by Leigh Lyn
“What if his spirit is still here?”
I didn’t know why I said this all of a sudden. Tipsy in a drowsy way, I nudged back on the same daybed I was sitting on now and just lay there feeling content. Frances had stopped talking and crawled onto the daybed too. Lying close to her, I was listening to the silence when I felt hot breath on my face and opened my eyes. Frances’s blurred face broke into my view. In no time, she’d lowered it. Placing her lips over mine, she slid her slippery tongue into my mouth. It tasted of wine. I was paralyzed by the overwhelming strangeness of it all. Then the face I saw on the plane flashed in front of my eyes. In a matter of milliseconds, my throat closed up, and my body went stiff with fear. Petrified, I stayed still. The next thing I knew, Frances had pulled back, asking, “Are you okay?”
I nodded as she rolled onto her side. She straightened her tube-top, refilled our glasses and continued talking as if nothing had happened. I, on the other hand, had felt mortified. After this incident, Frances’s attitude flipped like a coin, going from passionate to sisterly. Her complete lack of awkwardness compensated for my thin skin over time, and we became friends.
Although the pipe curls crowning her head were light-brown rather than strawberry-blonde, she reminded me of Tineke, my first friend who lived at the end of our back alley in Haarlem. I asked Frances about her Dutch name, and she told me with considerable pride that her great-great-grandfather on her mother’s side was part of a Dutch convoy whose mission was to find a short-cut to China but ended up in North America by mistake. So, when I told her I’d lived in Haarlem and that my dad told me how, like my brothers and me, a Dutch girl and her two brothers had left their hometown to venture across the ocean to New Amsterdam, Frances laughed. “It seems we were destined to meet.”
“Ben?” I shouted and listened for his reply amidst the sound of trickling water, magnified by the mysterious tranquility of the empty apartment. The sudden, unfamiliar ring of a phone interrupted the serenity of the space. Maybe it was the immensity of the room that changed the response of my body or perhaps I had gotten up too quickly, but my legs were shaking as I looked for the source of the noise. Spotting an antiquated ivory set on the counter of the open kitchen, I picked up its receiver.
“Hello, Lin speaking.” My voice sounded squeaky in the huge space.
On the other side, someone was holding their breath; someone whose silence had a creepy hostility about it.
“Hello?” I repeated.
“Welcome to New York, Lin,” a man said.
At first, I couldn’t quite place the Beijing accent; the strong, confident voice.
“Who’s this, if I may ask?” In my mind, I ran through the shortlist of people I knew from Beijing.
“Don’t you remember the thugs from China, haha?”
“Sam?” I should have guessed earlier.
“How are you, Lemon? Ben told me you forgot about the trip.”
“Honest to God, I still don't remember saying I’d come, but here I am. Shall I get Ben for you?”
“Nah, I’ll call his cell later. About the package, are you free to meet tomorrow or the day after that?”
“Oh.” I was surprised, but I could do with the company since Ben and Frances would be busy with the last arrangements for the show. “Yes, I’m free.”
“Good. I’ll let you know where. How was your trip?”
“Rough. Where are you and Yuxi staying?”
“I’m at a boutique hotel a few blocks away from you. Yuxi is not coming until the day before the show, but he’ll be staying with me the first night and then move into your apartment after you guys leave.”
“The two of you should come over for drinks. Yuxi’ll love the apartment.”
“We’ll come after you’ve dealt with the guests.”
“Guests?”
It took a while to dawn on me what Sam was saying. I looked around me at the vast emptiness of space in which the echo of dripping water seemed eerie all of a sudden.
“Did you stay in this apartment before?” I asked.
“I stayed there for half a year the first time I came to New York for the residency.”
“And you saw guests?”
“I was joking.” He cackled his throaty laugh. “Don’t worry about it, beautiful Lin.”
Chapter 31
“Who were you talking to?” Ben asked, looking delectable in a towel when I walked up the cantilevered steps a minute later.
“Sam.”
“Why, has the phone been reconnected already?” Ben asked.
My stomach hardened as I glanced over my shoulder.
“Don’t scare me, Ben!” I squealed. “Sam told me we’ve guests here.”
“You’re not scared that fast,” Ben laughed, pinning me against the wall as I reached the top tread. His were the softest lips, dapping my face with marshmallow kisses. He lifted me up till our faces were level and I wrapped my legs around his hips and leaned into the sweetness while locking my fingers behind his neck. As our bodies melted into each other, a shadow passed across my closed, red eyelids. Startled, I glanced around the room, my eyes swept over the long horizontal mirror above the boudoir. My body stiffened when I saw them standing in their separate corner.
I blinked and looked at the dark silhouettes again and, all of a sudden, I saw myself watching my reflection in a tall narrow mirror hanging above a desk. It was dark except for the flickering light of a lamp behind me. My eyes dilated as I became aware of the thing throbbing in the burrow of my bent fingers. I dared not look and gazed at my small face framed by short braids. I sensed someone standing close to me but couldn’t see his outline from the corner of my eye. Paralyzed by fear I couldn’t even turn my head. Behind me, I heard someone spawn angry words like cannonballs of fury. Their meaning eluded me as I stayed transfixed on the unblinking eyes of the little girl.
Although it was hard to tell how much time had passed when the person next to me stepped back, it seemed to take forever. As soon as my hand was freed the little girl dashed out of the room. At once, I regained control over my muscles and gasped for air.
“What’s wrong?” Ben loosened his grip.
“Nothing,” I stammered.
Ben’s eyes followed the path of mine, but the mezzanine was empty except for the two of us. “What did you see?” Ben asked, as I tried to control my shaking. He carried me to the bed and put me down on it. “Talk to me, babe.”
“It’s nothing,” I said. “Just a dream.”
“In broad daylight?” Ben sat down. “How much longer are you going to keep things from me?”
Had he known it all along?
“I don’t care what it is, but we’re staying here until you tell me what’s going on,” he added.
Flustered, I pulled my legs up to my chin and lowered my face between my knees, hiding from Ben’s gaze. Had that been a hallucination or a flashback? I looked up and saw Ben staring at me with unfaltering eyes.
Averting my eyes, I clutched my knees tighter and said, “I saw someone… Someone other than you and me, but it wasn’t a real person.”
He hesitated. “You mean you saw a ghost?”
I shook my head.
“Talk to me,” Ben said, impatiently.
“I don’t know; it looked and felt as real as you in front of me now.”
Ben leaned back, his eyes grave and thoughtful. “What else did you see?”
“I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed, but I heard them argue.”
“There was more than one?” He rubbed his forehead while squeezing his eyes shut.
“I don’t know, it must be the jetlag. I’m so tired, and just now Sam suggested there are ghosts here.”
Ben’s eyes widened. “Sam makes a joke, and straightaway you see them while we’re at it?”
He laughed.
“It’s not funny. There was this thing throbbing in my hand, and I couldn’t move.”
Ben’s face softened as he wrapped his arm around me and kissed me on the forehea
d. “It’s okay. Your imagination is in overdrive. I’m not trying to push you, but maybe you should switch genres, darling. Have a go at romantic comedy, you know?”
The fear I would lose Ben if I didn’t come clean and close the gap between us sent my head spinning, and I huddled closer to him. “You know I used to see a counselor, don’t you?”
“Yes, you said he prescribed you meds for stress. What about it?”
I told Ben about the memoir. “I want to clear out the clutter; do some spring cleaning up here.” I drew a virtual cloud around my head.
Ben blinked before he asked, “What did Dr. Wen say?”
“He said I shouldn’t. He said the mind becomes pathological when it reflects upon itself as pathological… Like a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“I don’t care for what that Freud or any of those dudes say. They mess with people’s minds.”
“Wait, when writing, it occurred to me that certain things, certain events in my life, were off. There were the little clues that told me it was not all just in my—”
“Babe?” Ben stopped me in the middle of the sentence and squinted his eyes. “Have you been taking your pills?”
I blushed. “The time difference and jetlag, it’s—”
Ben interrupted me. “The truth, Lin, yes or no?”
I shook my head.
“Where is your medicine?”
I glanced at my purse on the sofa down below. Without another word, Ben descended the stairs. He returned a minute later. Holding a glass of water, he dropped my purse on my lap. “Listen, babe. I’m guessing it’s the stress and the brainstorming on your plot, but from now on I’ll remind you of these babies, pronto, every day.”
“But Ben—”
“Lin, do this for me, okay?”
In a demure gray suit, Ben was ready to leave for the gallery when I woke up. With a solemn face, he passed me a glass of water and held out his open hand from which the yellow and white little devils grinned at me. He had assigned himself as my personal pill-cop, saying, “Just take them. I don’t want to lose you.”
Sweet, but it was me, not him, who was losing me. For whatever sense it made, I was doing this so as not to lose him.
“Why are you leaving so early?” I asked, rinsing the pills down with another swig of water.
“I have so many things to do before the opening. It’s not funny, but I want to see you take your meds before I go.”
He knew me so well. I loved him although I doubted I could bask securely in his blissful care.
“I would have anyway.”
“Something about the way you’ve been acting makes me doubt it, babe!”
I was pleased to see him care. It was more than I could say about Simon. But after Ben left, I put two fingers down my throat until I gagged and spit the pills in the incinerator. I put on Amy Winehouse and ran a hot bath to soak the fatigue out of my bones. Slowly, my weariness evaporated with the hazy steam as I topped up the lukewarm water until the tank was empty. All toasty and smelling of Ben’s Old Spice soap, I took my laptop and wandered downstairs in his thick bathrobe. I sat in the tall arched window, dangling my legs on the sun-heated fire escape with a baby-blue sky above.
Six floors below, youngsters in hoodies, elders with canes and tourists with backpacks crossed paths with New Yorkers hurrying to their offices and other destinations of productivity. Looking more closely, I saw a shady individual on the lookout while his friend purchased substances in a dark doorway.
Behind me, the shadow I cast upon the apartment floor had shrunken to a mere black rim. The music had ended, and I climbed back inside to put something else on.
An eerie silence hung in the room. Feeling uncomfortable, I checked the corners of the room. Something was strangely unsettling about the space; something which took me a while to figure out. Something was unmistakably off. I went outside to affirm my hunch. Indeed, the space inside was a good four feet narrower than the length of the external wall as seen from the fire-escape. How could space disappear?
Intrigued, I scanned the brick wall inch by inch for a lever, a button, or anything that could be pulled or pressed. After moving from one corner of the huge space to the other, I checked the same at the mezzanine level without much luck. With clammy hands, I walked into the bathroom where a five-feet-wide mirror was set into the brick wall. I pushed and pulled at the frame. Nothing. Then I pushed it sideways and, as smooth as oil, it slid back. I was looking at a shallow empty storage space.
My fingers traced the wall panels of the storage. I knocked on the sides. They sounded hollow. Again, I pushed and pulled, looking for hinges, handles, screws, and other ways to dismantle the panel. I pressed along its edge, spot by spot until I got to the upper left corner. I pressed and, with the softest click, the panel sprang forward.
With a racing heart, I swung the panel further open and peeked into a narrow, dim space. Light seeped in from tiny holes between the bricks, which had not been mortared properly. It was still dark though. I ran downstairs to get my cell. The light of the torch app allowed me to see two, three feet ahead, and I ventured into the damp space. It smelled of rotten apple cores. The outside wall was padded with thin thermal insulation, reducing the space by half a foot. If this was a cavity wall built to improve insulation, then why did the designer allow for four feet when six inches were enough?
Barely able to see my outstretched hands, I proceeded into the dark void, displacing putrid black air. The layer of dust on the floor was so thick I must have been the first person to enter the space in decades. I had walked a good twenty, twenty-five steps when something hard hit my shin. Shining down with my torch, I saw wooden treads leading up. Carefully trying each plank before I put my weight on them, I climbed up the stairs until I was close to the ceiling, where I found an access panel. I pushed. It gave a fraction of an inch. Moving one step up to brace myself better, I pushed with all my might to no avail.
Determined not to let this be the end of it, I lay down on my back against the top steps and raised my straightened legs until the soles of my feet were touching the ceiling panel. I bent my knees and, like a spring, straightened my legs and raised my hips at the same time while harnessing my force. With a reticent bang, the panel flew open, causing a milky cloud of dust.
I considered calling Frances but, too curious to wait, I stole a peek so I could tell her what was up there. I hoisted myself through the access latch. I found myself in a grubby, old attic where ghostly light streamed in from a row of round windows. Windows I had not noticed in the building’s exterior. The wooden floor was covered with an inch of dust and packed with old furniture and suitcases. In a rocking chair, a teddy bear, or what was left of it by moths, stared at me. A mannequin fitted with a half-eaten gown stood in front of an oxidized mirror. Paintings and photographs of bearded men and hatted ladies from other eras leaned against the sides. Walking up to a wooden cabinet, I pulled a brass handle at its front panel. My pulse quickened when the panel gave way, swinging forward to become a writing top.
A bottle of dried ink stood next to a thin tray with a steel nib pen; an oxidized photo frame showed a yellowed photo of a young woman in a long, prim dress holding a baby in a lace chiffon gown. There were two drawers. I tried to open the one with a keyhole, but it was locked. In the other drawer, I found a picture postcard of a castle addressed to a woman called Mary, a little jewelry box, and a notebook. Curious, I opened the notebook. It was a diary. Excited by how old it must be, I wiped the dust off a little chest and sat down to read.
The entries were far apart, yet frequent enough to make out what had happened. Mary arrived from Ireland by herself. She had no one until she met her husband, who was seldom home. A child was born before the year was over, after which her entries were made further apart until they stopped altogether on the thirty-first of October 1897. The air in the attic felt poignant, weighed down by the obtuse meaning life assumed. I picked up the photo of her and the baby. Its eyes were shaded by a chiffon cap.
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An icy breeze whiffed through the attic. Suddenly, it occurred to me someone was with me here in the attic, and a jolt went through my body. Had I unleashed Mary’s spirit by prying into her diary and reading her thoughts? Or was it my imagination that revived her legacy? Abruptly, I wheeled around and gasped. I was staring at an oak armoire, behind which I would have sworn I spotted someone spying on me from the corner of my eye. With a bang, I slammed the desk closed and made my way back to the dusty stairs, ran through the dark cavity, back into the empty wardrobe and out again. I slid the large mirror into its original place and braced myself against it. Sweat was dripping down my face as I realized the notebook was still in my hands. I went downstairs and put it in the back of an empty kitchen drawer. What I had seen in that moment of pristine clarity chilled me to the bone. Dazed, I grabbed my things and fled.
Chapter 32
With Sam’s package and my laptop in my bag, I tumbled down the wrought-iron fire escape three steps at a time until I reached the ground. I’d always fancied escaping, but nothing like this. I leaned against a wall and took a few seconds to control my wheezing breath.
“Waya runnin’ from, girl?” a capped and hooded boy asked. Looking not much older than Mimi and Maxy at a little over five foot, his demeanor was intimidating. Not the least because he was standing amidst a group of older and larger kids in front of a dim bar. The lights were off, but the door was open, and I could see dark figures at the back, hogging together in a dark booth.
