Searching for Sylvie Lee

by Jean Kwok

  Grandma lifted her limp hand. Her low voice cracked. “This bag bears the weight of years, Snow Jasmine. It is as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. From the women of our line, drawn from their happiness and their sorrows, this passes on to your mother and later, to you and your sister.”

  I tried to swallow. “Grandma, I do not want to take this from you.”

  “You must resound like thunder and move like the wind. Act now. I have kept it safe all these years for your mother. Do with it as you will. Tell your mother she should sell whatever she needs. This gold is meant to serve the living, not to enslave them.”

  I thought about the costs piling up now that I had no job and no husband. I thought about the credit card bills lying unopened in my hallway. I thought about Amy’s student loans, Ma and Pa, and their apartment. I had not cared about anything but getting away. I wished I could shed my old skin and that my life there had been a dream. But all of it was a nightmare: Jim; the consultancy firm; the desperate, futile struggle for Ma and Pa’s love and approval—and I would have to return eventually. I understood this.

  Grandma continued speaking, her eyes fixed upon the window. “I had hoped to put this into your mother’s hands. But I knew she would not come. Not even now.” There was so much grief in her voice that I took her hand.

  “Ma thinks about you all the time, Grandma. She would have if she could.”

  “She stayed away not because she did not care enough. She stayed away because she loves too much,” Grandma said. “I understand, but still it saddens me. You must take the treasure now, while you can.”

  I said only one word, “Helena.” Helena, so jealous she could not see the sun shining upon the water. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lukas nod.

  Grandma said, “That woman has eaten vinegar. She will always be spiteful. It is a pity that she glimpsed the gold all those years ago, but there had already been rumors. I am an arrow at the end of its flight. Once I am gone, she will rip this room apart looking for it. As the water recedes, the rocks will appear. There will be swords drawn and bows bent. Take it now and hide it in a train station locker or something.”

  Lukas huffed out a laugh.

  I said, “You have been watching too many Hong Kong soap operas, Grandma. I am not a spy. Though she may be a toad lusting after a swan’s flesh, she will never let it go, undeserving or not. She knows you plan to give it to me. She said she would do anything to stop you. If she does not find it in this room, she will know I have it.”

  Grandma set her triangular little chin, so like Ma’s and Amy’s. “So? Too bad for her. By then, the rice will already have been cooked.”

  I sighed, thinking of the cruel words I had spoken to Helena. “I suppose you are right.”

  Lukas said, “She will lose face. It will be an ugly scene. She might even demand to search your luggage or claim that you stole it from Grandma. Perhaps it is time for thunder from a clear sky. Grandma, maybe you should do things the Western way and tell my mother directly that you are giving your inheritance to Sylvie.”

  Both of us put on our huge eyes and stared at him as if we saw water burning.

  Grandma said, “We are not Dutch, my heart stem. That would hurt her more than anything else I could do. I am not able to be a human being in such a way. We need to give her a back road for her escape even though she comes to loot a burning house. She also desires to attain it for you, Lukas. I hope you understand?”

  Lukas shrugged. “What would I use it for?” But his mouth was strained and I remembered his dreams of owning his own studio.

  I said, “She hungers for your love, Grandma.”

  “She has it, though she could have been nicer to me through the years. The things I have seen in this house, the way she treated you. You are two who could not live under the same sky.” Grandma’s shoulders drooped. She rubbed the heel of her palm against her bony chest. This was the first time we had ever spoken of it. “I could do so little for you then. This is also why you and your ma need to have the jewelry. It is the smallest boon I can give you, to keep you safe. I understand the problem of Helena. But now you must fight poison with poison, and I have an idea.”

  The next morning, I awoke exhausted again. Even with the prescription sleeping pills I had brought from New York, I could barely manage to make it through the nights. I was desperate for rest. I would sleep my entire life away if I could, but the more I longed for it, the more it eluded me, like everything else I desired. I had always been a bad sleeper and in the dark, still Dutch hours, the wreckage of my life caught up to me, worrying at the edges of my mind like a rabid dog—Jim and that girl, the whispers at work, those tender moments with Jim when we had both been so innocent, my phone call with Amy, her blind faith in me, and Grandma, moving further from me every day until she disappeared into the horizon. I took the sleeping pills at night for a bit of oblivion and then amphetamines in the wretched mornings to get me up and moving again.

  I was cradling my head in my hands at the dining room table when Lukas entered the room. Grandma was napping upstairs and Willem and Helena had already left for the restaurant.

  His gaze lingered on the shadows below my eyes. “Is it going all right?”

  “Naturally.” I tried to sound as steady and robust as the Dutch always did, but it only made my headache seem worse.

  He scanned the cold kitchen. “You have not even made any tea for yourself.”

  “It is the jet lag,” I lied, even though I had been in the Netherlands almost a week by then. It seemed like so much effort to make breakfast for myself, and I often skipped it at home anyway, running to meetings and presentations. “You know what? I used to long to take a vacation, but now that I have free time, I do not know what to do with myself.”

  “You were never very good at resting. Always acting, always doing. Sometimes you just need to be, Sylvie.”

  “Hamster in a wheel, that’s me.” Eighty to a hundred hours a week at work. The glow of the laptop keeping me company as Jim snored in our bedroom. Flights to city after city. Always another deadline, another crisis. And for what? When it mattered, no one had stood up for me despite all the money I had brought in for the company. I was beginning to realize that I had kept myself so busy to avoid examining my life, and now that I had the chance, I did not like it at all.

  Lukas filled the electric kettle with water. The morning sunlight slanted through the window and lit the outline of his broad shoulders. His silky dark hair, almost perfectly straight, had a slight curl to it where it hit the base of his neck. “It is a beautiful day outside and I would like to take some photos. Come with me. I can make us some sandwiches. I know just the place.”

  Pedaling away on the pink flowered bicycle Estelle had lent me, I breathed in the faint scent of hyacinths. The open landscape stretched before us, brightly colored fields of crocuses and daffodils waving in the breeze, and I felt something inside me unclench. A flock of wild geese slowly took flight around us, beating their wings, rising up into the air as we passed. I had forgotten how good it felt to have my body balanced on the bicycle’s thin wheels, the freedom of the road speeding underneath me and the joy of the wind in my face.

  Lukas took us along a tree-lined stretch by the Amsterdam-Rhine Canal where the deep water sparkled. We finally stopped at a little picnic spot with a bench overlooking the rippling currents. A tree hung low in the waves and there a few ducks floated, cradled in its branches.

  As I locked my bike and set it against a tree, I said, “It is strange because I am naturally afraid of water but I love it too.” Lukas unhooked his bicycle bags. Then he took off his shoes and peeled off his socks. He stepped barefoot around the picnic area like a big bulky flamingo. I giggled. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to find a dry spot. Why are you scared of water?” He stomped a few times on one location, grunted, and pulled out a thick pine-green blanket from his bags.

  I went over to help him unfurl it over the ground. “Because I can dro
wn in two meters of it, idiot.” I slapped him on the arm, and then sat down cross-legged. I ran a finger over the soft fleece.

  “Oh, I forgot.” Lukas grimaced, looking sheepish. Everyone in the Netherlands could swim. He settled down on the corner of the blanket next to me. “Why do you love it, then?”

  “It feels like freedom.”

  Now he stretched out and lay on his back. Strands of his hair spread over the blanket, shining with the iridescence of a mussel shell washed by the sea surf. He spoke with his eyes closed. “I was in the ocean for a few months during a trip to Alaska. The waves were enormous, so much greater than any of us. The sea was like a graveyard or a utopia, a cavern where ancient worlds were swallowed up and waited to be discovered again.”

  I leaned in. He smelled like freshly cut grass, basil, and earth. He was so familiar and yet at the same time utterly new. Such thick lashes, the small freckle underneath the sharp plane of his left cheekbone, the scar threaded through the hair behind his temple from when he had fallen from the jungle gym at school. His bare, hairy feet sticking out from his snug jeans. His full lips. His eyes opened and I jumped back.

  I cleared my throat. “Your poetry is lost on me. I am but a simple girl.” I leaped up and looked around for something to do. I stuck my hands in my pockets. I coughed again. Ah, yes, the food. “I will unpack the sandwiches.”

  He propped himself on one elbow, the top button of his shirt straining, revealing a sliver of smooth tanned skin. “Ha! Simple. You were devouring books before I even learned the alphabet. You remember everyone could not understand why you were looking at books without pictures? No one guessed you were actually reading already.”

  I forced myself to look away and started rummaging in the bicycle bag. I said, translating from Chinese to Dutch, “Dumb birds must start flying early.”

  I now plopped down as far away from him as I could. Enough of that nonsense, Sylvie. Out of sheer nervousness, I started humming as I poured tea for us from the thermos. I smiled when I found the cloth napkins, folded into perfect pinwheels. “Ah, you have used that ax more often. This is the work of an expert. I forgot you were the child of restaurant owners. I don’t remember how to do this anymore.”

  “I spent many hours helping out there, while they were still hoping I would take over the restaurant.”

  I finally dared to look at him again. He was sitting up now, thank goodness. “Were they disappointed?”

  “Very.” His lips flattened. He imitated his mother. “‘What nonsense, following your dreams. Survive. Make a living. Eat.’ Except I think Pa understands. He is just afraid to speak up.” Willem had been a mathematics teacher in China. His was the brilliant mind behind the success of the restaurant, balancing the input and output of goods and staff, knowing exactly when they had to hunker down and when they should diversify. When he had helped me with my homework, we would fly through the problems together, leapfrogging to the answer while Lukas was left to puzzle it out line by line. Still, the debt Willem owed Helena for releasing him from China’s grip was one he would never be able to repay.

  There was an awkward pause. I filled it with my senseless humming again, and Lukas said, “You have a nice voice.”

  “You should hear my little sister, Amy.” I passed him a Brie sandwich on dark seed-mix bread and took one for myself. “If she hears a song on the radio, she can pick it out on her guitar or keyboard. And her voice, so rich and evocative, I would sometimes lean against the outside of the bathroom door while she was taking a shower, just to listen.”

  “She sounds pretty great.” To my surprise, his eyebrows had furrowed into one thick line. Was that sarcasm in his voice?

  I said defensively, “She is. There was never enough money or time to train her talent. I was not old enough to help her then.”

  He leaned over and laid his large palm over my knee. I could feel the warmth of it through my slacks. “What about you, Sylvie? Who was there for you?”

  I shifted so his hand fell from me, then tore off a bit of my bread and pitched it into the water for the ducks. One dove for it, quacking wildly, while the rest fled. “I have always been fine, Lukas. Do not fuss.”

  “I think you should take a break, Sylvie. You cannot eat for tomorrow. Enjoy yourself while you are here and maybe find something relaxing to keep yourself occupied. Nothing productive or educational.” He took a bite of his sandwich.

  I tossed another piece of bread at the clueless ducks. They had gathered close again. This time, they all scattered. “But I am here for Grandma.”

  “You cannot be with her the entire day. Do you know who Estelle and I just had a beer with the other day? You should eat your sandwich.”

  Estelle. Of course, that was where he had been. I shook my head and wrapped my arms around my knees, suddenly weary. “I am not hungry.”

  “Filip. Do you remember him? He was in our class.”

  I cast my mind back and found a vague image of a small, dark-haired kid. “Yes, he always played the violin or something in the Christmas shows?”

  Lukas shuffled to sit beside me and took my sandwich from my hands. “That is him. He is a professional cellist now with the Netherlands Philharmonic Orchestra. We became good friends after you left. He gives private lessons on his living-boat in Amsterdam. You could try it.” He held the bread up to my lips. “Stop giving to others. Leave something for yourself. Take a bite.”

  I obeyed, then took the sandwich and blinked slowly at him as I chewed. He was suddenly very close. I swallowed. “Where on earth would I get a cello?”

  His eyes were on my mouth. “I think most of his students rent one.”

  Self-conscious, I turned away, brushing my lips. Did I have crumbs on my face? “But I am not musical at all. Amy is the—”

  Now he drew back as well and sighed. “I know it, you have said it. But that is precisely the point. Go and try something you have not done before. You never know where it will lead you.”

  Chapter 14

  Amy

  Friday, May 6

  After the dispiriting talk with the police and the Tan family, I return to my room in the attic and call home to update my parents. Then I pace. Willem and Helena have left for work at their restaurant. I could lie to myself but the truth is that no one here knows Sylvie the way I do. Sylvie would never willingly disappear like this without a word, despite Helena’s hints that she stole Grandma’s jewelry and ran off, despite Lukas’s conviction that she’s just taking some time for herself. I remove my glasses and rub them against my shirt. I consider my image reflected in the lenses. Who are you going to be, Amy Lee? A useless, shy little sister? Or are you going to step up to the plate for Sylvie? Because, clearly, no one else is going to do it, not even the police.

  I stand up straighter, go into the bathroom, and put in my contact lenses. It’s a surprise to see my face without the protective glasses: all that exposed skin, stretched tight over my bones, vulnerable but stronger too. There’s a fierceness to my mouth I’ve never noticed before. I look through my dormer window in time to see Lukas wheel a large black bicycle out of the smaller, garage-like house. That must be where he lives. He’s my best chance at finding out what happened to Sylvie while she was here. He is not getting away from me today.

  I hurtle down the stairs and fling open the front door, panting. “Hey, Lukas! Where are you going?”

  He stops in surprise. “I am meeting Estelle in the center.”

  “Oh, d-do you mind if I come along?” I am pulling on my thin jacket and stick my feet into my shoes while I hold the front door open with my hip.

  To my surprise, he waits patiently for me to come outside. “Okay. I should show you around anyway.” Then he leans his bike against the house and leads me back to his cottage. “Thank you, by the way.”

  “For what?” I will never understand this man.

  “For defending Sylvie.” He peers at me from beneath his long lashes. For the first time, he truly smiles at me. It lights up his entire f
ace and he becomes so handsome, I catch my breath. “I am sorry I was not very friendly. I am extremely worried about Sylvie and Estelle says I tend to act like an angry bear most of the time anyway. You know, Sylvie is always talking about you.”

  “Really?”

  “‘Amy is so smart, Amy is so kind. Amy can sing the birds from the trees. With her glasses, Amy has this funny habit of—’”

  I don’t recognize this version of myself. “Habit of doing what?”

  He laughs softly to himself. “Nothing. So this is where I live.”

  “Do you like it here?”

  “Well, I rent this place from my family and it is easy, because they take care of Couscous and watch the apartment while I am gone. I tend to be abroad more than I am in this country. But I am saving for my own workplace and house. That is my great hope.”

  Lukas unlocks his front door. He doesn’t invite me in but I stick my head in anyway. It’s not a living room, like I’d expected, but rather a large photo studio and storage space, filled with reflective umbrellas, tripods, and light stands.

  “I’d love to see your work sometime,” I say.

  “Sure,” he answers, without any enthusiasm. He pulls on a chain hooked against the wall and an adult-size pink bicycle descends from a pulley on the ceiling.

  “That’s surprising,” I say. “I didn’t expect it to be up there.”

  “Space is costly here so we have to store a lot of things vertically. Like my washer and dryer.” He gestures at the two machines in the back corner, which are stacked one on top of the other. “Especially because we usually do not have any basements. The ground is too soft and wet. The entire country is below sea level.”