country. I did not expect to get the big stomach.

Soon after that, Snow Jasmine was born. Pa, I know that after her birth, you slowly grew to suspect. I thought at first she could belong to either of you and so I watched her like a hawk. That was barren ground for a mother’s love. I scrutinized her every moment, wondering if she would betray my sin by a gesture, a mark, a word. But soon, I understood who her father was.

And yes, Helena, when the chance came to send her to you as a baby, I did it for many reasons. We could barely afford to keep her. She cried in the hot New York summers. I was afraid for her safety and mine. I knew that you, Helena, could offer her and my mother a better home than I could. But I also did it so her biological father could know his daughter.

The truth is, when I flew to Holland with Snow Jasmine, I did not know if I came to leave my baby or to take the treasure and my girl back home with me. I was jealous of you, Helena, with your large house, fine husband, and my own mother to care for your child, and now, I would give you my daughter too? The jewelry had belonged to me from the moment I married Pa. That was why Grandma could not give it to anyone else. As was tradition, it was her wedding present to me, but I felt too guilty to accept it because of what I had done. Pa never knew about it. It was for me to keep for myself, something a mother could pass on to her daughter, something a woman could use to save herself in times of dire need. I asked Grandma to take care of it for me.

When I came to leave Snow Jasmine here, I ate bitterness. It was common for our children to be raised by their grandmothers. Many of our friends in the Beautiful Country had sent their babies to live with their relatives in the Central Kingdom so their kids could learn the old ways and language. But Grandma could see how it made me cough up blood to think of leaving my child behind. She said to me, “My daughter, you have brought with you the extreme danger of a mountain of blades and a sea of fire. We must dispel the clouds and see the sun again. Sell the jewelry. Keep your child and leave this place, and this man.”