by Mingmei Yip
I wasn’t happy to have it end this way, but I wasn’t going to chase after him. The day might come when I would regret this decision, but no point to worry about it now. I flopped back onto the bed, feeling a headache coming. Just then, my eyes landed on the red velvet box on the nightstand.
I opened the box and took the ring out. It was a huge, sparkling solitary diamond set on a gold band. The diamond had at least five carats. I wondered if he’d forgotten it in the heat of the moment, or deliberately left it to remind me of what I’d given up. I could not imagine that he would buy something that expensive unless he really cared for me. Of course I’d have to return it to him. But he might refuse to take it back—it would, after all, be a reminder of his humiliation. If so, maybe I would give it to charity. Not only because it was the right thing to do, but because it would always remind me of what might have been—if I’d been different, or he had.
I sighed at having to turn down this once-in-a-lifetime catch.
26
A Letter of Heartbreak
I did feel sad now that the trial separation from Ivan was permanent. Not that I really wanted to be back with him, but it did leave an empty area in my life. Now there was one less person to welcome me when I finally returned to San Francisco. Craving friendship, I decided to visit Sabrina again. I pushed thoughts of Ivan to the back of my mind and set out for her house.
Despite Sabrina’s eccentricity and her heavy drinking, I was looking forward to seeing her. But as I was ascending her steps I felt extremely apprehensive, as if a huge boulder was about to crash down. When I reached the door, I hesitated. Instead of knocking, I turned toward the setting sun. It was a bloody orange disc, about to sink into the sea like a huge, suicidal tortoise. I felt a chill, as if it were me slipping into the ocean. I turned back and braced myself to knock.
The maid opened the door and made a gesture for me to come in. I noticed that her eyes were swollen and bloodshot.
“Is Señora Sanchez here?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Can I wait until she gets back?”
“No.” She shook her head mournfully.
“Then please tell her that I’ll come back soon, maybe tomorrow.”
“Señorita, I’m sorry to tell you that Señora Sanchez has passed away.”
“What? What happened?”
“Two days ago. Alcohol poisoning. You know she had a problem. She wouldn’t tell anyone, but she had also been suffering from stomach and liver cancer. So she knew it would be soon.”
Though it had been obvious to me that she was ailing, I didn’t realize that her ill health was so advanced. I had assumed that I could just knock on her door and see her again.
The maid pointed outside the window. “If you want to pay your respects, señora is buried there next to her daughter.”
For the moment I just wanted to sit down, so I sank onto the couch.
“What will happen to this house?”
“It’s Señor Alfrenso’s house. He let Señora Sanchez live here and paid me to look after her.”
So perhaps Alfredo was not so bad after all. Unless it was all done just to keep Sabrina quiet.
“Oh, señorita, she said if you came back again, I was to give you something. Please wait.” She left and returned with a wooden box.
I opened the box and saw a letter enclosed in a sealed envelope of expensive paper. There was an object underneath it. I did not want the maid to ask me about what was in the letter, or to see what Sabrina had left for me, lest she claim it for herself, so I took my leave of her and went outside.
As I walked down the stairs, my eyes moistened. The tragedy of Sabrina’s wretched life filled my whole being with sadness. At the foot of the hill was a tiny grocery store and I made my way down to it. There I bought a bouquet of white roses.
I swept Sabrina’s fresh gravestone, which in Chinese culture is a gesture of respect, then Isabelle’s more worn one. I knelt down and intoned a quiet prayer for both of them. Sitting beside the new grave, I took out the envelope. Under it, to my surprise, was a gold bracelet, from which dangled several little amulets: a red heart, a lamp, a violin, a bell, a cup, a stone inscribed with a sword, another heart with the number “13” inscribed on it, and a blue bead—to protect against the evil eye.
I tried to understand the symbolism of this interesting combination of charms. The red heart must be Sabrina’s passionate, fiery love for a man; the kerosene lamp maybe referred to illumination, or a lit path; the ringing of a bell announced something happy; a violin makes beautiful music, to lighten up a depressing life, or to accompany her singing and dancing; a cup to hold water to quench thirst, but thirst for what? The red stone inscribed with a sword stirred a memory in me, but I could not think of what it was.
Most puzzling was the unlucky number thirteen, written on a heart. I thought how well it described her life, always unlucky in love.
Why had Sabrina left this bracelet to me? Perhaps it was all she had left and I was the only friend left to leave it to. But most likely it was simply a generous act to mark my kindness to her.
I took several deep breaths to calm myself, then took out her letter. My heart began to beat faster when I unfolded it and saw my friend’s untidy writing, perhaps written during her last hours.
My Dear Black-Eyed Friend from Afar,
It was such a pleasure to have known you, my friend, even for a short time. In life, because there’s death, time is never enough, as we are all rushing toward the big UNKNOWN.
Of course I’ve known all along that I’m dying. It’s deliberate—drinking myself to death. My eyes have turned yellow, I look like I’m pregnant because my stomach is filled with water, and sometimes I vomit blood. Not very pleasant to look at me now. That’s why I’ve been eagerly waiting for my liberation from this terrible world filled with heartless people—except you.
Even as I write this, I’m a walking corpse. My husband killed himself, Alfredo left me, Isabelle died, my baby son stolen. I’m heartbroken when I look in the mirror now and remember how I looked during my youth. I was a beautiful, vivacious woman. I boast, yes, but it’s the truth! I was happy that my daughter was equally beautiful, but like my own youth, she was taken from me.
MURDERED!
Here was the accusation of murder again. But despite my investigations, with both my normal eyes and my third one, I seemed no closer to discovering what had happened. Now I felt even more obligated to get to the bottom of this—to put Sabrina’s spirit at rest—at least so that her ghost wouldn’t also visit me.
You may not believe me, but I know. Isabelle’s murderer is none other than her “father,” my handsome lover, Señor Alfredo Alfrenso!
I shook my head. There were all these terrible rumors about Alfredo, but how to know what was true? Sabrina was obsessed, understandably, and I knew she was inclined to embellish and dramatize things. Distressed by all the misery and uncertainty, I continued to read.
I am partly at fault. True, we were nearly starving, but I told my daughter that things would work out. I also made the mistake of telling her about Alfredo’s secret stash of money inside Heartbreak Castle. The foolish girl went behind my back to demand money from him. She didn’t know who she was up against!
That day, she came back seeming depressed, and frightened. She wouldn’t tell me anything, but a mother knows. Alfredo must have feared that Isabelle would rat on him and the government would confiscate all his illegal money. And then tell his wife, the beautiful and cruel prima donna, Penelope!
My naïve Isabelle must have thought that being his adopted daughter would protect her. But obviously she was wrong. So wrong.
I kept reading, thinking that Sabrina was as rambling when she wrote as when she talked.
You were very kind to have visited me so often. I miss my beautiful daughter, her dog too. She raised a Lhasa Apso from puppy. Unfortunately it was swallowed into the earth—I know you heard about this and figured out I was the woman who witne
ssed it. I was not surprised because that dog was very old and suicidal. This was exactly the spot where Isabelle often took the dog to play, so I think, sensing his own pending death, he wanted to be reunited with his mistress.
Your high spirits and resemblance to my daughter brought me back to life, though for a short time. In my heart, I believe you are my Chinese daughter sent by Heaven to comfort me during my last days on earth.
I want to die knowing that you will find out the truth. Not only about Isabelle, but also my stolen baby son. Soon after he was born, I put a pendant—a red stone inscribed with a sword for protection—just like the one on the bracelet I am giving you. I like to think that he still wears it around his neck.
Thank you for reading this, my friend, it means a lot to me that someone would actually listen to an old, worthless, dying woman.
Dear child, may you live a long, happy, fulfilling life.
I also hope you’ll wear the bracelet to remember me. This was my last piece of jewelry. I had to sell all the others.
Your Green-Eyed Friend,
Sabrina
Instead of explaining things, this letter made them murkier than ever. That Alfredo had murdered Isabelle just didn’t ring true to me. But then neither did his callousness toward Penelope. Clearly there was more to the man than I’d realized. It seemed that he hid his true self like a camouflage-skinned snake, fooling even my third eye. Anyway, there were so many flaws in this whole thing. Isabelle said in her diary that Sabrina had pushed her to get Alfredo’s cash. But Sabrina’s letter said something different. Maybe neither was telling the truth.
I put on the bracelet, hoping to feel closer to its previous owner. My eyes fell upon the red heart with the sword. I suddenly remembered that Luis always wore a pendant that was also a red stone inscribed with a sword! Could this mean that Luis was Sabrina and Alfredo’s son? If this was true, then not only was their son still alive, he lived almost next door to his father! But father and son had never known each other.
I knelt and muttered another short prayer to both Sabrina and Isabelle, then stood up and walked toward the road, leaving mother and daughter behind forever as tears coursed down my cheeks.
All the way back to the hotel on the bus, I kept rereading Sabrina’s letter, wondering how much was true and how much was alcohol-fueled imagination. And what about Alfredo—was he the gentleman he seemed to be, even if he was a bit of a womanizer, or a murderer? A womanizer I could handle, but not a murderer.
Alfredo was part of all the mysteries I’d become preoccupied with, but better leave the mysteries unsolved than put myself under the power of a killer. Laolao would have told me that with my third eye, I would see evil in his aura if he had killed anyone. I had seen nothing of the sort, so Alfredo was probably okay. But could I trust my life to my third eye? To add to my confusion, there was the question of Cecily, aka Nathalia. Seeing her again was essential to my research, but for all I knew, she might already have cast a spell on me.
27
Another Proposal
Putting caution aside, the next morning I went to visit Cecily. When I arrived at her underground dwelling, I yelled down, “Cecily, are you there?”
After more yelling with no response, I climbed down the ladder. Reaching the floor, I saw that the witch was nowhere to be seen, nor were any of her possessions. It was apparent that she had moved out, but I could not imagine why. Perhaps some of her evil doings had finally caught up with her.
As swiftly as I could, I climbed back up to the open air and headed straight for the witches’ market, hoping to see Cecily, or at least her followers.
When I arrived, I glimpsed someone at a booth who looked like her, but was disappointed when I realized it was not Cecily but a frumpy middle-aged woman hawking cheap jewelry and prayer beads.
I went up to her and smiled. “Señora, isn’t this where Cecily and her group are?”
“Not here.”
“You know her?”
“Maybe.”
I was quite sure she knew something, so I decided the best way to loosen her tongue would be to buy something. I held up a bracelet made of evil eye dispelling beads and asked the price.
“Two thousand pesetas.”
About thirteen dollars, which was an absurd price for the beads, but not for the information I needed. I handed over the cash.
“So what about Cecily? She’s my friend and if she’s in trouble I want to help.”
At the word friend, she gave me a suspicious look. “I don’t know where she’s gone. They say she’s afraid for her life.”
“Someone wants to get her?”
“Maybe a few, maybe a lot, maybe none but just her fear.”
This was either very confused or very subtle. Was she a Zen master disguised as a witch to give me advice through a riddle? Or was she just a crazy witch herself?
“Does it involve a rich man?”
“Señorita, please”—she cast me an annoying glance—“I’m not a psychic, so how do I know? Go ask someone else. I come here to do business, not chitchat with a stranger. You Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Vietnamese?”
Now she looked at me curiously. “You’re a tourist. You should buy more gifts for your friends at home.”
I was hoping that I might find her in a better mood later, so to build our “relationship,” I bought some loose beads, then walked away. Looking around, I did not see anyone I recognized. I was reluctant to buy more trinkets and get no answers.
I knew that sooner or later I would question Alfredo more about Isabelle and Penelope. I decided to not put it off any longer, so I hailed a taxi and told the driver to take me to Heartbreak Castle, full of apprehension.
I feared what would happen if Alfredo figured out how much I knew about these unfortunate women. My excuse would be to say a few words of condolences about Sabrina’s death. Even if he was secretly relieved that she was gone, a few words of sympathy would still be in order. Of course I was hoping he’d inadvertently reveal something about his relationship with Sabrina and her daughter.
Maria opened the door, invited me in, and led me to sit in the living room.
She smiled. “I’m glad you’re back, Señorita Eileen. Señor Alfrenso is just back from a trip and is taking a nap. Please wait here and I’ll bring you some tea and biscuits.”
After I had sipped some tea and munched on a cookie, I fell into a reverie. When I emerged, I was startled to look up and see Alfredo sitting on a high-backed chair across from me.
“My dear Eileen,” he said, and smiled, “you seemed far away. . . .”
I sat straight up and nodded, feeling a burning sensation on my cheeks. Strange, this man was not my lover, but it was already the second time that he had seen me dozing in front of him.
“Sorry, I must be exhausted.” I certainly could not tell him what I’d been thinking about.
“No need to apologize, Eileen. I’m so happy you’re here. Do you have plans for more sightseeing? Any place you want to see, let me know and I’ll take you.”
His seemingly polite offer seemed ominous. I realized no one back home in San Francisco knew anything about Alfredo or the castle, so I could disappear without a trace. What if he’d take me to some isolated place and then . . . I couldn’t finish my thought.
“Thanks, Alfredo,” I said quickly. “What about if we just have a nice chat?”
“Of course, whatever pleases you.”
“You know that Sabrina has passed away?”
“I was the one who paid for her burial.”
“So you knew her well?”
“It was a long time ago. She was a troubled woman. Let’s hope she is finally at peace.” He stared at me with his penetrating eyes. “I am so happy to see you again. Eileen, let me be frank. I really like you and hope you can stay.”
I didn’t know what to say to this.
He paused to sip his drink, then continued. “I mean long term. You can be mistress of this place instead of a professor with a meager in
come. I will give you a luxurious and glamorous life. Please think about it and . . . don’t say no.”
This reminded me of Laolao telling me that for my whole life I wouldn’t have to worry about money, because rich men would be attracted to me. But . . . why? I thought I was nice looking but not stunningly beautiful. Besides, I was probably not sophisticated enough for a rich guy—I didn’t care about drinking hundred-dollar bottles of wine, nor did I wear designer brands—unless I found them at a thrift store.
I was as happy eating a bowl of shrimp mei fun in a Chinatown dive as I was at a trendy, high-end restaurant. And if taken to a nightclub, I’d likely doze off. So I didn’t consider myself trophy wife material. But maybe it was because I didn’t care about any of these things that some rich men found me refreshing. Like a breath of clean air in Beijing or a Buddhist temple in Las Vegas.
Anyway, it was not quite clear to me what Alfredo had in mind. I never considered myself the mistress type. But when he continued I was taken completely by surprise.
“Eileen, let’s get married and have a child together. I’m sure he or she will be very handsome and smart.”
Whoa, slow down! I thought. It seems rich men were always impatient to get what they want. First Ivan and now Alfredo.
But Alfredo was not getting any younger and so he might think this was a rare opportunity for true love, and with someone he must assume did not know about his past.
“I’m extremely flattered, but I don’t know what to say. I didn’t come here thinking I’d get married, but to write my book.”
He laughed. “But you can still write you book . . . without having to worry about tenure.”
I chewed on what he’d said, feeling distressed, not sure how to get myself out of this uncomfortable situation. Tenure, yes, an unpleasant reality, how nice it would be not to have to worry about tenure. And what progress had I truly made with my book? A few pages of notes, that was it. I had mostly occupied myself poking my nose into other people’s business—jilted women, witches, and the dead.