A Ghost in my Suitcase
Page 1
PUFFIN BOOKS
A Ghost in my Suitcase
The flute music stops, and my breath catches in my throat. Silence falls like a veil. Then I hear something – no, I feel it in my chest. ‘Steady yourself,’ Por Por whispers. ‘It’s here … ’
When Celeste travels to China to visit her grandmother, she uncovers an incredible family secret. And with this secret comes danger and adventure.
If Celeste is to save her family and friends, she must learn to harness her rare and powerful gift …
About the Author
Gabrielle Wang was born in Melbourne and is a fourth-generation Chinese Australian. Her great-grandfather came to Victoria during the 1850s gold rush. Gabrielle worked as a graphic designer and illustrator before moving to Taiwan and China, where she lived for seven years studying Chinese language and painting. Her work is published internationally.
Gabrielle's first children's novel, The Garden of Empress Cassia, won the 2002 Aurealis Award, was shortlisted for the Queensland Premier's Literary Awards and was a CBCA Notable Book. The Pearl of Tiger Bay was shortlisted for the 2004 Aurealis Award and The Lion Drummer was a Notable Book in the 2009 CBCA Book of the Year Awards. A Ghost in My Suitcase won the 2009 Aurealis Award, was a CBC Notable Book, was shortlisted for the 2011 Sakura Medal and received a Highly Commended in the 2010 Prime Minister's Literary Awards. Her first young adult novel, Little Paradise also received a Highly Commended in the 2011 Prime Minister's Awards. Gabrielle's picture book The Race for the Chinese Zodiac (2010) illustrated by Sally Rippin and Regine Abos was a Notable Book in the CBCA Awards for 2011 and shortlisted for the 2011 YABBA and WAYBRA awards. Her latest books are part of the highly successful 2011 Our Australian Girl series published by Penguin - Meet Poppy, Poppy at Summerhill, Poppy and the Thief and Poppy Comes Home. Gabrielle is an ambassador for the Victorian Premiers' Reading Challenge.
Gabrielle lives in Melbourne with her husband Steve, their two children Lei Lei and Ren, and a menagerie of animals, including a small yellow dog.
www.gabriellewang.com
Also by Gabrielle Wang
The Garden of Empress Cassia
The Pearl of Tiger Bay
The Hidden Monastery
The Lion Drummer (Aussie Bite)
A Ghost in my Suitcase
GABRIELLE WANG
with illustrations by the author
Puffin Books
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (Australia)
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(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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Penguin Group (NZ)
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(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London, WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2009
Text and illustrations copyright © Gabrielle Wang, 2009
The moral right of the author/illustrator has been asserted
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
ISBN: 978-1-74-228507-8
puffin.com.au
Contents
Silver Bird
Crazy Riding
Big Mouth
The Secret Room
Tell Her the Wretched Thing is Back
Les Lettres Secrètes
It’s Raining, It’s Pouring
The Prisoner
Bridgess of the Moon
The Gift
The Ghost-Hunter’s Apprentice
Pins and Needles
The Ghost of Bao Mansion
The First Battle
The Secret Comes Out
Fat Belly
Celeste, the Ghost-Hunter
The Talisman Necklace
The Strongbox
Body Tattoos
The Long Silken Thread
The Box of Bad Things
The Secret Weapon
Shadows in the Mirror
Little Sister, Big Sister
Mount Mystery
Beautiful Bird, Flying Free
For Wendy,
who shared the allure of adventure
Hey there, Mama
Beautiful bird in the sky
How is your heart today?
There’s a bridge that stretches to the Isle of Clouds and back
One thousand white cranes heading north
You and me on that bridge, almost home
I’m a bird. I’m flying so high.
Maybe from up here I can see the Isle of Clouds.
I’ve been overseas once before … when I was three. That was to Tasmania with Mama and Papa. Robbie hadn’t been born yet.
My memories are fuzzy as if they’re frozen inside a giant iceberg.
I remember a potoroo in a carpark. A silver streak in a stream. An upside-down mountain in a lake.
And I remember swinging between Mama and Papa’s arms.
Papa said Mama is in heaven. But my little brother, Robbie, said they wouldn’t let her in because she’s never been to church.
I see Mama on a golden boat, sailing towards the Isle of Clouds where our ancestors came from.
That’s a nice picture in my mind. I’m going to keep it there forever.
My name is Celeste LaClaire. I am twelve years old. I have dark brown eyes and long skinny arms and legs. I got the dark bits from my mum, who is Chinese, and the long skinny bits from my dad, who’s French. Papa met Mama when he was studying Chinese painting in Shanghai. They got married and came to Australia. That’s where I was born.
Mama said I look like my Chinese grandma, who I’m on my way to visit. I call her Por Por, which means ‘grandma on your mum’s side’ in Chinese. In China, everyone in your family has a special name. It’s like being part of a big jigsaw puzzle. You always know where you belong, and who you belong to.
Before Mama died I felt as if I could wrap up the day and put it in my pocket and know exactly what it was going to be like the next morning. But now I feel trapped, as if I’m in a giant spiderweb. The more I struggle, the tighter the web gets, until my heart is squeezed so tight I can hardly breathe.
In the hallway of our house is a big camphorwood chest. It’s full of bright, colourful silk dresses from China. Mama was supposed to wear one of those dresses at her wedding. But she wore a white wedding dress instead. Por Por said in China, white is only worn at funerals. But Mama didn’t care. Sometimes I climb inside that big old chest and lie very still. I love the smell of camphor, the quiet rustle of the silk, the cool touch against my skin. And as I lie there, some of the pain goes away.
; There’s a photo on the hall table. Por Por is standing beside a rock as tall as a man. It’s wrinkly like an old paper bag and as holey as Swiss cheese. Mama said the rock comes from the bottom of Lake Taihu, a very special lake in the south of China. There’s something weird about that rock, though. Por Por has her arm looped through one of the holes, and her head is tilted towards it as if she’s sharing a secret with her very best friend.
These memories play on my mind as I look out of the aeroplane window. Way down below I see tiny towns. They wink at me in the sun like rolled-up balls of silver paper. The earth has long scars across its skin. ‘It’s a living organism, Celeste,’ Papa once told me. ‘Like people, it needs to be taken care of.’ I wonder if it feels pain, too, when it loses a part of itself.
It takes almost all day and night to get to China. I wanted Papa and Robbie to come with me, but Papa said I had to go by myself. He’s a famous artist. He and I used to paint together. But he hasn’t touched a paintbrush since Mama died. It’s as if his mind has drifted away and left his body behind.
A flight attendant called Eve is looking after me on the plane. Her hair is straight and golden. She’s nice, and when she talks the end of her nose wiggles. We all get served dinner even though it’s past midnight. I watch two movies. I write in my diary. And I think about Robbie. Papa doesn’t know it, but Robbie comes into my room every night and sleeps on the floor beside my bed. Robbie is brave about everything – even injections! But he’s too scared to sleep by himself. He’s scared he might never wake up because that’s what happened to Mama. In the beginning I used to get angry because I wanted my own space. Then I began to see how much he hurt inside, too.
I put my seat back and drift off to sleep. I don’t know why, but I never dream about Mama … not since she died, even though I want to so much. Instead, I have a terrifying dream about Por Por.
Por Por and I are walking along the beach when a toadfish the size of a small car leaps out of the water onto the sand and blocks our way. It’s huge and fat with big bulging eyes and spikes all over its body. I’m so scared I can’t move. I see that Por Por has a sword in her hand. She thrusts the sword inside the fish’s mouth and …
I feel someone shaking me awake.
‘We’re almost there, Celeste.’ Eve is leaning over me. She takes my blanket and tells me to put the back of my seat up.
I look out the window. I see white farmhouses with black-tiled roofs, and canals running alongside narrow roads. There are small rectangular fields of green and yellow, and ponds that look like mirrors all over the land. I feel excited and scared.
I pick up my backpack and hug it gently. ‘Nearly there, Mama,’ I whisper. Mama always wanted to return to China one day. So that’s where I’m taking her ashes, back to the Isle of Clouds, to the home of our ancestors.
After my passport is stamped, I collect my suitcase. Then Eve takes me out through the security doors into Shanghai airport. All I see at first is a blur of faces. It’s so crowded. I look around for Por Por. I try to match the photo on our hall table with a face in the crowd. But none of them fit.
Other people are meeting their relatives and friends, laughing as they go off together.
‘Are you sure your grandmother is coming to collect you, hon?’ Eve asks, after we’ve been waiting for about twenty minutes.
‘She’s supposed to be,’ I say, pressing my backpack to my chest. I feel a rising panic. I don’t show Eve though. When she looks at me, I smile.
Then I see a big yellow sunflower coming towards us through the crowd. ‘That’s her!’ I say to Eve. ‘That’s my grandma.’
Por Por is wearing a red jumper and grey pants. She looks like a girl as she rushes over to us. Her eyes are all smiley and filled with little sparks of light.
‘Duibuqi, sorry I’m late,’ she says, thrusting the flower into Eve’s hand.
Eve looks surprised, then nods and smiles a thank-you because she can’t speak Chinese. Then she turns to me. ‘Have a great stay in Shanghai, Celeste.’
‘I will, thanks,’ I say, and wave as she walks away.
‘At last you are here, Little Cloud.’ Por Por speaks to me in Chinese and uses my Chinese name. All of a sudden I want to cry because Mama used to call me that. But I hate crying in front of people, so I hold back my tears. Sad thoughts are like canaries in a cage. If you open the door, they can fly off in all directions, banging against the windows, wanting to be free.
‘Por Por, nin hao.’ I use the polite form of greeting like Mama taught me to.
‘Lai ba, come,’ Por Por says gently, and I follow her out of the airport.
The cold air is like a blast straight out of Antarctica. It’s the middle of summer in Australia, but now I’m in the northern hemisphere it’s the complete opposite. The wind cuts through my jacket and right into my bones as we stand in the taxi queue. My feet feel like blocks of ice and my teeth chatter like those false teeth you see in funny movies.
People are stamping their feet against the cold and clouds of steam billow out of their mouths and noses. The line goes on and on, zigzagging backwards and forwards like a centipede.
Good, our turn at last.
A taxi pulls up and the passenger door and boot open automatically. Por Por puts my suitcase in the back and closes the lid, then she climbs in beside me.
The driver has a round face and spiky hair. Por Por tells him the address and we shoot off like a bullet out of a gun. I’m thrown back in my seat. I look around for a seatbelt but there isn’t one.
Every fifteen seconds our driver blasts his horn. He seems to be going twice as fast as the other cars.
‘How is your baba and little Robbie?’ Por Por asks calmly.
We swerve to the right then quickly to the left.
When I catch my breath, I say, ‘They’re good.’ I don’t want to tell Por Por how Robbie can’t sleep and Papa doesn’t paint anymore. I turn and stare out at the apartment buildings whizzing by. But all I see are blurry wet blobs of colour as tears fill my eyes.
Por Por reaches over and takes my hand. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t look at me either, or want to get into my thoughts. Not like some of my parents’ friends who hovered around like witches waiting to swoop after Mama died. They thought they were helping. Looking at us in that pitying way. But all Robbie and I wanted was to be left alone.
The buildings get taller as we get closer to the city. The streets are packed with cars, trucks, motorcycles and bicycles. There’s hardly any space to move. Mama said that Shanghai has around the same population as Australia, and I can believe it now. It’s like a whole world spinning all by itself in the universe!
Our driver honks his horn at anything that moves. A policeman standing in the middle of the road directing traffic gets an extra long blast. He glares at us then waves us on.
We cross a wide river with barges and container ships and ferries. It’s wider than any river I’ve ever seen, and a deep murky yellow. On one side of the river there are huge skyscrapers with lots of glass towers and domes. It’s like something out of a space movie. On the other side, the buildings are old. Some even look like palaces. That’s the side we are heading towards.
At last we turn off the main road and enter a maze of little laneways. The noise of the traffic fades away and we slow right down. The laneways are lined with small wooden shops selling all kinds of stuff – pots and scrubbing brushes, bicycle tyres and exhaust pipes, picture frames, bamboo steamers and feather dusters. And there are heaps of food stands. I can smell garlic frying and see small piles of fresh vegetables and noodles waiting to be cooked.
The tyres of our taxi rumble over the uneven stone surface. Sometimes we meet another car coming in the opposite direction. Then the taxis slow down and I suck in my breath as they squeeze past each other like elephants on a tiny one-way track.
Por Por leans forward. ‘Hao, okay, driver, up ahead on the right, thank you.’
We come to a stop in front of a high stone fence with a
round red gate that looks like a sleeping moon.
While I get my suitcase out of the boot, Por Por rings the buzzer. There are no shops in this laneway, only houses and four-storey apartment buildings. I hear light footsteps coming towards us from inside the fence. Then the gate swings open.
A girl who looks about my age stands before us. She’s wearing a blue windcheater and I recognise the rainbow scarf Mama sent Por Por two years ago for Chinese New Year. Her straight black hair kicks out on her shoulders and her ears are pierced with two tiny pearl earrings.
‘This is Ting Ting,’ Por Por says. ‘And Ting Ting, this is Little Cloud. I hope you two can become good friends.’
I vaguely remember Mama telling me about a girl Por Por had adopted. I smile and say hello. She looks me up and down with a cold icy glare that freezes the smile on my lips. It’s as if she’s saying, ‘Go home. You’re not welcome here.’
All of a sudden I feel so homesick.
Then I think of Mama, and how she wanted her ashes to be brought home to China. That’s what I came here to do, I tell myself. So I lift my head up, pull back my shoulders, and follow Por Por through the gates.
Inside, the courtyard is covered in hundreds of tiny black and white pebbles laid carefully into a beautiful pattern. There’s a flying bat at each corner, and around the edges is a border of curling leaves.
In the middle is the big rock – the one in the photo on our hall table! Now it looks like a sentry standing guard, with two holes for eyes and a round mouth full of surprise.
Beside the big rock is an oval fish pond. On the sides of the pond are weird symbols. They look like ancient Chinese characters but I’ve never seen this style of writing before.
‘Show Little Cloud the fish while I water the bonsai,’ Por Por says to Ting Ting.
Ting Ting smiles and calls me over. But it’s not a friendly smile. I look into the water. There are about twenty goldfish swimming around. Some are orange, some white, some have black and red spots.