by Jean Kwok
Lukas reached over and gently cradled my jaw and cheekbones in his large warm hands. He tucked each lock of hair behind my ears with his thumbs. My eyelids fluttered closed. He bent down and pressed a tender kiss to my forehead.
When I opened my eyes again, he had already turned away. “I will take your cello upstairs for you,” he mumbled, leaving me staring at his retreating back.
Later that evening, after I had changed into dry clothing, I heard the door downstairs click closed. Lukas was back. All of a sudden, it seemed more attractive to practice in the living room rather than the lonely attic.
“Hey, Lukas, is that you?” I called.
“Come down and join me,” he said.
I tried to walk downstairs with the cello case on my back, but it kept hitting the stair directly behind me, causing me to lurch forward. I made it down one flight and saw Lukas standing at the base of the other staircase, waiting for me, chuckling at my predicament. I was three-quarters of the way when the cello slammed into the stair behind me again and I started to tumble.
“Whoa!” He spanned my waist with his hands and swung me, cello and all, off the stairs. He carefully set me down on the floor.
Once I caught my breath, we both doubled over with laughter.
“Are you all right? How many times a week are you taking lessons again?” Lukas gasped.
“Every weekday,” I said, giggling. “Unless this thing kills me first.”
“I could bring you.”
“Yeah, right.” I snorted, thinking of our wild ride home. Our soaked jackets still hung from the radiator, though the floor tiles were dry. Lukas must have mopped after I went upstairs. “Filip said I could bicycle with that monster. He made it sound very simple.”
“I hate that guy. You need to rent a car.”
“I need to rent a car,” I repeated. Luckily, my credit card still worked. Jim was probably paying our bills. I sobered as I thought of him. Had he been back to our apartment? Was he with her? I pictured her, waiting outside his office for him. They saw each other every day. I chewed on my inner cheek. There was an ache in the back of my throat and it was difficult to swallow. How could I hate him and still wish he were mine? The last time we spoke, he’d been so angry with me, as if I were the one who had done something wrong. I had never paid attention to his ugly side before, despite that horrible drunken night at Princeton. My eyes had been firmly closed to it, idiot that I was.
“Sylvie?” Lukas touched me on my forearm. “You seem far away.”
“It is nothing.” I placed my hand over his fingers and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “I am glad you suggested this. I think these lessons with Filip are truly going to help.”
Five days later, the weather was warm and clear, perfect for a burglary. It had drizzled in the night as I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling for hours, worrying that Isa would decide not to take Grandma for her daily walk. However, I knew the Dutch. No amount of rain, sleet, or snow stopped them.
We had planned it carefully. Early that morning, before Isa arrived, Grandma pulled me toward her by the sleeve so she could whisper, “When you ride a tiger, you must not try to get off halfway.”
It was still dark outside and the fear of a downpour made me extra prickly. I rolled my eyes. “I know, Grandma. Why do you two think I cannot be a good thief?” They needed Lukas to help Grandma navigate the stairs safely, so I had to play the burglar.
Lukas, standing by Grandma’s bed with his arms crossed, switched into Dutch so Grandma could not understand him. “When it comes to being naughty, you are a floppy dick in rosewater. Let me do it.”
I raised my voice. “No, I do not want Grandma to fall. I can stand strong in my shoes.”
“Sssst! My parents will hear.” He blew out a noisy breath. “Isa took her out alone before I came home.”
“Grandma was stronger then,” I hissed.
He said slowly, enunciating each word as if I were feebleminded, “You have to make it real.”
Grandma said sweetly in her melodious Chinese, “When the sandpiper and the clam oppose each other, it is the fisherman who benefits.”
As one, Lukas and I protested, “We are not fighting.”
“Fart!” she said. Great, now even Grandma called me on my bullshit.
After Helena and Willem left for the restaurant, I pretended to go to my daily cello lesson, then parked the rental car on another street and returned via the back door, which I had left ajar. However, this door was normally locked and required a key—concealed in the kitchen drawer—to open it, so we decided to make it seem as if the burglar had entered and exited from the front door, which often did not close properly anyway without a hard push. Since we did not want to get Isa in trouble, Lukas made sure he was the one to leave the front door unlocked. The neighbors were always watching. Last Monday, Helena hadn’t opened the drapes early in the morning and the woman across the street rang us. “It was so strange, I wanted to make sure you were all okay.” So I stayed hidden inside the house, my heart leaping in my throat as if I were a real criminal, until I heard the slow, creaky sounds of Lukas, Grandma, and Isa leaving.
Then I climbed the stairs with gloves on, like a thief from a movie. I felt completely ridiculous, as out of place as a cat in a dog kennel. My prints were all over the room anyway, not that they would bother to fingerprint for such a petty crime. Staying out of sight of the windows, I rummaged through Grandma’s things and pulled everything out of the closet. We had taken the jewelry a few days ago. Before I left her room, I quickly bowed to the altar to Kuan Yin and apologized for the mess.
But she who says A must also say B, so I went into the bedroom of Helena and Willem and examined it with the eyes of a hoodlum. This was my chance to wreak some revenge. I could hurt Helena for a change. What would a petty thief take? What did I want? I scanned the scattered evidence of their relationship, accumulated year after year like the bulky rings of a tree. If there was a map to their hearts, it would be here in their bedroom. I remembered how Willem and Helena would sometimes go for bike rides together on their free days: “just like the Dutch,” Helena liked to say. She loved him, I was sure of it. And Willem? He certainly needed her and her family’s money—perhaps need casts even stronger chains than love.
How could I possibly understand Willem and Helena when I had no grip on the relationship between my own ma and pa? They had nothing personal in their tiny bedroom back in New York. They never went to dinner together, never cuddled in front of the television. Those horrible fights they’d had when we were little, when Pa would get drunk and call Ma a whore and a liar. But still, there was tenderness when they looked at each other, though it was quickly hidden away again. Ma stayed up late mending Pa’s work gloves. Pa put the choicest pieces of abalone in Ma’s rice bowl. An ocean of love, guilt, and duty surged back and forth between them, stroking both their hearts even as it kept them apart.
There were no photos or books in Helena and Willem’s bedroom either. Instead, a vase of fake flowers, Helena’s jewelry case, a collection of expensive ties in the closet. A few of Lukas’s childish drawings hung in cheap frames. A shelf filled with complex modular origami figures made from tiny bits of folded paper. I stepped over to examine the designs more closely: a green-and-white peacock with its magnificent tail unfurled, a dragon boat, an orange-and-white model of Couscous. What did it mean? A mug that read world’s best mama. Had I not saved my pocket money and bought that for Helena, all those years ago? Why had she kept it? A woman’s Rolex watch. Bought for herself? A gift from Willem? The more I saw, the less I understood.
I went to their dresser to steal her jewelry case and my eyes were captured by my own image in the mirror instead. For a moment, I was little again, creeping into their bed after a nightmare. Sometimes they let me stay there, snuggled up to their warmth. More often I was sent away. You must not disturb Grandma in the night. You are trouble enough for her all day long. I would then sneak up to Lukas’s room and fall asleep curled on
the floor beside his bed, holding his hand in mine. I leaned closer to the mirror and the reflection of the woman in her expensive clothing faded away. There was my weak eye, already pulling to the outside with the stress of the burglary, the strain in my lips, the fake tooth that was a bit lighter than all the others, the desperation etched on my face. Who are you, Sylvie Lee? I whispered to myself.
In the end, burdened by guilt and indecision, I took nothing. How could I remove something of theirs and never give it back? Lukas’s voice: That is what it means to steal something, Sylvie. I threw some of their clothing around and made a mess. I knew I should stomp on a few of Willem’s origami sculptures, but then I thought of his pleasure in the hobby, the way his eyes glowed with happiness when he finished a creation, and I could not bear to do it. I was a terrible, unbelievable thief, just as Lukas had predicted. Finally, I went downstairs and snuck out via the back door. Lukas would later lock it and hide the key again when he returned.
I went to my cello lesson with Filip for real this time and by the time I returned, the police were at the house, along with an agitated Helena and Willem. I set down the heavy case in the hallway and followed Helena’s shrill voice into the living room, where Lukas and Willem were both leaning against the walls, doing their best to be invisible. Lukas and I did not dare to meet each other’s eyes.
The uniformed police agent, a small, tubby man with a kind face and round spectacles, turned to me as I stepped in the room. “You must be the daughter.” He waved a pudgy hand at Willem. “You can always tell family.”
We all froze. None of us dared to breathe as we waited for Helena’s fury. People had always assumed I was their child, and Helena would fume and sputter for days afterward.
She said acidly, “Just because the Dutch think all Asians look alike is no reason to believe we are all family. Sylvie is just visiting.”
I was of course related to both her and Lukas but found it prudent to remain silent.
The police agent turned an eggplant color. He bumped into the cup of coffee beside him and almost knocked it over. “It causes me regret. I did not mean—” He stopped and straightened his glasses, then cleared his throat and returned to trying to make sense of the entire bizarre situation. “So nothing was stolen.”
“A fortune has disappeared,” said Helena, her voice rising to a screech.
“Aha,” he said, scratching his balding head. “Do you have any photos of the missing jewelry? Insurance reports?”
Helena’s mouth was a tight red line. “No. Grandma never showed it to us so we did not officially register it.”
He peered at his handwritten notes. “That is the elderly lady upstairs? So she is the only one who knew about this missing treasure?”
“I saw it too once, many years ago.” Helena gestured at me. “She used to let Sylvie play with it, right?”
All the attention in the room turned to me. I acted confused, tugging at a lock of my hair. “What has happened?”
Willem finally spoke up. “Someone broke into the house.”
I gasped. “Oh no!” I brought my hand to my mouth, trying to be the murderer playing innocent. Across the room, Lukas widened his eyes at me, signaling me to tone it down. “I was very little then. I have no idea if it was real or costume jewelry. I do not think Grandma would have let me play with anything valuable.”
Now Helena narrowed her eyes, as if turning things over in her mind. Uh-oh. Did she suspect me? My heart started to race, nearly exploding in my chest. Her head tilted like she was mentally cataloging the evidence.
Lukas quickly changed the subject. He seemed calm. “I should not have left the front door ajar.”
Willem threw his hands in the air. “We have reminded you a hundred times, Lukas. How could you do that? You know it sticks. It has been like that for years.”
Lukas cast his eyes downward, the picture of regret. He always seemed so guileless; I had no idea he could be such a good actor. “This is all my fault.”
Helena replied, “Leave him alone. He had enough to do with taking care of Grandma, her portable oxygen tank, and her wheelchair.” Why had she never defended me like that? I had been a child under her care too, once. When I was little, how many times did I daydream of Helena hugging me, telling me I had done something wonderful?
The police agent said, “But the back door was left open as well, correct? It has a blind covering, which means it cannot be locked or picked from the outside. So the thief entered from the front door and exited through the back.”
Lukas had forgotten to lock it after I was gone. And such a crucial clue too. This would lead their suspicions directly to me. Could nothing go right today? The hair lifted on my nape and arms.
Helena tapped a finger against her temple. “It is strange because the key is always hidden. What a clever thief to have found the key so quickly.”
She was not stupid. I could go to jail. The air was bursting in and out of my lungs. I jammed my hands into my armpits in a self-hug and asked, “How is Grandma?” What if all of this excitement hurt her?
“She is as fine as you would imagine, under the circumstances. She is with Isa. It was hard for the police to question her, with her limited Dutch and scattered memory.” Helena deliberately lowered her head to stare at me. She gave me a false smile. “But something like this is such a violation. It is unforgivable.” She knew. My legs were shaking so much, they would all see. I dragged my sweaty palms across my pant legs.
Then Helena asked with forced nonchalance, “How was your cello lesson today, Sylvie? Isa mentioned you were gone a long time.”
I spoke despite the sour taste in my mouth. “Fine. I stayed a bit longer for a chat with Filip.”
Lukas’s expression tightened. He cracked his knuckles so loudly I jumped. “Oh? Do you do that often?”
He was upset with me about this? Today of all days? “Sometimes.” I often stayed if Filip did not have another student directly afterward. I would drink Earl Grey tea or his excellent espresso while he smoked.
The round policeman shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “So aside from the jewelry, which no one except for Grandma has seen in recent years, was anything else taken?”
“Is that not enough?” demanded Helena.
Meanwhile, Lukas was frowning at me, his lip curled. Because I was hanging out with Filip or because I had been a poor thief?
“I will make a report of the supposed missing jewelry, but with cash and jewelry, there is a very limited amount you can claim without preregistration and proof of possession. You will have to resolve that with your insurance company,” the man said.
We all knew what the insurance company would say.
After the policeman left, I asked, “Is Grandma very upset?”
Helena’s eyes were cold and flinty. “Surprisingly, no.”
The next day, I watched as Filip’s long, capable fingers tuned his cello, which to my eyes was far uglier than mine. I had a modern instrument, with a warm glow to the maple. The varnish on his cello was uneven and burned in some places. It looked like it had been worn thin by centuries of use. Small bubbles had formed in those spots, and they’d filled with dirt over the years. I had come to cherish these moments as he concentrated on tuning and I could watch him unobserved: the intensity of his focus on each string, the grunt of satisfaction he made in the back of his throat when the tune was just right, the texture of his rough knuckles against the wood. I was completely unimportant then; to him I did not exist, and this gave me the freedom to utter whatever flew into my head.
I asked, “What happens if I break your cello by accident? How much would it cost?”
He slapped the Y-shaped metal tuning fork against his knee, and then set it on the bridge of his cello. He listened to the hum of the note and then adjusted the pegs. “The one you are using? It is an inexpensive one. I think around three thousand euros.”
My lips parted. I was glad I had not yet succeeded in dropping it down the stairs. “How much d
oes that old thing of yours cost?”
“Fifty thousand euros.” He smiled at my incredulous look. “It was made by Cuypers in 1767. Listen to the sound.” He played a quick melodious phrase that sounded like sunlight shining upon gold. Behind him, the waves outside took on the color of his intent eyes and slivers of clouds crowned his finely shaped head. He lifted his bow off the strings and the spell was broken. “This cello cost me a rib out of my body but I love her.”
Had he ever cared about anyone like that? What would it feel like to have all that intensity focused on me? He was the sort who loved seldom but deeply. He would be faithful, to the point of being consumed by his passion. I shook my head, cleared my unruly thoughts. “You have expensive taste.”
He looked rueful. “Yes, between my competitive skier daughter and my beautiful instruments, I need to find a pot of gold somewhere.”
Today, the water and sky had melded into a single blue expanse that cradled the two of us on his boat, rocked by the waves, submerged in the liquid voice of his cello. Into this intimacy, I said, “There was a burglary at the house yesterday and Grandma’s jewelry was stolen. It was worth a great deal.”
He cocked his head, and moved to tune the next string. “Oh? When did that happen?”
“During her daily walk.”
“How coincidental.” He placed his cello on his carved wooden stand and started on mine.
As he struck the tuning fork against his knee again, I asked, “What do you mean?”
Instead of using the fine tuners at the bottom of my cello, he fiddled with the giant pegs at the top of the neck. “Good God, Sylvie. What have you done to this thing?” He shuddered. “I do not know how it is possible you made it so out of tune in one day. I am glad I do not live where you practice.”