Usually when Mattie was feeling low, Ian tried to engage her with humor or games or stories. But tonight he felt too tired. He wanted to surrender for the day. He didn’t have the strength to act, to pretend that the moment was grand when he felt as if he’d stepped into a black hole. Watching the families below, he had been reminded of all he had lost.
Ian walked to the couch, where Mattie sat working on a geography lesson. She wore her pajamas, which had been purchased at the Bronx Zoo and featured a collage of African animals. Her hair, unbraided, yet still curled from the memory of being held fast, fell below her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head and put his arm around her. “Need any help, luv?” he asked, kissing her again.
“No.”
“What are you working on?”
She closed her book, which had been open to a map of India. “We shouldn’t have left him, Daddy. He’s all alone.”
Ian sighed, rubbing his brow, wishing he had an antacid handy. “Roo, three days ago he was homeless and swimming for gold teeth. Tonight he’s sleeping in a bed, with a full belly, and a bunch of nice blokes around him. And he’s got his own bank account, which is full of loot. I reckon we shouldn’t be too hard on ourselves.”
“But what if—”
“And, luv, we’re going to stay in touch with the orphanage. We’ll make sure that he’s all right. And when we get back to the States we’ll try and find him a family.”
“What about our family?”
“I can’t adopt a child, Roo, without a wife.”
She turned away. “Then we don’t have a family, do we?”
“What?”
“If they won’t give us Rupee, then they don’t think we have a family.”
“Anyone who fancies that notion is a bloody fool,” he replied, leaning away from her so that he might see all of her face. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
She wiped her eyes. “I don’t know. I think . . . maybe we have half a family.”
“Half a family?”
“That’s what they think. That’s why they won’t give us Rupee.”
“What a bunch of rubbish.”
“It’s not!”
“We helped him, Roo. Can’t you just focus on that?”
“I don’t understand. I—”
“You reckon I do? But I’m doing my best, just like you are.”
“I miss Rupee.”
He sighed, glancing at the ceiling, wanting to curse whatever god dwelled above. “Did you see his smile? He was as happy as a butterfly on a breeze. We made him happy. You made him happy. Just like your mum wanted you to.”
“I don’t feel happy. We shouldn’t have left him. We left him just like everyone else did.”
Ian felt anger building within him. Before he raised his voice and said something he’d regret, he stood up, walked into the bathroom, and grabbed an antacid. He looked at himself in the mirror, wondering who he was becoming. He wanted to fall to his knees, lean against the counter, and close his eyes. Instead he chewed the medicine, took a deep breath, and ran his hands through his hair. He squeezed two fistfuls of hair tight, strands falling as he removed his hands from his head. Swearing to himself, he took another antacid and pressed the lever on the toilet as if it were his enemy.
He washed his face, took several minutes to calm down, then returned to his daughter, not wanting to fight with her, memories of his fights with Kate like thorns in his soul. “What if we go shopping for Rupee tomorrow?” he asked, drawing near her. “What if we buy him another set of clothes, and . . . and maybe some more dinosaurs? We could mail him a package and he’d have it in a couple of days.”
Mattie looked up at him, her eyes widening. “Really? Could we do that? Could we find him some dinosaurs?”
“In this city? I reckon we could find him anything we want. Have you looked out the window? It’s like we’re in the middle of a Christmas tree.”
She glanced outside, nodding. “Can we go in the morning, before we do anything else?”
“Sure, luv. We’ll go dino hunting. Care to be my lookout?”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
He put his arm around her, still thinking about her earlier words, about not having a family. “Let’s head for bed,” he said, taking her hand and standing up. “I reckon if we’re going to rise early and find some dinos, we’d best get some sleep.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
Impulsively, Ian lifted her up, carrying her toward the bed, laying her down. He crawled in beside her, pulling the sheet over them. She asked him to tell her a story, and stroking her brow, he forced his own thoughts of doubt and pain aside and mused over what tale he might bring to life. He told her a story of a girl who drove a truck, who was supposed to deliver pigs, cows, chickens, and turkeys to cities where they would be eaten by people. But instead of delivering the animals as promised, the girl drove them to a secret valley and freed them within a land of endless grass and lakes. She lived with them for the summer and then returned every summer thereafter, growing older, in time bringing her children with her. The valley, the animals, her children—everything seemed to get more beautiful with each passing week and month and year. And the woman’s happiness grew as well, because she was so loved.
Mattie smiled. She put her head on his chest and fell asleep. Ian tried to do likewise but wasn’t able to so easily tame his thoughts. He crept quietly from the bed, returning to the telescope. He searched for families within the wombs of light below him. Many people had gone to sleep, but other families lingered, sitting together around tables, using chopsticks to pluck food from colorful platters. These families laughed; they sometimes appeared to argue. They didn’t necessarily seem to savor their moments together, but they were together, and in that togetherness Ian saw a certain kind of beauty, something not created by the skill of an artist or the grand design of the world, but by people who loved one another, even if they didn’t always recognize that love.
Watching the families—seeing the mothers and fathers interact with their children—brought tears to Ian’s eyes. Though he would never admit it to her, he shared Mattie’s loneliness; he understood its nuances. He understood it because he needed Kate; he needed her to help make their little girl well again. Without Kate, Ian sometimes felt powerless, no matter how hard he tried. And when he felt powerless, the true loneliness set in, the feeling of being the only person in the world.
Ian wiped his eyes, continuing to watch the families. Seven or eight stories below, a mother put her fingers on her young daughter’s face, playfully pinching her cheek. Ian remembered Kate doing the same thing to Mattie. He recalled one Halloween when Mattie dressed as a bumblebee and Kate pinched her cheek again and again. For a moment he panicked, wondering where the costume was, afraid that he’d lost it, that his memories of such times would fade.
The woman below lifted up her daughter, holding the girl in one arm while tickling her stomach. Again, Ian thought of Kate doing the same thing to Mattie, of what Mattie was missing. And that thought put such a weight on him that he slowly fell to his knees, the telescope swinging up toward the starless sky.
Much later, not knowing what else to do, Ian returned to their bed, holding the shell Kate had given him. He wrapped his arms around Mattie and drew her tight against his chest. He listened to her breathe, hoping that she was dreaming about good things, that she wasn’t afraid to dream of better times.
“I love you, Roo,” he whispered, kissing the back of her head, wondering how he might let her see them as a family, as not just a father and a daughter, but as a family that could smile and laugh and dream together.
THE RESTAURANT LOOKED AS IF IT SHOULD have been at a downtown corner instead of floating in the harbor. The ornamental three-story building was almost as long as a city block. Blue with red trim, it featured a flat roof highlighted by a pair of enclosed, tentlike structures. Most of the diners throughout the three levels were protected from the elements, though about thirty rooftop tables absorbed the sunli
ght.
Located at the end of a pier, the floating restaurant was accessed by a walkway, but also surrounded by dozens of wooden sampans that ferried people to stairs descending from the lower level of the building into the water. The sampans were in constant motion, shuttling people to and from the shore, various piers, and much larger boats. Many of the vessels were padded with truck tires, as if their captains expected constant collisions.
From their rooftop table, Mattie looked across the harbor. Hong Kong’s skyscrapers seemed to rise from the sea, soaring toward the clouds, partly obscuring the much taller mountains behind them. The skyline was as impressive during the day as it had been the previous night. She’d never seen a city that seemed to shine like Hong Kong. The skyscrapers weren’t old and stained, but new and sparkling—testaments to boundless human creativity and determination.
The restaurant was populated by hundreds of Chinese, most of whom appeared to be businesspeople. Many of the men wore somber suits and ate quickly. The women also tended to dress in dark colors—blouses and pants that seemed infinitely less inspired than the distant buildings. Since the tables were only a few feet apart, Mattie could listen to the different dialects around her. Though she might normally have felt out of place in her jeans and blue T-shirt, the burlap shopping bag resting against her leg made her happy. Inside were gifts for Rupee—three sets of clothes, a wristwatch, and, most important, a large collection of dinosaurs. Mattie had wanted to find the dinosaurs first, and they’d spent the better part of the morning wandering around downtown, trying to locate a toy store. When they finally succeeded, she had seen the dinosaurs and laughed out loud, running ahead to sort through the brimming bins.
Shopping for Rupee had made them hungry, and they’d taken a sampan to one of the largest dim sum restaurants in the city. Mattie hadn’t been sure what to order, but fortunately, the thick menus featured photographs of each dish. As she now looked at their table, she couldn’t believe the variety of food. The small-sized entrees came in wooden baskets and plastic plates and bowls. There were steamed shrimp dumplings, rice-noodle rolls, baked buns filled with spicy pork, sweet and sour calamari, deep-fried chicken feet, vegetables wrapped in lotus leaves, egg tarts, tofu dripping in a sweet ginger syrup, and mango pudding. Mattie had tried everything except the deep-fried chicken feet. Their waiter had spoken of how delicious they were, and so Ian had ordered a serving. He’d been brave, finishing half of the plate before moving on to other dishes.
Mattie was eager to find a post office so they could mail their presents to Rupee, and she ate quickly.
Ian watched her, understanding the reason for her haste. He smiled. “These are delicacies, luv,” he said. “I reckon the chef wouldn’t fancy you sucking them down like spaghetti.”
“I like the dumplings. I could eat a whole dinner of them.”
“Should we order some more?”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Ian turned to one of the many waiters hurrying about and ordered more dumplings, as well as another pot of tea. “It makes me happy to see you happy,” he said, handing Mattie a plate of sweet and sour calamari.
“Just don’t give me any of those chicken feet.”
“Why not be bold, Roo?”
She scowled, the freckles on her nose coming closer together. “Are you crazy? Have you seen where chickens walk? Yuck.”
Picking up another fried foot, he opened his mouth wide. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“That’s disgusting, Daddy.”
He bit into the crunchy morsel, licking his lips. “Ah, Roo, you just haven’t lived until you’ve eaten chicken feet. And you know what they say: When in Rome, do like the Romans.”
“We’re not in Rome.”
“But we’re in Hong Kong, and these cooks . . . their blood’s worth bottling. So we should eat whatever they prepare. Chicken feet or lizard lips or eel eyes.”
“Lizard lips?”
“Sure.”
“Daddy, can we go soon? I want to mail the dinosaurs to Rupee.”
“He’ll get them in a week or so, luv. It doesn’t matter if we mail them now or in a few hours.”
“How do you know that? Maybe there’s a mail plane leaving for India right now.”
He poured her some tea. “Soon, my leaping Roo. Very soon.”
“Hurry.”
Sipping his tea, he opened a lotus leaf to reveal steaming cauliflower. “You certainly made your mum proud.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she asked you to help someone. And you did.”
Mattie nodded, realizing that they hadn’t yet opened their canisters for Hong Kong. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, luv?”
“Should we see what Mommy wants us to do here?”
He glanced at his day pack, which contained the canisters. “What do you reckon? We could open them now. Or wait until tonight.”
“Let’s open them. While we’re waiting for the dumplings and your eel eyes.”
Though Ian was unsure if he wanted to open the letters now, while Mattie was happy, he nodded. “Want to read yours first?”
“I think so.”
He unzipped his day pack and handed her the appropriate canister. Mattie pushed her food aside and opened the canister, carefully unrolling the little scroll. Her mother’s familiar script caused her heart to miss a beat.
Mattie,
What did you think of India, my precious girl? How did you feel when you saw the Taj Mahal? Were you lifted? Did the sight of it make you think about love? About magic? I’m sure that the artist in you was inspired. Maybe you sat down and sketched. Maybe you understood, at that moment, what artists are capable of. How art is one of humanity’s most beautiful and lasting achievements. Don’t ever be shy about your skills, Mattie. It takes courage, I know, to share things, to open yourself to the world. But really, all that matters is that you love what you make. If your art brings you joy, then your paints and pencils should never go unused.
Do you remember the summer when I tried to get you to jump off that diving board? You’d just learned to swim, and standing at the edge of the board, looking into that deep water, you were so scared. Time and time again, you’d walk to the edge of the board, stare into the water, and decide not to jump into my arms. Sometimes the children behind you laughed, and I know you heard those laughs, but you never stopped going to the end of the board. And I was so proud of you each time you made that journey, because I knew the start of the journey was almost as scary as the end of it.
Remember how that night, at the very end of the summer, we went to the board and talked about the jump? Everyone had gone, and it was just you and me. And you made the journey once more, and you jumped. You flew through the air. You landed with a splash. And you started laughing. You laughed and laughed and laughed. And we jumped so many times that night. At least fifty times. The lifeguard was ready to go home, but he’d seen us on the board before, seen you wanting to jump. And so he let us stay late. We were shivering, and shriveled like raisins, but we kept jumping and laughing and splashing each other.
That was one of the best nights of my life, Mattie. I’d seen you work at something, something that another child might have found easy, but that you found difficult. You struggled and you heard their laughter, and I know how hard those steps were to take. But you finally jumped, and you’ve never stopped jumping. And I don’t want you ever to stand at the edge of a board, look into deep water, and not jump.
If you ever get to that point, remember our night at the pool. Remember how much fun it was to jump into that water, to splash each other as the night grew dark. Don’t be afraid to jump, Mattie.
I love you so much. You are the light in my life, and you will always be that light, no matter who you shine on. You will make things grow and blossom. You will make the world a more beautiful place.
I love you like Shah Jahan loved Arjumand. And I have built a place for you, a place like the Taj Mahal, in my own heart.
Mommy
Mattie read her mother’s letter twice. Around her, diners came and went; food was eaten or cooled in small bowls. Clouds dissipated, revealing an indigo sky that made the skyscrapers glisten more brightly.
After rolling up the note, Mattie put it back into the canister and looked at her father. “Mommy wants me to . . . to not be afraid.”
“What did she say, Roo?”
Mattie watched a sampan head toward deeper waters. “She told me the story of when she taught me how to jump from a diving board. I was so scared. But I finally jumped. Finally. And she doesn’t want me to stop jumping.”
Ian took her hand. “Neither do I, luv.”
“Read your letter, Daddy. See what she says.”
He opened his canister, simultaneously eager and afraid to see what Kate might have written. He wanted to see where and how her pen had touched the paper. But he feared being hurt, and of having one less letter from her to read.
Ian,
I am so tired tonight. I feel like an old board that’s been walked on by a million feet. I’m worn and exhausted and know that I won’t last much longer.
You just left for home, carrying Mattie, who fell asleep in your arms. You’re such a wonderful father. Don’t ever sell yourself short there. You weren’t always around, I know. But you were doing what was best for our family. And you succeeded. And Mattie loves you as much as she loves me. You may not believe that, and she may not always show that, but it’s true.