by Hannah Bent
The dark forse was a man called deth. He had no eyes to see and no fase to be toched. He held a glass world in his hand, it was moving rond and rond and rond. He told the lady her time was runing out. And then she culd feel a drumming thumping drumming all the way from her roots, up her trunk and to the sky. In this moment she relised how brave she was for she was not scard of deth. But she new she needed to protect her hart, before he took it for himself.
Marlowe
I yearned for the night. It was like a cave I longed to crawl into. Sleep had become elusive – hard for me to catch, hard for me to hold. I sat at the edge of my bed, facing the window, watching the warm lights in the apartment blocks outside flicker on and off. The quiet, the absolute quiet, sank deep into the pit of my belly and rooted me to the earth. I became aware of my body, slow and pregnant with guilt, and I was too tired to run from it, too tired to halt my unravelling.
Am I going mad?
In the early hours of the morning, I took a notepad and pen and tried to doodle my way out of insomnia.
I found myself writing the word ‘Help’ over and over.
Harper
I am homesick and I miss my Louis, Dad and Wài Pó. I know I cannot ask Marlowe anymore about going to Zhōngshān Park because she is very upset about it. But I am not angry with her now. I think I am just sorry. When I look at her, she looks sad, so sad. I feel her hurt inside of me, so deep, right down past my feet to the bottom of the earth and to the middle of all things in this universe. This makes me feel like maybe I should just do what she wants. Maybe I should just have the transplant thing and take the new heart. Maybe then her pain will go away.
I sit on Bì Yù’s couch with her Hello Kitty cushions and her warm pink blanket, watching Marlowe. She has been by the phone, or moving back and forth, back and forth, across the living room. She says she is waiting for an important call but I don’t know who this call is supposed to be from.
Bì Yù comes home from work early, smelling like coffee. She said she went to work this morning, but I notice she is not wearing the smart clothes she normally wears with her red coat. She is still in her tracksuit. I have a feeling there is something going on with her too because she seems a bit quiet and her eyes are still, like she is trying to figure something out in her brain.
Bì Yù and Marlowe talk quietly for a while in the corner of the room. Their words are hissing at each other.
‘He’s not answering my calls… I’m going to the Red Lantern.’
‘Wait. We need to talk. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I’m just not sure I’m okay with this anymore, Marlowe…’
‘Enough already!’ Marlowe storms out of the living room and goes to get her coat.
Bì Yù starts burning joss. The smell is hot in my throat like chilli paste. I think of Wài Pó; she sometimes burns joss too. I close my eyes like she taught me to do for meditation, and I listen to my very own humming. It sounds like a loud whoosh and a thud.
A whoosh and a thud.
And then the whoosh comes without the thud and the inside of my body feels like I am falling. It is quiet, I think. Then my thud returns and I feel a small prickle in the tops of my fingers and toes.
How long before my sound runs out?
My face is hot and my stomach heavy. My eyes feel like they are going to leak tears. Right now, more than ever, Marlowe really doesn’t like tears. So I swallow, pick up a magazine and stare at the face of a serious-looking man on the cover. He looks back at me with eyes that are hard like stones. I wonder if Marlowe wants to get me a heart from him.
She storms back into the living room with a tight face full of frowning.
‘Harper.’
I notice some of her hairs are thick together in what looks like a bird’s nest and she is wearing the same clothes from yesterday. This means she is losing care for her physical appearance. Wài Pó says this happens when your mind is too full and your spirit is thin and flat.
‘Why is the suitcase packed again?’ She stares at me. The air comes out of her mouth in a huff.
The sounds of my body move quickly and I lose my breath.
‘I told you I want to go home.’ Even though I am saying this, I do not think I would leave Marlowe anymore. Her spirit feels shaky. She needs me now. But I want her to know that I can go home without her if I really want to.
‘Home?’ She looks at me as if she has never heard this word before. ‘We’ve already been through this, Harper. I thought we’d moved on.’ Her voice is sharp and her tongue is quick. She is so full of anger these days. She grinds her teeth; I hear it like the sound of Wài Pó grating white radish for turnip cake. ‘Do you really not care about getting better?’
‘I know you care and I also care about you, but I… I… just…’ I look away.
From the corner of my eye I see her walking towards me; her body is softer now.
‘All this is for your own good. You’ll have your transplant soon and then you’ll be better again.’
‘So you want me to go back to that hospital to have a transplant?’
‘Yes. I’m going to go and try to sort it all out so that you can.’
I am pleased that she has finally told me the truth, but that hospital scares me. I think to myself about how I didn’t book a flight because I was hoping Marlowe would do it for me. I was hoping one day she would see my feelings and the way she is hurting my spirit. But now I know her spirit is hurting too and I am the one who can fix it with a transplant thing.
Bì Yù walks into the living room. Her eyes are large and still, like marbles. ‘Marlowe please, we need to talk. I just can’t let this go. It’s really been bothering me how so many organs can be available on demand. Did you read the articles Uncle Johnny sent about the other executions?’
Marlowe spun around. ‘You read my mail?’
Bì Yù’s eyes go sideways again. ‘That’s not the point. The thing is it might not just be criminals who are being executed. If it’s people from labour camps, they could be political prisoners, Uighurs, unregistered Protestants and Catholics, Tibetan Buddhists, Falun Gong practitioners…’
‘Am I the only one who cares enough to save Harper’s life?’ Marlowe’s voice is low and sizzling. ‘If she doesn’t get this transplant, what do you think is going to happen?’
This again. Everyone is always talking to each other about saving my life without talking to me.
‘If you go through with this, you’ll regret it,’ Bì Yù says. ‘Please, Marlowe, you have to believe me – I’ve only got your best interests at heart.’
‘ENOUGH!’
Marlowe slams her fist on the table. It makes my plum heart thump and my skin prickle. She has never made this sound of anger before. Her noise gets into me through my ears and races over my body. I throw my pen and writing book to the floor and quickly put my hands over my ears. I shut my eyes and mouth but it is too late. The sound in my body is taking over. The thumping is now in my vines and roots and it is like a gong going louder and faster. My skin hurts and I am sure the sound is going to burst out of me with all of my plum blood spilling everywhere.
‘QUIET!’ I scream and lie on the floor.
My insides understand the quiet.
My outsides understand the quiet.
The world is still.
I open one eye only. Bì Yù is next to me, her eyes and her mouth wide open. I turn my head. Marlowe is on the other side. Her eyes are wide open too but her mouth is moving.
‘Harper, are you all right? Talk to me. Do you have pain in your chest?’ Her sound is soft because my hands are still covering my ears.
‘Marlowe has never made a fist noise before,’ I say. Then I close my eyes. The world is breathing with me and the ground is flat under me.
Time is slow now. I open my eyes. Bì Yù is still there but Marlowe is gone. She is by the door, buttoning her coat. I stand up. She sees me then turns her head in a quick way.
‘I’m going for a walk.’
I look
out of the window.
‘You must not go. There are grey Shanghai clouds outside the window which means that soon they will burst open and make you wet.’
But Marlowe doesn’t care. Her coat swallows her up and she shuts the door to Bì Yù’s apartment behind her. It is loud, like all of Marlowe’s thoughts have been left inside for us to hear.
Bì Yù looks at me. ‘Harper, would you like me to make you a longan and red date tea?’
The red date is good for the red blood, so I say yes and I wait – not for the tea, but for the loud to go.
The kettle is singing, then screaming and whooshing at high speed. I put my hands over my ears for this part. Again, the noise gets inside my ears and inside my head. It itches and burns and I squeeze my teeth tight and cross my legs and my toes so that no noise can get in.
‘Harper.’
One hand is on my shoulder, the other has my tea. I see steam rising from the cup under her face. I let my hands drop from my ears and take a sip of tea. It is sweet and deep.
‘Thank you.’
She smiles but I see that her eyes are not smiling; they are small and watery.
‘You’re welcome.’ She kisses me on the cheek and I catch a whiff of her perfume. It is like pretend roses, the same smell as the pink lotion on her bedside table. I think to myself that she should come and smell some real roses in Dad’s garden.
The air is calm now, so I take out my writing book and I make an entry.
Februrary I don’t know what day anymore in the yeer 2000 The hart is a musle inside your chest. There is only one for each of us. Only one each.
And now I must put my pen down, because all of a sudden, I feel sadness in my throat. I cough to get it out but it just grows bigger and starts to feel hot. My face is getting tighter and it is rising rising rising to my eyes until water escapes in a big way, running all over my cheeks. Luckily, Marlowe is not here to see.
Marlowe
I had spent a day with my stomach in my mouth, waiting for Mr Zhāng to call. When he never did, I took a cab to the Red Lantern Hotel in search of him. Bì Yù should have been with me, translating, but she refused to come. Why did my family abandon me whenever I needed them most? I was tired of people letting me down. I wasn’t going to let the broker be one of them.
In the hotel lobby I asked the receptionist to call Mr Zhāng in room 1109.
She told me he had already checked out.
It took a moment for her words to register, but when they did, I ran to the toilets and vomited. I thought of everything I had done to get to this point. I’d paid him all the money Mum left me, I’d dragged my gravely ill sister all the way to Shanghai and I’d lied to my family. The possibility that it was all for nothing, that Harper might not get her transplant after all, made my insides turn cold.
Overwhelmed by sadness, I left the hotel and got into a cab at the rank outside. But instead of giving the driver the address of Bì Yù’s apartment, I asked to be dropped at Zhōngshān Park.
I followed a path through the park, raising my head to admire a wide pink arch made by the branches of plum blossom trees.
This is Harper’s special place and I refused to bring her here.
I sat on a bench and studied the closest tree. She would spend hours in this park when she was small. It was always her favourite place in Shanghai. I recalled the many childhood holidays spent in Shanghai and the family picnics we had in this park, Harper sitting under these trees, singing to herself.
And I have refused to bring her here.
How consumed by the past I had become. My memories were like beads on Harper’s necklace. Sometimes, they caught the light and shone. Sometimes they fell, broke, and I would have to pick up the pieces.
In front of me, a young couple walked hand in hand. He moved his arm to wrap it around her waist and nuzzled her cheek. She smiled, her face glowing. His lips hovered over hers, teasing for a kiss. She laughed and leaned in. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. The sight of them made me ache.
Beads of memory twinkled. One fell, and I was back in London, with Olly.
Fairy lights pulsed red and green. We were at a Christmas party in a Holborn share house. It was late, music throbbed, the spiced scent of mulled wine lingered. We were standing in the middle of the room, a throng of sweating bodies writhing around us to the beat of the music.
Olly took my hand. His body swayed to the music and mine followed, guided by his. Dancing became easy this way.
After a while the music changed to something slower, softer. I could feel myself turning red. I can’t do this. I don’t know how.
He drew me close.
‘Don’t think so much,’ he whispered.
I closed my eyes and let the weight of my body sink into his. For a while we moved together and I realised I was no longer thinking about how to dance.
We felt so natural together, easy and tender. Was this love? Was this what my parents had felt? Was this what Harper felt with Louis?
I had never felt this way before. Never wanted to.
‘Marlowe.’ Olly was smiling in a lopsided kind of way; it made me dizzy. Our eyes locked. I wanted to look away but I couldn’t.
‘I love you.’
Before his words registered, I felt his lips flutter over mine.
Wait. Be careful.
It was as though the floor was shifting beneath my feet.
‘I’m so lucky,’ he murmured. He ran his fingertips over my cheek, brushing the hair away from my face. ‘I really love you.’
I froze as the words hit me. A current ran through me, sharp and icy. I bolted from the living room, down the hall and through the front door, out into the cold. Frigid air assaulted my lungs with each gasping breath. I sat on the steps with my head between my legs.
It didn’t make sense. I recounted the seconds, minutes and hours I had spent with Olly, wanting to tell him I loved him but was unable to. Perhaps it was cowardice, perhaps it was fear – although I had no idea what I was afraid of. And now that he had told me he loved me, it was the perfect time for me to say it back. Yet I hadn’t… couldn’t.
The front door opened and then Olly was sitting beside me on the step.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.’
‘It’s my fault.’ Although I knew this much, I couldn’t explain myself further.
‘You don’t need to say it back; I still –’
‘Thank you.’
Thank you?
He smiled again, always lopsided, then ducked his head so I couldn’t see his face.
Wind grazed the side of my cheek like a fine blade to the skin. As I crossed the busy road to Bì Yù’s apartment block, dodging bicycles, motorcyclists and cars, my eyes met those of an old lady crossing in the other direction. She smiled at me, and dimples appeared on her cheeks.
Dimples.
I smiled back, clutching the locket at my throat.
Bì Yù was cooking dinner when I entered. How she could do something so mundane when we were in the middle of a crisis baffled me.
‘Spaghetti is for dinner,’ Harper said from the sofa. She looked pale; her hair was plastered to the sides of her head with sweat. Did she have a fever? I went to her and put my hand to her forehead, but she pulled away.
I tried to remember where I had left the thermometer. On the kitchen bench, I thought.
Smells of sautéing onion, garlic and basil wafted up from the stove. Bì Yù was emptying a pot of pasta into a dish. She saw me and set the pan back onto the counter. Her eyes were soft. I felt the harder edges of my frustration melt.
‘Did you find Mr Zhāng?’ she asked.
I shook my head.
‘So what now? Will you take her home?’
‘I can’t let her go,’ I said, avoiding her eyes. I picked up the thermometer and cleaned the tip with my shirt.
Her face tightened. ‘But do you really want to save her like this?’ We stood there facing one another, without making eye conta
ct, without speaking. I listened to the humming of the refrigerator, the sound of the exhaust fan sucking up steam from the cooling pasta, the sound of her breath, of my own.
The sound of the clock on the wall. Tick tick tick.
I tried to quell the voice in my head telling me that Mr Zhāng had run off with my money. I put my hand on the phone and looked at Bì Yù.
‘Please.’ My voice cracked. ‘I know you don’t agree with what I’m doing, but I need you. Please.’
She stared at my hand on the phone for what felt like hours, then she brushed my hand aside, picked up the phone. I handed her the slip of paper Anita gave me and Bì Yù dialled the number.
It rang out.
Shit.
My stomach lurched.
‘Try again. Please try again.’
She pressed redial.
Again, it rang out.
I took the phone from her and dialled the number myself. The number I had rehearsed in my head over and over again, each night when I couldn’t sleep.
‘Wéi?’
Thank whatever God might or might not exist.
I thrust the phone at Bì Yù.
She spoke in rapid Chinese. Paused. Spoke again, her voice rising.
‘Bì Yù!’
She slammed down the phone.
‘What did he say?’ I demanded.
She was panting.
‘Tell me’ – I tried to keep my voice steady – ‘exactly what he said.’
Her cheeks were red, eyes flashing. ‘He said there was a problem with the donor. We have to wait another three days. It’s time to stop, Marlowe.’
Stop. But I couldn’t.
I knew she was going to argue with me again and I didn’t want to hear it, so I walked out of the kitchen with the thermometer and took Harper’s temperature. It was elevated, but not dangerously so.
Leaving her on the couch, I went to my room. There I sat on the bed and counted my breaths until I was calm again.
Harper
Am I sleeping? Resting on the couch, my eyes are closed and my breath is like water. I see the man with no face, more real than he looked in my storybook. He moves like a shadow. When he is gone, I feel my body change.
