My Sister Rosa

by Justine Larbalestier

  Shafts of light fall from a giant skylight, as if from heaven itself. It’s like they live in the Louvre. Only the Louvre is way more cluttered.

  Skylight is the wrong word. Two whole sections of the ceiling, and the roof beyond, have been replaced with clear glass.

  The ceiling looks like the inside of a whale with ribs that extend down into columns. At night you must be able to see the stars.

  ‘Your mouth is open,’ Leilani tells me.

  I close it.

  ‘Everyone stares. Though you’re the first to drool.’

  I wipe at my mouth before realising I haven’t drooled. Anyone else would have laughed at me. Leilani achieves the same effect with a tiny lift of her eyebrow.

  ‘Do you want the tour, or are you happy to stand there and stare? Your mouth’s open again, by the way.’

  It is. I close it again.

  They’ve done what they can to make this giant room more human-scaled. Half the space is occupied by comfortable lounge furniture. Seimone drags Rosa to the largest couch, where they start a bouncing contest. They’ve been whispering and giggling all the way from the restaurant. Maya hasn’t been giggling with them. She stays by her mother.

  ‘Were those the balconies?’ I ask, looking up.

  Leilani nods. ‘It’s where they exiled the women. We’ve converted them into rooms – after doing a cleansing ceremony to rid the building of all that misogyny.’

  I can’t decide whether she’s being serious.

  ‘Come and see the kitchens,’ Lisimaya says.

  ‘Ah,’ Sally says. ‘Your famed carbon-neutral kitchens.’

  The parentals and Gene follow her to a door on the other side of the hall.

  ‘It’s a kitchen,’ Leilani says.

  ‘Your mother said kitchens. They’re carbon neutral?’

  ‘Whatever. It’s not like the olds do any cooking. I suppose I should show you the rest of the house.’

  I’m tempted to say if it’s not too much trouble. But she clearly thinks it is. ‘Thank you.’

  There are two lifts. One for each side of the building, or wings, as Leilani calls them. The east wing and the west wing. ‘If I were Dad doing this tour, I’d say, Yes, like the White House.’

  I groan, since that’s what she wants me to do, but I’m not sure what wings have to do with the White House. I imagine the wings of a giant bird and the whole building taking flight.

  ‘Never been in a house with a lift.’

  ‘Elevator. I think we’ve established this is a big house.’

  ‘You have four floors,’ I say idiotically, staring at the panel of buttons. There’s an emergency button and a handset like a lift in a regular building.

  ‘Five. You missed the basement. You know, where the swimming pool is.’

  ‘Wow,’ I say and wish I hadn’t.

  She indicates that she is rolling her eyes with only the barest glance upwards. ‘I was kidding about the swimming pool.’

  ‘Oh.’ I would have said of course you’re kidding except that there’s no of course about it. Why wouldn’t this place have a swimming pool? Though there is the matter of only four buttons on the panel. ‘So I guess that means you don’t have a helipad on the roof?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. The helipad is over the garage behind the house.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘No, not seriously. There are rules about where helicopters can and can’t fly. They can’t fly here.’

  ‘How do you even know that?’

  No laugh from Leilani, just her raised-eyebrow laugh substitute.

  ‘Have you always lived in this house?’

  ‘I think you mean mausoleum. Yes, they’ve owned this place for twenty years.’

  I don’t make the mistake of saying wow again. I can’t imagine growing up in a place like this. Mind you, I can’t imagine living in one place my whole life. We lived in the same house until I was seven. After that: chaos. Different homes in Sydney until I was twelve, then different places in Australia, then New Zealand for a couple of years, then back to Sydney for a year, then Indonesia, then Thailand and now here.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ I say. The look Leilani gives me says she doesn’t agree. ‘What’s it like being rich?’

  ‘What’s it like being Australian?’

  The lift stops and the doors open onto a room filled with books.

  ‘It’s not my money. It’s theirs.’

  ‘But,’ I begin. It doesn’t matter who’s making the money. She’s swimming in it. ‘They’re your parents. Doesn’t mean you’re poor exactly, does it?’

  Another scathing look. ‘I didn’t say I was poor. But this is theirs. If it weren’t for my parents I wouldn’t be living like this.’

  ‘Sure. If it weren’t for my parents I wouldn’t be living in New York. They control us until we’re old enough to leave.’

  ‘Unfortunately.’

  ‘Might as well enjoy it, right?’

  I get the are-you-an-idiot look again. ‘What’s to enjoy? They only had us to carry on the family name – the stupid invented family name – and for us to be perfect little mini-thems. That never works, but you’d be surprised by how vain some people are. I wouldn’t be. But you’re surprised by everything.’

  ‘It’s all that corn I eat. Makes me credulous. It’s the insecticides they use, apparently.’

  She makes a half-snorting sound.

  ‘You almost laughed!’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ she says, with her hand over her mouth. ‘I’m not smiling. This way.’

  I follow, wondering why she’s so caustic about her parents.

  ‘That’s Maya and Seimone’s room.’

  The door is closed with a hammer and sickle painted on it. I don’t ask.

  ‘Maya’s doing. It has something to do with Siberia.’

  Apparently I don’t need to ask.

  ‘They share?’

  ‘They like it. They’ve always preferred being together. Except Seimone has dance and Maya tennis. It’s a twin thing. This is their study.’

  The door is open. I see two desks, chairs, beanbags, books, tablets, a fish tank, and a mural of underwater creatures. Above one of the desks are posters of beautiful Asian pop stars. Above the other is a horseshoe hanging from a nail.

  ‘Is that Chinese?’ On the wall facing us is a large scroll.

  ‘Korean. My dad’s Korean. Been there a million times. We have family in Seoul.’

  I know that. Gene was adopted by a white American family, who made sure he learned Korean, and as much about his two countries as possible. They stayed in contact with his birth mother.

  ‘My room.’ The door’s closed with no sticker on it. Leilani doesn’t open it. ‘This is my study.’

  The floor is black. It’s spongy under my feet as I follow her in. ‘A training floor. Cool. What martial art do you do?’

  ‘None, not as in going after a black belt. I act, remember? Acting is all body work. So I dabble in all sorts – a little bit of karate, fencing, boxing, gymnastics. It helps to be fit.’

  ‘Hence the treadmill.’

  ‘I don’t always have time to run outside. Treadmills are a vaguely acceptable substitute.’

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say let’s run together some time. There are tracks on either side of Manhattan.

  ‘Now the deck.’

  ‘If there is a deck,’ I mutter.

  ‘There’s a deck,’ Maya says from the doorway. We both startle.

  ‘Where are Rosa and Seimone?’ I ask, feeling a prickle of worry.

  ‘Dad’s doing magic tricks.’

  Leilani groans. Maya giggles.

  ‘Rosa wanted to see. So Seimone’s being nice and sitting through it.’

  ‘Poor Seimone. She’s too nice.’

  ‘Rosa dances,’ Maya finishes as if that explains everything.

  ‘Ah,’ Leilani says.

  ‘She’s going to McKendrick’s too.’

  That name rings a bell. ‘Rosa and S
eimone are at the same dance school?’

  ‘Uh huh,’ Maya says. ‘We’re going for a swim after the stupid magic show. I volunteered to get the bathing suits.’

  ‘You really do have a swimming pool?’

  Leilani puts her hand over her mouth. Maya giggles.

  There is a deck.

  With views. We can see the tops of other buildings, many water tanks, some rooftop gardens and clotheslines.

  ‘The olds aren’t allowed up here,’ Maya says. ‘It’s all ours. See that church? The roof there? There’s a woman who brings her dog to do his business. But she never cleans it up. It must smell nasty over there. We’ve never seen anyone take the dog outside. Poor thing.’

  ‘But how do they get on to the roof?’ It’s flat with two spires on either side but I don’t see how anyone would get access.

  Leilani stares at me. ‘Through the door.’

  ‘It’s a Catholic church,’ Maya says as if that explains everything, but I’m still bewildered.

  ‘Is this what you do up here? Watch other people?’

  ‘Everyone does,’ Maya says. ‘We’ve never seen a murder though.’

  ‘Maya keeps hoping.’

  So would Rosa.

  ‘Mr Smokes Too Much had a heart attack.’ Maya points to the apartment block next to the church, where a man on the fifth floor sits smoking on his fire escape. ‘I bet he’s not allowed to smoke anymore, but he’s always out there. He lights one cigarette with the butt of the last one. So. Gross. We saw the ambulance come. His face was purple. Yani at the bodega says his heart stopped. He was dead. Can you imagine that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Leilani says.

  Maya ignores her. ‘But there he is smoking like before. Yani says he only ever buys beef jerky, candy and cigarettes. She also says he’s forty-three. That’s younger than our parents!’

  ‘He looks like our grandparents.’

  ‘Great-grandparents.’

  ‘Great-grandparents of the mummies in the Natural History Museum.’

  Maya laughs. ‘Wanna play hide-and-seek?’

  ‘No,’ Leilani says. ‘I’m not five. Nor am I wasted.’

  ‘I like hide-and-seek.’ Maya turns to me. ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘Um,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you ask Rosa and Seimone?’

  Maya shrugs. ‘They’re busy with the magic show.’

  ‘Isn’t it better with more people?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Must be fun playing it here, though,’ I say. ‘Lots of places to hide.’

  Leilani makes a muffled noise.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s eleven, not five.’

  ‘It is fun hiding here. You can get up into the ceiling. Why do you hate fun, Leilani?’

  Leilani snorts again. ‘I hate Fun with a capital F for the same reason you hate Seimone’s idiot boy bands. Because they’re evil and wrong.’

  Maya laughs. So do I. Leilani cracks a smile. I wonder if she ever laughs.

  Leilani’s phone buzzes. ‘The olds. Your parents are heading home. Apparently these brunches are going to be a weekly thing. Joy.’

  We go downstairs. Goodbyes are exchanged.

  ‘It’s ten tomorrow morning, yes? We’ll be in touch asap about a date for that party,’ Gene says.

  I’ve never heard a person say asap as if it were a word.

  Rosa and Seimone hug each other tight and declare they’re best friends. Maya rolls her eyes when none of the adults are looking.

  ‘We’ll have to teach you all how to use an auto injector. It’s easy. I’ll send you a link to the vid,’ Gene says. ‘I think they’re going to be spending a lot of time together.’

  ‘A what?’ David asks.

  ‘Auto injector. For if Seimone is exposed to peanuts.’

  ‘Look!’ Rosa says, pulling something out of her pocket. ‘Seimone gave me gloves like hers! I don’t have to wear them because I’m not allergic. But now we’re gloves twins! Aren’t they pretty?’

  She puts them on and hugs Seimone again.

  ‘Bye, Che,’ Leilani says. ‘It was nice to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise,’ I say with none of her sarcasm.

  ‘Why couldn’t we swim?’ Rosa asks as we walk down the street. ‘Why don’t we have a swimming pool?’

  ‘Another time, Rosa.’

  ‘I want to live in the McBrunights’ house.’

  The parentals walk ahead hand in hand. They’re laughing together.

  As we cross into Tompkins Square Park Rosa takes my hand, like she used to do when she was younger, and says, ‘I’m going to live in that house someday.’

  I can tell she wants me to ask how that’s going to happen. I don’t. ‘Did you take any souvenirs?’

  She pulls a ghostly white Korean doll in a huge dress out of her Shirley Temple bag and holds it out. ‘The dress is made of silk. She’s a lady of the court. I wish I was Korean too.’

  ‘You’ll return that.’

  ‘It’s a present. Seimone gave it to me.’

  ‘Did she?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course. She likes me. We can’t be in trouble with the McBrunights. David would get mad.’

  She’s said that before.

  ‘Sally and David aren’t going to be together much longer,’ she says as if she’s telling me what time it is.

  ‘What?’ I ask before I can stop myself.

  She swings our hands back and forth. She’ll be skipping in a second.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  All I can see is that the parentals are half a block ahead of us. Sally leans into David, his arm around her shoulders. They’ll be together forever.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rosa was a toddler when I first made her promise not to kill.

  I didn’t care what the doctors said. I knew there was something deeply wrong with her.

  I typed something is wrong with my sister, which brought up sisters who didn’t eat, who ran all the time, who pulled their hair out, scratched at their faces, cut themselves. Rosa didn’t do any of those things.

  I changed sister to child.

  Oh.

  There were other kids who lied and didn’t care when they were caught, who felt no affection, who smiled and laughed and hugged only to get what they wanted.

  Other kids like Rosa.

  Who felt no empathy. That was a new word for me, empathy.

  Almost all kids start out selfish but then they learn empathy. Why wasn’t Rosa learning?

  The parentals weren’t worried. She wasn’t throwing tantrums. She was making direct eye contact. (Too direct, if you asked me.) They would remonstrate with her when they caught her lying. ‘But kids lie,’ they said.

  Worse, though, was how much she liked killing things. Yes, lots of kids do that, but not like Rosa.

  I saw her killing ants.

  One by one, methodically following the trail, squishing each one flat with her chubby forefinger. Her gaze by turns intent, satisfied, delighted.

  Then she started catching moths and pulling them to pieces.

  I was eleven by then. Rosa was four.

  Sally and David had told me to protect her. If I told them what she was doing, was I protecting her? She might grow out of it. Almost everything I read said most kids did.

  I told the parentals.

  They thanked me and talked to Rosa about it. She said I was the one who killed ants and moths, not her. The parentals knew I didn’t lie.

  They took Rosa to a doctor, who referred her to a child psychiatrist. I don’t know what the psychiatrist said, but after that Rosa had weekly sessions for months. She hated those sessions.

  She stopped killing insects when she thought someone was looking.

  I saw her.

  I watched her killing ants again. She was too absorbed to notice me.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Her thumb and forefinger were black.

  ‘Why did you kill those ants?’

  ‘I like t
he popping sound they make.’

  They didn’t make a popping sound. Not that I could hear.

  ‘I like making them stop moving. I like being the boss.’

  ‘Don’t,’ I told her.

  She turned to give me her full, disconcerting, unblinking stare.

  ‘Because Sally and David don’t like it? That’s why they took me to that doctor, isn’t it? She keeps asking me about it.’

  ‘Because killing is wrong. I don’t like when you do it either.’

  ‘Uncle Saul paid people to kill ants at his place. I wasn’t putting poisons in the environment like he did.’ She was quoting David.

  ‘Uncle Saul is not an ethical person,’ I said, also quoting David.

  ‘But Sally lays out traps for the cockroaches. Why is it alright to kill cockroaches?’

  ‘Because they’re pests that spread diseases.’ I hoped that was true and was relieved to find later when I looked it up that it was.

  ‘But those sticky traps also kill ants and sometimes moths and that one time a skink.’

  ‘Sally and David were unhappy about that.’

  ‘They were unhappy about the skink. They didn’t care about the moths or the ants. But they care when I kill moths or ants.’

  ‘Because it makes you smile.’ Her genuine smile.

  ‘So they don’t like me being happy?’

  ‘Killing things shouldn’t make you happy, Rosa. That’s why they’re worried.’

  I could see her storing that piece of information. She put up her arms so I would carry her and hugged me tight. All my love for her flooded back. This little girl who liked killing insects, who might not have any empathy.

  ‘You have to promise me not to kill things.’

  ‘But I like it.’

  ‘What would happen if Sally or David saw you?’

  Rosa didn’t say anything.

  ‘What would your psychiatrist say?’

  Rosa bit her lower lip. ‘What about mosquitoes?’

  ‘You can kill mosquitoes.’

  ‘Flies?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Gnats? Fleas?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Worms?’

  ‘No. They’re good for the soil.’

  ‘Spiders?’

  ‘No. Spiders eat mosquitoes.’

  ‘What if the spider’s biting me?’

  ‘Put it in a jar so the doctors know what antivenom to give you.’