Searching for Sylvie Lee

by Jean Kwok

  “Buy a rose for beautiful lady?”

  I jumped, and we sprang apart, both gasping for air as if we’d run a marathon. It was the incompetent mime.

  “Tomorrow is Festival San Marco. Tradition is man gives woman he loves a rose,” the mime continued.

  “No!” Lukas barked, then we both burst out laughing as the mime held up his hands and left on exaggerated tiptoe.

  “Is he not supposed to stay silent?” Lukas growled.

  “‘Talking mime.’ That tells you enough.” I smoothed my hair with my fingers. They were still trembling. “We had better get back.”

  He reached out and helped me straighten my mask and clothing, and murmured into my hair, “Tell me before we go—Filip?”

  I pressed a final, gentle kiss to the back of his hand. “Only a game.”

  We tried to compose ourselves on the way, but when we reached the others, their glittering eyes and set mouths told us they were not fooled at all.

  I did not hear a note of that concert. I sat trembling, reliving every moment of our kiss while the ensemble in period costume played Vivaldi. Everyone had removed their masks and I knew my face was flushed, my eyes wild. Lukas sat beside me. I felt the heat emanating from him. I was aware of every flex of his arms, the tilt of his head, the way his fingers drummed on the armrest that separated us.

  As we were leaving, most of the audience put on their masks again. I assumed they were going on to other festivities. I was shrugging on my wrap in the doorway when I stopped, frozen by the sight of a blond man in a full-face bauta mask with a jutting chin and no mouth. The way he moved, the set of his shoulders, the line of his neck: it was Jim. I was sure of it. Our eyes met.

  What was he doing here? Was he spying on me? I began to squeeze through the crowd in his direction but he had turned away. Then a laughing group blocked my view, a woman in a tight black cocktail dress cackling.

  “Pardon me,” I said, pushing my way past a man in a red-and-white harlequin mask. “Please let me through, it is very important.”

  But Jim was already gone.

  I gasped as someone grabbed my wrist from behind and spun me around. It was Lukas.

  “What is wrong?” he asked.

  I let the crowd press me up against his hard chest. I rubbed my cheek against his shirt and said, “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

  His arm crept around my waist. “Your ex-husband?”

  I stiffened as I pulled away. My life was such a mess, and now I was jumping at shadows. Was what I felt for Lukas even real? “Actually, we are still married. Come on, it could not have been him.”

  On our way back to the hotel, Estelle and I walked ahead as the men lingered behind. Their voices drifted to us on the night breeze. They were arguing about the concert.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Estelle asked in a low voice. I stared at the ground and shook my head. She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It is okay, Sylvie. I am not upset.”

  I hooked my arm through hers and linked our fingers together. “You are too good to me. I do not deserve a friend like you.”

  She stopped and held our hands up like a trophy. “Men are delightful, but we will never let one come between our friendship.”

  I opened my mouth to respond but stopped when I heard raised voices behind us.

  “You are so arrogant,” Lukas said. “Everything has to be so artistic with you.”

  “The man was dressed in red brocade and a white wig. No self-respecting musician would wear that. Plus his phrasing was atrocious, pure melodrama. But you do not need to be pure, do you?” Filip’s voice was biting.

  They were approaching us now and I saw Lukas curl his lip. “What do you mean by that?”

  “How much commercial photography work have you done in the past year? And how much of your own?” Filip said. His eyes were small and mean in the lamplight, filled with bitterness.

  Lukas flexed his shoulder and said in a deceptively soft voice, “Some of us need to make a living.”

  “While entertaining our lovely cousins. You should stay the hell away from her.”

  They had both stopped and now faced each other, bodies tense, their hands clenched.

  Lukas’s nostrils flared. His voice was low and intense. “You have no right to tell me what to do. You can better take your own advice. I know what is going on here.”

  Filip gave a harsh laugh. “Oh, really? You understand the situation so well, do you? Such a clever boy.”

  They sprang toward each other as Estelle and I rushed toward them. They were grappling, swinging, kicking. Filip pushed Lukas up against the pole of a streetlamp. Lukas scrambled to his feet and shoved him back. Filip fell on the sidewalk and hit his temple. By now, Estelle and I stood between them.

  “Stop,” Estelle cried, tears in her eyes. She helped Filip to his feet. “You will both have regret for this tomorrow.”

  I already did. What had I done to our group of friends? The two men straightened and, without a word, Filip turned on his heel and walked back toward the center while Lukas stalked off in the direction of our hotel.

  Estelle and I did not speak after that and I made my way to my hotel room, alone.

  Despite my fears and worries, I hoped Lukas would come to me that night. Was he sorry for what we had done? Had it been an impulse of the moment? Should I go to him? Perhaps he was not alone. Maybe I would not be welcome.

  When I had felt his hand underneath the table—indeed, when I let Estelle and Filip leave—I understood there was no choice to be made. It had always been Lukas, from the beginning. Filip was sexy and delightful company, but it was nothing more than a flirtation, a way to pass the time, to keep our demons at bay. But now the doubts crept in about Lukas as well. Was I merely feeling weak and unbalanced and Lukas was here? I had never felt so connected to anyone, not even Jim. Maybe Helena was right about me: maybe I was only a taker, using people. Perhaps I should not have given in to my rash desire. Now I had wounded the people I loved.

  I lay awake for hours, still hoping for a knock on my door. But this lonely night in Venice, it never came.

  When I finally slept, I dreamed that death was near, like a great wind carrying my beloved Grandma away from me. Then Grandma turned into Amy and Ma and Estelle and Filip and Lukas, their faces shifting from one to the other. They were in an abyss, crying out my name. I was afraid of the storm and then I was the storm itself, destroying all that touched my periphery—Jim, sitting in his office, menacing, violent, jealous, a mean drunk; the faces of my former colleagues; professors who had believed in me. A stack of unpaid bills toppling, the look on Amy’s face when she too realized I had failed.

  When I cracked open my door the next morning, I found a perfect red rosebud, half-open, caught right at the moment of blooming. He had not forgotten me after all. I brought it inside the room and cradled it in my hands. The scent was sweet, intoxicating.

  I was already packed to check out, so I pressed the rosebud carefully between the pages of a notebook and slid it into my handbag with a little prayer. I cannot afford to nourish you, but may you survive regardless.

  I was the only one of our group on the restaurant terrace. I leaned out over the water, thinking of the anger and disappointment of the previous night, wondering if I had ruined all of our friendships for good. I heard a click and there were Lukas and Estelle. They stood a few meters away from me—Lukas and his photography again. I had been swallowed by the lens of his camera the entire trip.

  “You look so sad.” He seemed tired and his T-shirt was wrinkled, but my heart still leaped at the sight of him.

  “More people drown in the glass than in the sea,” said Estelle, rubbing her temples. She wore her sunglasses on top of her head and the lines around her eyes seemed deeper this morning.

  “Did you drink last night?” I asked.

  “We had a few before going to bed,” said Lukas.

  I pinched my lips together. I tried not to feel left out and failed. So he had
been with Estelle instead of me. Had they talked about me? Had Filip been there too? Was that why I had been left alone? So much for the new Sylvie.

  Lukas saw what was written on my face and came to stand beside me. His voice was gentle. “You should have joined us.”

  I gave a little airy laugh. “You guys are a bad influence. Those who associate with dogs get fleas.”

  I was not fooling anyone. Breakfast was quiet and Filip did not come at all. He met us after we had checked out. His face was closed, an angry scrape on his cheekbone below his dark sunglasses. When I touched him on the elbow, he shrugged my hand away.

  Piazza San Marco was packed with people waving the Venetian flag in celebration of Liberation Day and Festa di San Marco. Men and women worked the crowd selling single roses to couples and lovers. Estelle and I chattered about meaningless things. The guys did not exchange a single word.

  I sat in the water taxi, speeding toward Marco Polo Airport, and breathed in the salty air as the sun shone relentlessly upon the turbulent waves. Venice was hauntingly beautiful. I would never forget the images of the limpid canals and sparkling sunshine during the day, the labyrinthine alleys at night, redolent of passion and secrecy, flickers of bright gold against absolute black. Small details returned to me: the ice that came in a separate little bowl when you ordered a soft drink, signs forbidding gondolas from certain waterways, the way Lukas’s lips had felt against mine. I watched as the magic of Venice faded behind us, and wondered when I would come back and if I would return with him.

  Chapter 22

  Amy

  Saturday, May 14

  The rest of the week crawls by, the spring sunlight slowly turning into wind and rain, until it is finally Saturday and Epsilon can do a full search. It has been two weeks since anyone has seen or heard from Sylvie and I am a quivering wreck, worn thin by despair. Every morning, I wake certain that Sylvie’s safe and I imagined the whole thing. Ma and Pa sound more helpless each time I speak to them. I want to go home to New York but I won’t leave without Sylvie. I have a faint spark of hope that she’s run off. But deep inside, I know something has happened to her. I am beginning to realize we might never find out the truth. It’s like the Sylvie I knew has slowly spiraled away from us, out of sight and hearing and memory—the center of our little domestic world unraveling with the vacuum of her absence.

  I hardly see Lukas, Helena, and Willem, but when I do, the strain of Sylvie’s fate reveals itself in the slow, careful way we maintain our distance from each other. No one wants to dig too deep, reveal too much. The police have no news. I found out from Helena that Sylvie had been taking cello lessons in the Brouwersgracht in Amsterdam, the area where I’d seen the houseboats. She gave me the likeliest route Sylvie would have driven with her rental car.

  Filip finally returned my many texts with a suggestion that we get together but now I am too distressed to be distracted by a crush. Karin told me they’ve already gone over the main areas with their dogs and will start their intensive search this weekend.

  I had phoned Karin yesterday to share the information about the music lessons, and asked if I could accompany her team today.

  She hesitated. “We do not usually allow family members.”

  Two weeks ago, I would have apologized and hung up the phone. But everything was different now. “Why is that?”

  “Because if we succeed in our search, it can be . . . upsetting.”

  The pit of my stomach dropped away. I tried to speak but had difficulty swallowing. I’d forced myself to face this possibility yet could barely utter the words. “You mean if you find a body.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was quiet and compassionate.

  “I know that Sylvie might be dead.” Was that my voice? It shook so badly, I wondered if she could understand me—just saying it made me want to burst into tears—but we still didn’t know anything yet. I would keep my hope alive until the very end. I tried to still my trembling by wrapping my free arm around myself. “I understand the situation. It’s just that I might think of something during the search that could help. I’d like to be there. None of us can predict how we’ll react in a bad situation, but I promise I’ll do my best not to become hysterical. Please. I need to do everything I can to help you find my sister.”

  After a moment, she said, “All right. One of our divers is coming along too, which is unusual at this stage. They do not usually join until the dogs have found something. Since he is willing to help, I can give another member of my crew the day off.”

  I had a suspicion. “Anyone I know?” Would he come?

  “His name is Filip. I believe he is a friend of yours.” My fear for Sylvie had burned away my desire, but I was still glad he cared enough to come. I’d at least have someone I trust there with me.

  Now I know why Dutch painters were obsessed with the sky. Stretched above the flat landscape, the morning boils and eddies, the roiling clouds battling a single sharp patch of obstinate sunlight. Filip’s eyes are bright against the gray water as he stretches out his arm to help me onto their floating rigid boat. His hand is warm and strong. I’m glad to have him with us. Karin holds on to the leashes of the dogs Ajax and Feyenoord, who are eagerly perched on the hull. I feel the craft sway as it adjusts to my weight and then we push off from the pier. I feel I am leaving all I have known behind.

  Both Filip and Karin wear high-visibility one-piece waterproof coveralls, though I catch a glimpse of a black diving suit beneath Filip’s. He settles down behind the wheel, where a sonar screen is bleeping, as I take a seat in the middle of the boat. I pull on the life vest Karin hands to me. They’ve picked me up close to the café I visited with Lukas and Estelle what seems an eternity ago, and we’re heading toward Amsterdam alongside the roads Sylvie would have taken to her music lessons. Ajax and Feyenoord wag their tails, antsy and impatient, at the front of the boat.

  I huddle in my seat, chewing my nails to the quick. “How can the dogs smell anything in this? The police seemed to think that there’d be no scent trail with a car. Is that why you use two dogs?”

  Karin is busy checking some piece of equipment against her map, so Filip answers me. “Ajax is the lead dog. The little one is in training. We are not actually trying to track her scent. We are checking to see if she has gone into the water.”

  For a moment, I’m confused. If she were in the water, wouldn’t we see the boat? Then I understand and feel like there’s a thick woolen blanket smothering me. “You mean if she’s drowned.” This is a dream, a nightmare. This can’t be true. My beautiful sister, where are you? This strange country, this landscape of water in the air, water in the sky, and water beneath our feet. We sail past once-vibrant flower fields now fading, their sagging blooms pulled back toward the earth.

  He nods and there’s genuine grief in his eyes. He seems older today, the lines on his face etching his distress at accompanying me on such a dark day. He reaches out to give me a quick pat on the arm. “It does not mean she has done so. Just to rule it out. Human remains emit specific gases for a long time that rise to the surface. The dogs are trained to zero in on that scent. If they find something, they will jump in, but there can often be false alarms, which is why we have all this other equipment on board.”

  Karin finishes fiddling with her gear and joins our conversation. “Then we search with sonar and if there is enough reason to believe it would be worthwhile, the diving team is called in, though we are lucky to have our own diver here today.”

  I scratch at a small cut on my hand until a droplet of blood oozes onto my skin. My heart beats so quickly I can hardly breathe. How can we be having this discussion about Sylvie? “I thought—I thought bodies floated to the surface.”

  Karin answers, “It depends on the time of year. Yes, if it has been warm, the chances of a body being washed ashore are greater, or that a fisherman would find it. But if it is a cold spring, like it has been this year, a body could never be found. It can be underwater, eaten by fishes, stuck in a hole or a c
ave.”

  I bury my head in my hands. This is all too much. I refuse to believe this could be true. Please, please, please, let this not have happened to my Sylvie. I feel a comforting arm around my shoulders and realize Filip’s now sitting beside me.

  I cling to him, trying not to cry, until I hear him whisper in my ear, “I know this is difficult. But Karin has that look on her face. You need to pull it together or she will remove you from the boat.”

  This wakes me up. I take deep breaths and wipe my face. I sit up and indeed, Karin is assessing me with her sharp eyes. “I’m all right. It just got to me for a moment.” I try to think of something to say to distract her. I gesture to the expanse around us as a relentless drizzle begins to fall from the sky, soaking us. “The area is huge. How can you ever search it all?”

  Filip pulls up his hood and says, “We try to proceed very logically. If it was suicide—”

  “Sylvie would never kill herself,” I interrupt. I know my sister. She would never give up. So talented, so dazzling. Never.

  “Okay, but to explore all the possibilities for a moment. Most people choose a spot where they liked to go. A place they went fishing, for example, or close to their family home, or a spot they met their lover. One man drowned himself near a fish stand where he always went with his son.”

  I say in a small voice, “I was hoping you were trying to catch her scent from the trees or something, that she would be lost in the forest.” I was so naive.

  Karin crosses over to kneel before me. Her weathered face is kind. She takes both my hands in hers. “We went through the area on land yesterday and came up empty. That is why we are searching the water today. If we do not find anything, we will look there again. Most of the time, Amy, if we succeed, then people can move on. Sometimes that is all we can offer.”