by Jean Kwok
Hours later, the weakened sunlight fading, the rain finally stops. There’s so much water in the air I can taste the humidity in the wind that whips through my clothing, hunting for gaps. We have stopped twice for restroom breaks, where Filip, to my surprise, pulled out a package of cigarettes to smoke. They offered to share their thermoses of tea and coffee with me, plus a lunch of salami sandwiches on light brown bread. I could not eat a bite. The mysterious expanse of water surrounds us, swelling and ebbing, and a cold dampness crawls underneath my clothing and burrows itself next to my heart.
This is the third time we’ve passed over the same territory. Karin explained that the breeze could be blowing the wrong way or the precise area obstructed by a passing vessel. The dog in training, Feyenoord, has grown agitated and jumped into the water twice now. My heart almost stopped each time until Karin indicated a false alarm.
She says, “Even if we find something, most of the time, it will be a mistake. So do not get alarmed if the dogs act. If there has been a lot of human contact inside a vehicle, the dogs could be reacting to that. We do hope to find our victims alive. The dogs are trained to search for life as well as corpses, so if there is a sunken automobile that has had many passengers, they might jump. And there are a large number of cars hidden in Dutch waters. People drive them in by accident or to cover up crimes like insurance fraud or carjacking.”
“Or to hide a body.” Filip stares into the distance, his posture rigid and tense.
I’m wondering if I’ve wasted everyone’s time and we are on the wrong track altogether when we turn onto the Amsterdam-Rhine Canal. The water feels surprisingly deep despite the fact we are not far from shore. The bank is lined with tall trees, swaying in the wind. I spot a grassy area behind a small group of ducks bobbing on the waves.
I press my lips together and cover my mouth with my hand. I will not burst into tears. Karin will make me leave. Still, my voice is broken as I say, “Sylvie loves places like that. She’s always had a thing for picnics.”
Karin says to Filip, “Can you take us closer to that spot?”
His face grim, he steers us toward the shore. Nothing happens. We draw closer and closer and then, for the first time, Ajax starts to wag his tail and bark. Feyenoord follows his lead. I am holding my breath. Both dogs jump into the water at the same time. They swim ahead of us, surprisingly quick, and then start turning in circles, barking maddeningly the entire time.
My chest seizes. Despite everything, I pray this is a mistake. I wish I could turn back the clock to a few minutes ago. I realize I prefer ignorance. If Sylvie is truly gone, I don’t want to know because the grief will tear my heart into pieces. I wish I wore my glasses so I could take them off for a respite from all this clear air, the sharpness of the waves in the water, the icy fear of what we might find. But I cannot. I must be as brave as Sylvie. I will not look away.
Karin is checking the machine she told me was the 360-degree sonar. “I can see from the Humminbird that there is something down there—probably a car.” She narrows her eyes at the bank. “If someone had driven off the road at high speed, aiming between the trees there, they would land right about here.”
At my stricken face, she says, “There is no indication that this has anything to do with your sister.” She whistles and the dogs clamber back onto the boat, spraying water everywhere.
Filip’s face is hard and unrelenting. “Except that this was described as a place she often passed on her route. I want to go in.”
Karin shakes her head. “Alone? We should wait until at least one other diver gets here.”
I am chewing so hard on my lips, I taste blood. My hands are clammy and I can’t seem to stop blinking. My heart is about to explode out of my body. I can’t sit here waiting for more people to come, not knowing. “Please. Please let him go. Just for a quick look.”
Karin hesitates, and says, “All right, but be careful. If there are any difficulties at all, come back up.”
Filip is already stripping off his waterproof coveralls. He pulls on the rest of his diving gear, his goggles. His eyes meet mine for a moment before he splashes into the water.
He doesn’t come up and he doesn’t come up. I can hear Karin calling people and speaking in Dutch. I pray to the gods. Please, let this not be Sylvie. It’s not possible. Maybe this has nothing at all to do with my sister. It’s some drug lord or, like Karin said, insurance fraud. I deeply regret ever having called Epsilon. I should have left it alone, like Lukas wanted. For the first time, I understand his denial. I would not be sitting on this boat then, wondering if my sister . . . I cannot even finish the thought.
Suddenly, Filip breaks the surface beside me. I jump. He hangs on to the side of the boat and pulls up his goggles. His dripping face is bleak. He gasps, “I can’t see much down there but one of the windows is open and I could feel something through it. There’s a body.”
Oh gods. No. I gasp. “W-was it—”
“I cannot tell anything yet. Give me the screwdriver and crowbar.” Karin rummages in the tool kit, hands them to Filip, and he disappears again.
I am still gaping, trying to process what he said: a body. But it can’t be Sylvie. We’re close to Amsterdam, which must be filled with criminals. Anything is possible. I am gulping down breaths to stop from screaming. “Why-why did he take the tools?”
“He is going to remove the license plate.”
Now I understand why she wanted that information about Sylvie’s rental car. Please let it be the wrong car, let it be someone else in the car. How could there be a body here, underneath this cold, merciless surface? I’ve never even seen a dead person before. Let Sylvie have run away with the gold, let her now be starting a new life somewhere.
I jump at every movement in the water—but Filip doesn’t reappear. It seems to take much longer this time. Is he all right? What is he doing down there? Karin drops a buoy in the water to mark the spot.
After what feels like an age, Filip’s dark head reappears, with a warped yellow license plate in his hand, some of the paint flaked off. Karin takes it from him and helps him climb into the boat. I am absolutely still as she checks her notes. I can’t breathe.
Finally, she looks up at me. “It matches.”
It is almost dark now. The sun is setting and the water is like the inner recesses of a dark mouth, a tomb, its depths as implacable as eternity. I am numb from standing on the bank for so long, watching the divers, firemen, and police at work. Danique and Pim have arrived. They’ve not said much to me. They’re too busy with the recovery project. The emergency responders have set up an enormous crane and are trying to pull the car from the canal. Filip has been in the water or on the boat most of the time. The divers went down earlier with an underwater camera but there was too little light and the water was too murky.
Lukas comes roaring up on his scooter with Helena and Willem’s car right behind him. He runs to me, too much white in his eyes, wild and desperate.
I am relieved to see a family member, but he cries, “What have you done?”
Stunned, I am speechless.
He’s almost foaming at the mouth, his nostrils flared. “Why did you have to stir everything up? Why could you not just leave it alone?”
I turn away. I understand the anger and accusation in his voice. It is because I have stripped away the comfort of ignorance for us all. Helena comes and wordlessly links her arm through mine. I hug it to me; her warmth is all I have now. I haven’t called Ma and Pa. I won’t until we know what’s below the surface. I have no energy for anything but the emergence of that vehicle. I have no thoughts anymore. I can’t think. I won’t.
Finally, slowly, the small blue car is pulled upward. A flood of water cascades from it. Then the crane rotates and sets it upon the ground. Rescue workers rush to the doors as water streams onto the grass under the harsh and unyielding artificial lights they have set up all around the area. I let go of Helena and push my way to the front, where Lukas already stands, his chest hea
ving. Water still streams from the windows and indeed, I catch a glimpse of something that could be human limbs in the front seat. A shroud of hair swirls like a curtain around the face, blocking it from view. I can’t breathe. I am gasping like a fish on land—no air enters my lungs no matter how hard I try. I catch a glimpse of Lukas out of the corner of my eye, his face a skull of fear. This, I thought, this is what horror is.
They open the doors. Water gushes out. They are pulling out the person. My brain rejects this; how can a human be underwater for so long? The slender arm, it’s a woman. Logically, I know she’s dead but I want them to try to resuscitate her anyway. Tangled black hair. The woman—I can’t call it a body—is Asian, but she isn’t Sylvie. Sylvie’s taller; her hair is shorter, features sharper and more beautiful, not bloated and obscene like these. Oh gods, is a part of her face missing? It can’t be Sylvie. It isn’t her. But it is.
Part 5
Chapter 23
Ma
Saturday, May 14
I could not understand Amy at first. She was heaving with grief. I sucked in a breath of cold air and then I was the one who was howling. In one frantic thrust I pushed all the plates from our table, the rice and fish crashing onto the floor, shards of ceramic jagged and raw. This should not have been thunder from a clear sky, I should have expected it, and yet I was completely unprepared.
For a long time, I had no words, only pain. Pa gripped my hand, the two of us for once united in our grief. As his face dissolved into tears, I saw something else in his eyes, though—wariness, a part of himself he still held back from me. How long had it been there? Too long. He retreated into the bedroom and his quiet sobs added to my burden. This suffering has made us cough up blood and yet we cannot share our pain.
Why could the gods not have taken me instead? I deserved it. Heaven’s net is wide and none can escape its mesh. This was my fault. This could not be true. I had seen Sylvie so recently. It was the greatest torture for a parent to outlive a child. If only I were dead instead—stupid, reckless woman. Our family was like grass that had been pulled up by the roots: eradicated, my mother and daughter dead.
I burned incense by the altar. Mother, Kuan Yin, please embrace the spirit of my daughter as I could not. My Snow Jasmine, forgive me for placing you in a mountain of blades and a sea of fire. You were but a kite with its string cut, blown away without recall.
I was going back there. By Monday evening, we would be in Holland to bury my daughter in that same dark landscape where my mother had died. And I would see him again.
Chapter 24
Amy
Saturday, May 14
I retch and stagger to the side of the crowd. I throw up everything inside of me. A gentle hand smooths my hair back. Helena. She gathers me into her arms. Between my hoarse sobs, I hear her murmur over and over, “I am so sorry,” but instead of saying my name, she says, “Sylvie.”
I recover enough to wipe my face with a tissue, and see that Willem has one arm around Lukas, who clutches his stomach like a man who’s been kicked repeatedly and can bear no more. Tears stream down his cheeks. Willem is whimpering and biting his other fisted hand, as if to restrain himself from lashing out, as if to ease some of his pain. When Lukas straightens, his skin is splotchy, bunched around his red, swollen eyes, his face ravaged by grief.
On the periphery of my vision, I spot a dark figure climbing out of a boat that has just docked. I call out, “Filip!”
I release Helena and stumble, heavy-footed, toward him. I can barely walk. He wears a silver thermal blanket over his diving suit and, in the shadows of the trees, looks haggard and worn.
My teeth chatter uncontrollably. I hug myself. “Th-thank you for leading me to Epsilon.”
He gathers me into his embrace. “I am so sorry.”
He is cold and soaking wet, but I am comforted by his closeness. “I-I am glad we know what happened. And that she is out of the water.”
Behind me, I hear a low snarl, like that of an enraged animal. I whip around. It’s Lukas. There’s a murderous gleam in his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here? And with her?”
Confused, I detach from Filip and swivel my head back and forth between the two of them. Filip has both hands raised and slowly backs away. “You know each other?”
Lukas stalks forward, throat rigid, every muscle in his body tense and ready to fight. He keeps his eyes fixed on Filip and spits out, “He was the cello teacher of Sylvie! And one of my oldest friends too, or so I thought. But he talks out of two different mouths like the vicious snake he is.”
The handsome cello teacher Helena thought Sylvie had liked. Lukas’s friend. My Filip. I open my mouth a few times before I can form words. My entire history with Filip rips apart, exploding into the air, and when the remnants land, a divergent and barren landscape takes shape. Our story is not a romance then, but a tragedy. “W-what? B-but you never told me.”
“I can explain—”
Lukas shoves Filip so hard he falls a few steps back. A vein in Lukas’s temple protrudes. His face is twisted with fury. He looms over Filip with fists clenched. “Both sisters? You went after Amy too?”
Filip flinches. He spreads his hands wide in a gesture of appeal, begging Lukas with his eyes. “No, you do not understand.”
Suddenly, Lukas launches himself at Filip. He’s flailing away at him, hitting him in the stomach, the ribs, his face, trying to knee him, and then Willem and the police are there, pulling them apart. Filip is bleeding from the nose and mouth from the brutal blows. He’s not made a move to defend himself and stares at Lukas with a look that says he’s sorrier than he could ever convey. Lukas tears himself away from the men holding him and falls suddenly, twisting his ankle. He stands quickly, gasping for air, then half stumbles, half runs to his scooter and rides away. I see him wipe the tears from his face with his sleeve. Without another word to me, Filip hobbles away as well.
I can’t believe they are both gone. I can’t believe anything that has just happened. My teeth are chattering and I am trembling. But slowly, the shakiness catches fire inside me and I start to smolder. I am shuddering so hard, I am nearly convulsing. I am filled with rage. I hate this country and every person in it. This place took my beloved sister from me and I will know why.
Couscous prowls around my bed. I pick her up and cry on her until her fur is wet and spiky. Then she lies beside me and purrs in her funny, staticky way until I fall into an exhausted sleep.
In the morning, the ocean of grief that has engulfed me begins to recede. Not the weight of it—I fear I am only feeling the first ripples of what will become a tsunami—but the dense opaqueness that blinded me to all else. I hold back the tide of emotion through sheer willpower. I need to function. I’ve begun to think again, and I must, for Sylvie. If this happened to me, she would move heaven and earth to uncover the truth. I realize I have always taken refuge in the lie that Sylvie would take care of everything, that I could do nothing on my own. Perhaps I am more like Sylvie than I ever realized.
It is a long holiday weekend here called Pinksteren. It has something to do with White Sunday and White Monday, and everything is closed. Lukas has disappeared. I’ve hardly seen Willem or Helena either, except to discuss when Ma and Pa would arrive for the funeral. How Ma and Pa had cried last night when I phoned with the terrible news. Willem and Helena went to Antwerp to visit Oma and Opa for Pinksteren. They invited me along but I begged off. Helena has been extremely kind ever since we found Sylvie, and asked if I was sure I’d be all right before they drove off.
I take a deep breath and ring Karin. I cannot keep running any longer. When she answers, I hear what sounds like a family gathering in the background.
“I want to thank you for what you did.” To my shame, I begin to sob uncontrollably.
She waits until I can breathe again, and says, “I am sorry it was not better news.”
I wipe my eyes and nose on my sleeve. “I’ve been afraid to ask, but how much do we owe you?” I brace m
yself. How will we pay for what must be an astronomical bill—the dogs, the boat, the fancy equipment, the divers, the time spent searching—and now with Sylvie gone? My bills, her bills, I can’t even think.
“No, there has been a misunderstanding. You owe us nothing.”
I must have heard her incorrectly. “What?”
“We are a volunteer organization. We cannot ask money for what we do. We pay for it with donations, volunteers, and quite a bit of our own money. It is a good thing that when I am not searching for bodies, I am a doctor. And my wife is a veterinarian, so she trains the dogs.”
“Oh, Karin.” That is all I can say. I give a half sob, so relieved that at least one burden can be laid aside.
“No price may be set on life or death, Amy.”
At that moment I understand why Sylvie loved the Netherlands so much. Then I call the police.
I ask for Danique. As soon as she answers, I say, “When will the autopsy report be available?” I feel a desperate desire to know every detail. What could have happened?
Her voice is distant and tinny on the phone. “Actually, it is not likely that we will conduct one.”
“What? My sister has been found dead inside her car and you won’t investigate further?” My voice rises and I practically shriek into the phone. I can’t believe the police didn’t find her body and now they still do nothing. My heartbeat pounds so loudly in my ears I have to strain to hear through the rush of fury that washes over me.
“Family members always believe the case involves murder, but the vast majority of the time, the most likely cause is suicide. We do not at this moment have any reason to suspect criminal activity.”