by Hannah Bent
Marlowe comes around to the side of my bed and takes my hand. She is wearing a blue jumper, the kind of blue that lives inside a jewel and swims deep deep deep. The kind of blue that matches her eyes. She has always been the most beautiful woman I have ever known with her pearl rice skin, marble eyes and long, coffee-coloured hair, and the way she moves quietly, easily… the word is graceful. And when she smiles, her hum spreads out from her gentle heart and fills the room. Even though I love my body and its brokenness, and I think I am also a beautiful woman because I love my eyes and my hair and my skin, I have never glowed as brightly as she does. The sad thing in my heart is that I know my Marlowe will never see herself the way I do.
The grandfather sun has sunk into the ocean, and the night has taken over our day. It is just me and my Marlowe left in the living room. Samantha, Uncle Bĭng Wén and Michael have left us alone.
‘Want to watch the National Geographic channel together?’ she suggests. ‘We could learn something useful. There’s a good program on the melting of ice caps in Alaska and its effect on the natural habitat.’ She likes those two words very much: natural habitat. If I did not feel so tired, I would look them up in a dictionary, but for now I find them a bit boring so I have to shake my head.
‘No, thank you.’ A bit of my hair is loose over my face and she brushes it away. Her palms brush the top of my head in a way that makes my body feel safe and calm. Then I have a bright thought. Beside me on the bedside table is a wedding magazine. I turn the pages and show Marlowe a lovely photo of a woman in a fluffy dress. Her hair is done in a low French braid bun. A very special low French braid bun.
‘Can you do my hair like this?’
She nods and smiles. She has always been good at braiding because this is something that she learned from our mum who used to do her hair every morning before school. I remember when I was old enough to have my hair braided, Mum would ask Marlowe to do it. She stood next to her and watched. If she did something wrong, Mum would tell her, and if she did something right, she would also tell her. Mum did that with a lot of things before she left, showing Marlowe what she needed to know.
She begins to move her fingers through my hair: over and under, over and under.
‘What a nice feeling.’
Warmth comes into my body from her fingertips. I close my eyes and can see the face of Mum smiling with dots on each cheek. These are called dimples. Over and under, over and under… I can hear her voice. That’s it, be gentle, don’t pull too tight.
There is a rhythm Marlowe uses, like the da dum da dum of my heart when it was not broken.
Over and under, over and under.
And the warmth again, all over my body.
Mum, I say in my heart, see how she is taking care of me? See how she is doing all right?
In my mind, it is as if I go through moving photos of Marlowe over the years. The young Marlowe had more energy and spirit. She would buzz around the place like one of her insects. As she got older, the feeling of her changed: like the bark of a tree, her outer skin is now a little rough. I think to myself that she is not like Louis; you cannot tell what she is feeling unless you know her, unless you are like me and can understand what she wants to say but won’t let herself. To a stranger I think she might seem a bit hard to figure out. But she isn’t. She’s quite simple really.
Marlowe
After braiding Harper’s thinning hair, I climbed onto her bed and slipped beneath the covers. Navigating carefully around the IV drip and the coloured threads of the heart monitor, I snuggled in beside her.
‘I am excited in my heart to meet your Oliver.’
‘You can call him Olly.’
‘I’d like to call him by his full name because that is the name his mother gave him. Also, Olly is your word for him and that should be in the love between him and you.’
‘Okay. Understood.’
‘I want you to have this.’ She handed me her storybook, open at the last page.
There is a tree in a snowy park in Shang-hi. It is a brilient tree with long branchs and pink flowrs. It is tall and wide and holds many memorys and wishes and speshel secrets from those peple who visit.
The beutiful lady that we met at the begining of this book visits the tree. She stands underneth it near the trunk. A long branch bows down to her. On the end of it she sees a plum. It is in the shape of a hart. She opens her hands and lets it fall into her palms.
Imm-or-tal the tree wispers.
The lady takes one bite of the plum.
Wen she is finished eating, she reches her hand thrugh the snow into the soil were it is warm. She makes a cosy little hole and plants the hart plum seed.
One day she nos her seed will grow grow grow into a tree and this is how she will live on, imm-or-tal forever.
Beside me, Harper’s eyes have closed. Her breath is shallow, eyes racing under their lids.
‘May your branches be thick and full with blossoms and colour.’ I ran my index finger over the cool skin on her forehead. ‘May your fruit be ripe and whole.’ I took her hand in mine. The ache in my chest radiated through my body, rising to my throat. ‘May the heart of your trunk beat with the pulse of the earth, the sun, the moon, the stars… and everything.’
I lay with her as she napped, looking at my watch every so often. Now, Olly has landed… He must be going through immigration… Baggage claim… Getting on a bus… Then, just as the moon dropped into view, the doorbell rang. I leaped out of Harper’s bed and ran for the door. I flung it open.
Olly.
My heart stopped.
He let his bags fall to the ground and reached out to pull me into him. I filled my lungs with his scent – traces of thyme from our lab, our London home, his peppermint shampoo, the honeyed sweetness that always lingered on his skin.
He lifted my chin and I couldn’t tell where my breath ended and his began.
‘I need to tell you something.’ Time was something that I was developing a new appreciation of, and I couldn’t waste any more of it, with anyone. I inhaled and counted to three, trying to steady the pounding in my chest. ‘You know I love you, right?’ Words that came so easily to Harper, but words I had to learn how to say.
‘I know you do.’
My body sighed.
He looked over my shoulder. I turned and saw everyone had gathered at the door, and they were beaming at us. I wasn’t anxious as Olly greeted them, like I’d thought I would be. When he reached Wài Pó, she took his hands into hers and told him that she could tell he was a very smart and kind man. I felt overwhelmed by something… was this happiness? Was it regret that I hadn’t let them meet sooner? Or was it just the kind of sadness that had become an ever-present friend?
Olly had reached Dad. At first, they just looked at each other without speaking. Then Dad put his hand on Olly’s shoulder and smiled. ‘Welcome home.’
Olly nodded. ‘Thank you. I’m so glad to be here.’ He looked around in his quiet thoughtful way, then he asked: ‘Can I meet Harper now?’
Harper
Oliver Michael Sutton. That is his fullest name and part of it is the same as Louis’s dad. Oliver is sitting next to me, really sitting next to me, in the flesh. Everyone is in the living room with us, eyes on Oliver meeting me. I cannot see them all because some of them are behind my bed. Even though I am happy I am in the living room, sometimes I find all the feelings very strong, like all the bodies around me are too loud even in the silence and it makes me very tired.
As I am looking at Oliver, I am surprised by the feelings in my heart. Seeing him here, it is like I am now a still ocean that has no need for its waves.
I can hear my own heart and mind tell me that because of this man, my Marlowe will be okay when I am gone.
‘Can I hold your hand?’ I ask him.
His skin is a little rough and I see that he has dirt under his nails. That is a bit disgusting, but I don’t mind because I like the way he holds hands. It is not too tight, not too loose, not too hot or c
old. It is dry and warm.
I study his face. He has some freckles like Louis does on his long nose. He has eyes that are just like my Marlowe’s – big and round. They are the colour of freshly steamed choi sum. He has a wide mouth and smiles like a happy fish. If I were to use two words to describe him, I would say he is calm and gentle.
‘You are a handsome man,’ I tell him, ‘with the angels of happiness all around. A perfect match for my Marlowe.’
‘Eight thirty pm!’ Louis comes into the room at full speed. ‘Dinner today is much later than normal… but better late than never!’ He puts his arm around Oliver’s shoulders and takes him into the kitchen. I feel like I want to tell Louis off for doing that as I was enjoying Oliver sitting with me, but I know food is important, and even though I am not eating as much as I used to, Louis still enjoys this activity and it is important that he has things which will keep him happy.
‘We’ll come back soon.’
The living room lets out a long sigh. Its air is lighter now that there is no one but me in it.
‘This is nice,’ I tell myself, but just as I am enjoying my time alone, my dad comes into the room carrying a plate of food. It is steamed chicken and rice and vegetables, one of Wài Pó’s excellent dishes. I can smell it; I can smell the ginger, the rice wine, the spring onion, the soy. But it does not make my stomach growl and ask for food. My tummy is quiet. How I miss the feelings of hunger and happiness when eating.
‘Can I offer you some dinner?’ Dad asks.
‘Maybe later.’
‘Just one bite?’
I give him a look with my eyes. This look my dad knows well. It means not to ask me this same question twice or I will get a little bit upset.
Dad puts the plate on the coffee table.
‘Just because I am not eating, it does not mean you have to stop eating.’
‘I know. I’m just not very hungry either, darling.’ He looks out the window, something he does when his mind and his heart are talking to him. Then I start to have a bad feeling in my chest, because I think I know why my dad is not hungry.
‘Dad? Where’s Irene?’ This is something I should have asked him much earlier.
‘She’s staying with her friend Tammy.’
I like Tammy, she is very sweet and always brings me a homemade cake or biscuits when she comes to visit.
‘Why?’
He looks away again.
‘Well…’
I wait, but no words come. He touches the bow tie on his neck. I know this means he is a bit nervous.
‘Is it because of me?’
‘Oh no, darling, don’t you worry.’ He looks down at his hands.
But I do worry. The last time I saw her, she was not a stepmonster. She was very kind to me. I know this is the way my dad sees her too. I can see it in the sadness of his downward head.
‘I know she feels bad in her heart.’
‘She does.’
‘Ask her to come. Ask her to come tomorrow.’
My dad lifts his head. ‘Thank you, darling. She would really like that.’
Marlowe
I stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Olly make eggs for breakfast. Wài Pó stood beside him, occasionally interrupting his rendition of ‘Into the Mystic’ with questions about his life in London, his family, his work. As he dolloped spoonsful of butter into the pan, she gasped, then threw her hands into the air and laughed.
‘You only live once! Put more!’
I realised that for once she wasn’t chewing nervously on a hawthorn candy or a White Rabbit. It occurred to me that she seemed happy.
A tap on my shoulder. Louis.
‘Um, Marlowe. Stepmonster is here.’
‘What?’
‘She’s at the doorway, but I did not let her come in.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she is a stepmonster.’
‘Louis!’
I rushed to the door.
Without make-up on, Irene looked like a ghost. Her lips were the same colour as her pale cheeks. Her dark eyes seemed to sink back into their sockets, rimmed with grey. She was dressed in sweat pants and trainers. After I got over my initial shock, I found myself missing the Irene I knew: red-lipped, stiletto-heeled, brimming with confidence.
‘I know you don’t want me here, but your father said Harper wanted to see me… and I would really like to see her too.’
When she spoke, she seemed small, vulnerable. Without thinking, I gave her a hug. ‘I’m glad you came,’ I said.
‘I’m glad you came too.’ Dad was standing in the doorway behind us.
I didn’t know exactly how long the two of them had been apart, but I knew I needed to give them space. As I walked back into the house, I turned to look over my shoulder. Dad had taken Irene’s hands in his and was gently caressing her palms with his thumbs. I lost my breath for a moment, recalling how he used to do this with Mum. I let myself realise for the first time that Mum wasn’t the only woman Dad had ever loved.
I told Harper that Irene had arrived, and she smiled and nodded.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
We sat together for a while before she cleared her throat. ‘I want to ask you something.’
‘Shoot.’
‘What do you love about me?’
‘You’re my sister.’
‘No.’ She shook her head before asking again: ‘What do you love about me?’
I thought for a while. How was I supposed to put it into words? I closed my eyes and saw my sister when she was small, dancing in the snow. Her lips were blue and she was about to collapse yet she was not in distress; in fact, she seemed to be somewhere else completely, somewhere I wished I could go. In that moment, I understood the difference between us. It was as if life’s loneliness would never touch her. She was the embodiment of happiness. She made it seem simple. As snow fell onto her hair, her forehead, the tip of her nose and her scarred chest, she laughed. I’d thought I felt envy back then, but as I sat with my sister as adults, trying to put these feelings into words, I realised it was something different. She had one foot in this world and one in another – and this ‘other world’ was one I would never fully understand, no matter how hard I tried in my laboratory. But how was I to put this into words?
‘You are magic,’ I say. ‘Very few people will ever be able to see the world like you do.’
She smiled. ‘I like that.’ A laboured breath. ‘Marlowe?’
‘Yes.’
‘When I’m gone, you won’t forget that… that word for me, will you? I mean… that magic word.’
Would I?
‘I won’t forget.’ I thought of the day my parents brought her home and how, since then, she had enmeshed herself in every fibre of my being. ‘I won’t forget.’
‘Good,’ she sighed before resting her head back on the pillow.
‘Harper?’ Irene walked into the room barefoot. Neither of us had heard her coming.
Harper smiled at her. ‘I’m glad you came to see me, Irene.’
I’d never heard her address Irene by her given name before.
‘I’ll leave you guys to it.’ I stood and turned to leave.
‘No, stay,’ Irene said. ‘What I have to say is for you too.’ She sat beside Harper’s bed and I pulled up a chair beside her.
‘I owe you both an apology.’ She lowered her head.
‘I have had a lot of time to reflect on things. When Marlowe started talking to us about getting you a new heart in China, Harper, I couldn’t believe that she would go through with it. And then, when she took you to Shanghai, I began to remember you both as you were years ago, when I first met you. I realised there was so much I didn’t understand about what you had been through before I came into your lives.’
I thought about how much I used to loathe her, how often I had wished that Dad had never met her, but now I wondered if this was less about Irene and more to do with the simple fact that she was not my mother.
‘Thank you for speaki
ng about your feelings,’ said Harper. ‘And now, I think I need to tell you something back.’ She is silent for an uncomfortable amount of time before she speaks again. ‘One: I am not mad at you anymore. Even though I did have some anger at you in my heart about some of the things you said to me, this has gone now because I understand in my heart and in my mind that some things in life are hard and not everyone feels the same way I do and that is okay.’ She takes a congested breath. ‘Two: this is the most important one. I think that the reason my dad has not married you is not because he does not love you in his heart, but because he is scared about you losing your physical body in the same way our mum lost hers.’
Irene nods, and in a very soft, very hoarse voice she says, ‘Thank you.’
‘Irene?’ Harper says.
‘Yes?’
‘I have to tell you one more thing. But this is a personal private thing that I am thinking in my brain.’
‘Okay…’
‘I think that you need to wash your hair and your face and your body and put on one of your red dresses and some pointy shoes. You look bad right now and you don’t smell so great. This is the worst look I have ever seen you in, ever.’
Irene laughs. A full, belly laugh, and then, when she snorts, I find myself laughing too.
Harper
I am standing in my dad’s special study room with all his books. Marlowe, Wài Pó, Bì Yù, Irene, Aunt Lĭ Nà and Deborah are with me too. In front of me is a long mirror Irene has brought here from her dress shop. I am looking at my beautiful self, wearing my wedding dress. It is like all my birthdays, all the Christmases, all the Chinese New Years and all the days that glow brightly have come together in this one special moment. My hair is in a French braid. My lips are the colour of strawberries from the lipstick that Marlowe painted on for me. There is still an oxygen tube under my nose and the tank is by my side. It is an ugly tank, so Bì Yù said she will carry this for me when I walk down the aisle. Even though I feel a bit wobbly on my feet, it is the first time I have been standing on them in a while, so I am happy.