Page 64 of The Girl with a Thousand Faces
She is thinking, with rare wistfulness, of the ring he bought as part of the dowry for their wedding. The gold was pure and soft as chilled wax, its square top carved with lotus blossoms. Not much, but all he could afford, and she’d loved it. Regretfully, she sold it to pay for the fare to this island.
“Me too.” You don’t say that for her sake, but for your father’s; you owe him that admission. “Every day he doesn’t come, I worry more.”
“It takes time,” she says. “Selling our things and buying a boat is not a quick business, not with the war going on.”
“I know.” But you can’t help wondering if something has gone wrong that Mami isn’t telling you about. After all, Baba was so worried about the invasion that he didn’t think it safe for either of you to stay behind with him.
“I wish more of my family had survived the storms here.” Mami looks out the window, and you don’t miss how she’s changed the subject. “I wish that we had come back to a thriving village and not to…” She trails off.
Not to a walking graveyard, you finish silently.
The spirits in the house turn toward you both, one at a time, suddenly alert and attentive. They’re difficult to ignore.
Aloud, you remind her, “If living people were here, it would not be so safe. We came because the Japanese will ignore Shek Ham Chau.”
“Yes. There was nowhere else to go. And we are home, now.” She smiles, but not at you—her gaze slides over your shoulder to fixate on the ghosts.
The rest of the evening passes in wary silence. While you tidy up the bowls and chopsticks, and rinse the dishes, Mami studies the evening sky; she is trying to ascertain tomorrow’s weather. Wet season will start soon, and that affects the planting of crops.
Afterward, she reclines against her kitchen chair with a bottle of beer and a cigarette. She only brought three packs to smoke, and one crate of beer; despite her efforts to stretch them out, both will soon be totally gone.
In this light, the gray strands in her hair seem more prominent. The lines of her face rest deeper, sink a little sadder. She is not an unhappy person by nature, despite her sharp tongue and abrasive edge. Instead, life has gnawed her joy away, loaded her with care and worries and guilt and exhaustion.
With a brain that won’t stop churning, you curl up and read one of Baba’s few poetry books that came in the luggage. The pages smell of his cigarette smoke. You wish you’d brought one of his jackets, but there wasn’t space to bring his clothes. He was supposed to bring those himself.
After a little while, though, the nosey ghosts are starting to put you off, hovering too close as you flip slowly through the pages. Besides, your thoughts keep drifting toward a certain green-skinned woman in the ocean.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
Tired to the bone, you wish Mami good night and get up to go sleep.
“Daughter,” she says, as you rise.
Hand resting on the doorway, you pause and look back. “Yes?”
“When you were out walking around, did you go by the shore at all?”
Stillness pools in the room.
“Why do you ask?”
“Well. I was wondering if you saw…” She hesitates, pulling at her lip.
“What?” you ask her, almost daring her to say it. “Saw what?”
“Nothing,” she says, retreating immediately. “It doesn’t matter. Foolish question.”
“If there’s something I should know,” you say, carefully, “maybe you should tell me before letting me wander by myself. Are these ghosts dangerous?”
“The island is fine. We’re among friends.” She tugs at the hem of her shirt in short, repetitive gestures. “Just—just be careful. There are sharks in the water.”
“Sharks,” you echo, flatly.
She says nothing.
“Well, I haven’t seen any… sharks. I’ll let you know if I do.”
Mami seems to wrestle with that answer, and you get the sense she regrets being so evasive, which only solidifies your sense of satisfaction at shutting her out. For once, you’re the one closing the door in her face, instead of the other way around.
