Red Skies (The Tales of the Scavenger's Daughters) (17 page)

“You look like one of those old ladies that wash clothes at the canal. How’d you get that rice sack over your head?” An Ni asked. She reached up and felt behind her head, pulling out a small plastic bag stuffed with leaves and tied in a knot. Mei had made her a pillow. While An Ni was sleeping, Mei was making pillows and clothes? What was going on?

“I tore a hole and just pulled it over, then I punched arm holes through the sides.” Mei scrubbed at her underwear, and An Ni noticed the two wet socks that lay over the edge of the bucket. “We need to get you out of your pants and underclothes, An Ni. I’ll wash them for you. I already had a bath myself. Did those pills help you?”

An Ni shook her head. Her pants weren’t going anywhere. If she tried that, she knew what she’d feel: excruciating streaks of pain. She’d just have to stay filthy. At least until the swelling went down and they could get out of there. “That’s okay, I’ll wait on the bath.”

Mei looked up and nodded. “Give me a minute. How’s your leg?”

An Ni sighed. Her leg no longer felt as though it was a part of her. Now it was the enemy—a hot, throbbing monster she couldn’t run away from. “You don’t want to know.”

Mei went to portable stove and used a rice sack as protection for her hands as she lifted a pot from the fire.

“There was a small pot under that last cabinet. I found some wild onions and made soup, An Ni,” she said, bringing the pot closer.

When she knelt in front of An Ni, the smell of the soup surprised her by making her stomach growl. “What’s in it?”

Mei put the pot wrapped in the material into An Ni’s hands. “We only had one food tray left, and we’ve had it so long I was afraid to use the meat. So I put the green vegetables and rice in the pot, then the water and onions. It should last us a day or maybe two if we’re careful.”

An Ni was impressed. Mei knew how to analyze a situation and think of solutions. For her age, it was quite something. She wondered for a moment if it was because, like her, Mei was forced to be resourceful because of her life on the streets. She sipped at the soup, taking just enough to ease the aching of her stomach. Then she set it down, and Mei picked up the pot and took it back to the stovetop.

An Ni leaned back and picked up the piece of paper that lay on the floor beside her. It was no longer folded as it had been when she’d pulled it from the wallet. Now it was smoothed out, the man’s face looking up at her. An Ni felt a flash of guilt that she had his wallet and he didn’t. But she hadn’t stolen it—she’d only found it, so why should she feel bad? She traced the man’s face. All the kids liked to laugh and point at the foreigners for their big noses, and this one’s wasn’t any different.

“
Da bizi
,” Mei mumbled, reading An Ni’s mind.

“Yes, he has a big nose, but his eyes are nice.” An Ni turned over the paper and saw a drawing that wasn’t there the day before. “Did you do this?”

Mei nodded as she worked to wring the water out of her socks. She must’ve found a pen in the purse, and with it she’d drawn a fairly good picture of a busy street, complete with stick people, cars, and lots of bicycles. A line of shops lined up on one side of the page, and a little girl with pigtails that stuck straight out sat on an overturned bucket in front of one of the shops.

“Is this you?” She held the paper up and pointed at the little girl.

Mei nodded.

“Where are you?”

“My ye ye’s store.”

An Ni was taken aback. Mei had never mentioned a store before. She looked closer and saw a drawing of a big clock hanging in the window. “Does he sell clocks?”

Mei shrugged. “Sometimes, I guess. But mostly he fixes them. Before I started school, I used to stay with him while my parents worked. All day long, the clocks ticked, tocked, and chimed.”

The girl in the drawing was eating something, and An Ni could guess what it was. “An apple?”

Mei smiled. “
Dui
, from the fruit stand next door.”

She was right. In front of the store next to the clock shop, Mei had drawn a big display of crates holding fruits, with overflowing baskets hanging from hooks in front of the windows.

“Your grandfather own that store, too?”

Mei shook her head. “No, but the store owner let me call him uncle, and I could have anything I wanted from there. I ate apples every day when I stayed with my ye ye.”

An Ni realized she must’ve slept for a long time again, because the drawing was full of details that would have taken a while. On the end of the street, she’d drawn a huge store, complete with a winding staircase on the outside and a giant teapot perched on the curved roof.

“What’s this?” She held the page up to Mei and pointed.

“The market of old stuff.”

“Do you remember the name of it? Or do you know what town it’s from?” An Ni asked, already feeling a burst of hope that possibly Mei knew where she came from. If she could only remember, maybe someone there would help them if they could make it there.

Mei shook her head. She didn’t remember. Her face turned sad. “I’ll never go home, will I, An Ni?”

“Don’t say that, Mei. You never know what fate has in store for you.” An Ni had an idea, but she didn’t want to make any promises she couldn’t keep. But if she could use the drawing to get Mei to talk more about her home and that street, maybe it would eventually trigger something useful. That was their answer—return Mei to her family, and maybe they’d be so thankful they’d let her stay and not send her back into the streets. She watched as Mei worked to wash the clothing. How had she learned such a hard task? If all she’d done before her street life was to sit on barrels and eat fruit, she’d come a long way to the girl bending over the bucket now. An Ni looked around and was astonished at how shy, quiet little Mei had turned into this new, brave girl. The fire still burned behind her in the small stove, but An Ni knew it wasn’t easy to keep it up. With such a small container, it took constant tending. Mei had also opened the window just a crack to allow some ventilation, something An Ni was surprised she’d thought of. And more plastic bags were stuffed with leaves and pushed against the doorframe and into a few of the holes in the shack walls, blocking out the many drafts.

Mei was much smarter than she’d let on—but then, all the kids who spent any time on the streets were. They had to be. “You’ve done a great job in here, Mei.”

Mei smiled. “I’m not done yet.”

An Ni didn’t like the idea of that.

“I’m going to get some fresh water and heat it over the fire, then wash
your
hair. And don’t tell me no. If you won’t let me have your clothes, I can at least clean your hair.” Mei crossed her arms and shot An Ni a sassy look. “We’re getting rid of the bugs, An Ni. I found a comb, and I worked for hours to get them out of my hair.”

An Ni did laugh at that one. Her hair was the last thing on her mind, but if Mei thought she could help rid her of the relentless lice, An Ni was all for it. She sat up, ignoring the pain it took to do so, and peeled her jacket, then her shirt off. She tossed the shirt to Mei.

She covered herself with the bag she’d been using for a blanket. “Here, if I’m going to have good-smelling hair from your lotion, I can at least have a clean shirt, too. But get one of those other rice sacks and make me a neat dress like yours.”

Mei dropped the garment she was scrubbing and jumped up. She giggled and went to the stack of rice sacks, picking through them to find one to make a dress with.

“Mei?” An Ni struggled to get her attention.

Mei looked up, her eyebrows coming together in curiosity.

“I really need to go outside before I wet all over your sort-of-clean floor.” An Ni knew that would get her moving. She had a suspicion Mei liked their new home more than she let on, and An Ni couldn’t blame her. At least in the little shack, it was warm—and most of all, it was safe from anyone threatening to harm them. It was hard to believe they were only about a mile from a busy train station with thousands of people wandering in and out. But here—in their first little home together—they were blessedly alone.

An Ni wished they could stay forever, too, but the truth was that time was running out. Her leg was not getting better, their food was getting low, and who knew how long they’d be able to keep a fire? And what if Tianbing caught on the boys were keeping a secret and made them talk? He could possibly find them! The thought of him invading their new little home sent a shiver up An Ni’s spine. Mei wouldn’t like it, but they’d need to move on soon.

Chapter Fifteen

M
ax tucked his arms low and raced up the several flights of stairs. Luckily he’d passed out with his phone beside him on the kitchen floor, or he’d have never heard it ringing. Even so, it had taken at least ten rings to wake him, but the call he’d gotten from Mari only an hour before had sounded urgent—her words nearly unintelligible. When he’d cleared his head enough to ask her to repeat herself, she’d urged him to come right away, then she’d given him her apartment number and hung up.

On her floor, he busted out of the stairwell and walked briskly past the other apartments to the end of the hall, where she’d said hers was located. At the door, he paused and for a moment, wondered what he was getting into. Then he knocked gently.

She didn’t come to the door.

Max turned the knob and found it unlocked. He pushed open the door and there she was, sitting at a small kitchen table, her head lying on her crossed arms as she cried. The table looked dressed up—candles and clean dinnerware. Even wine glasses. Was she upset because her husband hadn’t shown up? The scene looked like a date gone bad. Or had he walked into a marital spat of some kind?

“Mari?” He stepped in.

She looked up at Max, appearing confused.

“What’s wrong?” Max stayed near the door, in case her husband was there and came out charging.

Mari pointed down the hall. Her soft crying got louder, and Max crossed the room.

He came to stand beside her and put his hand on her shoulder. “What? Tell me? Did he hurt you?”

Mari nodded and pointed again. Whatever it was, she couldn’t say it, but she obviously wanted him to go down that hall.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go talk to him.” He moved away from her and started down the short hall. He truly didn’t want to get into the middle of a married couple’s problems, especially when his language skills were elementary, at best. But he’d do what he could.

Behind him Mari’s crying evolved into sobs—gut-wrenching sobs that made the hair stand up on his neck. Her husband must’ve really done a number on her, and now Max was more than eager to talk to him. No one should cause another human being to be in that much emotional turmoil.

He passed a small bathroom that was empty, then moved on to the next door. It was the bedroom and by the look of the pile of clothes, someone was moving out.
So that’s why she’s crying
, Max thought. But did she really have to get him into the middle of it? He stepped in and a flash of red from the closet caught his eye. He moved closer and peeked inside, then jumped back so hard and fast that he fell back on the bed.

“What the—!” He shivered all over and stood up, then stepped forward and took another look. He knew from his experience as a journalist that he shouldn’t touch anything, but he wanted to make sure the guy wasn’t still breathing. He leaned in, his hands close to his chest, and judged by the look of him that he was indeed dead.

Max turned and left the room, and as he walked toward Mari, he could see her watching for him, her eyes round as saucers, silently asking him if it was true. “He’s dead, Mari. Is that your husband?”

She nodded, and the sobs began again.

“You have to call the police.”

She looked up at him, and he could see she was shaking.

“And I have to get out of here, Mari. If a foreigner is here when they arrive, they’ll assume I had something to do with it. It’ll be nothing but trouble.”

Mari shook her head. “No—please don’t go. I don’t want to be here alone with him.”

Max reached down and took her hands. “I’ll come back. I promise. Just get this part over with, and then I’ll come back. Can you call a friend, or maybe your family to come?”

“I don’t have any friends, but I’ll call my father. He won’t be able to get here probably until tomorrow, but he’ll know what to do.”

Max gently let go of her hands. “Good. Call him. But you’ll also have to call the police now. They’ll come and ask you some questions, and take away his body. You’ll need someone to help you through making funeral arrangements. Can your father do that?”

Mari nodded, then stood.

Max couldn’t believe how much she looked like a terrified little girl. She stood there shaking, her expression confused.

“Do you know why he did it?”

She nodded. “He’s been hurting for a long time, and he thought he’d lost face with everyone. He just couldn’t handle our problems. I think losing his camel was the last straw. He tricked me to go out and when I returned, that’s how I found him.” She started sobbing again, and Max pulled her into his chest, hugging her tightly. “I….should’ve….known—he wanted to be clean and have his hair cut. He was acting unusual, but I thought he’d crossed a hurdle and was coming out of his depression. I should’ve seen it. I shouldn’t have left him.”

“It’s not your fault, Mari. You have to know that. Suicide has the reputation of being a selfish act—but I know it to be one of desperation. Still, it was his choice, and it is not your fault.”

She nodded but she didn’t look convinced.

“Now I’m leaving. You call the police first, then your father. Do you want me to come back in a few hours?”

“Please,” she said, her voice muffled.

He let her go and looked down at her. “I will. I promise.”

With one final look, he left her there. It broke his heart to think she’d called him—practically a stranger—because she didn’t have family or friends nearby who she could depend on. What sort of isolated life had she led? He picked up his pace and was thankful all the apartment doors were closed as he passed them. He sure didn’t need the pressure of being considered a part of someone’s death. He had enough to deal with on his own, but he knew that tonight, he’d stay clean. He needed to resist the temptation to drown out his troubles. For once, someone else needed him more than he needed the bottle. And he’d be damned if he’d let her down.

Sixteen hours later, Max was at Mari’s kitchen table again, this time sitting as the minutes ticked by. He had come before the police left, as Mari had called him again and begged him to return, saying that they were scaring her. The police had questioned who he was, but after Mari told them he was her employer, they’d taken his name and passport information, a statement, then dropped the subject of his presence.

When they were satisfied that Mari had answered the same questions with the same responses at least fifteen times, they’d left.

Now Mari slept, finally succumbing to her exhaustion after several hours of their questioning and after dealing with the coroner who took away her husband.

They’d carried him out in a bag on a stretcher, but Max could’ve strangled the little men when they paused in the living room and unzipped the plastic enough for Mari to see her husband one more time.

She’d gone to him, and Max had watched as she’d gently put her hand on his face, then apologized to him for the way their life together had ended. As if it was her fault! He’d wanted to say something but knew it wasn’t his place. He just hoped when her family arrived, any minute from now, that they’d be able to give her the comfort that he couldn’t. After she’d told the dead man that she’d love him forever, she’d crumpled onto his body, sobbing until the orderly had peeled her off of it and pushed her away. Max had picked her up off the floor and guided her to her couch, and only then when her husband was gone had she finally closed her eyes.

Max heard a commotion in the hall that led to the door. He rose, moving quietly so as not to wake Mari. He went to the door and opened it.

An elderly man and woman stood there and when they saw him at the door, they looked surprised and speechless.

“Lao Zheng?” Max held his hand out to the man, locking eyes and marveling at the air of authority and wisdom the man carried.

“
Ni hao
,” The man grasped it and shook it before Max could remember that shaking hands wasn’t really the custom to the older generation. He watched Zheng’s eyebrows lift and felt that the intense look he gave Max meant he’d save his questions for after he got to his daughter, but that sooner or later, he’d find out why a foreigner was in his daughter’s apartment.

Max broke the uncomfortable eye contact and turned to Mari’s mother. He smiled at the woman, noticing the kindness etched into the lines of her face—just as he’d imagined when Mari had described her—and she moved past him and made her way into the apartment.

Max moved aside, allowing Mari’s father to also join his wife. They went straight to the couch and the woman sat on the edge. Without saying a word to wake her, the woman waited until Mari opened her eyes, then she gathered her in her arms and Mari cried. Locked together, they rocked back and forth as Mari’s father paced in front of them. The scene was so sad and so personal, Max had to turn away.

When he looked again, Mari had sat up, and her parents were on either side of her, their arms around her in a protective embrace.

“Baba, I’ve failed him,” Mari whispered.