The Wishing Trees (29 page)

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.

I worry about you, my love. And I want you to do something for me—something that might not be easy. I don’t know if you recall these details, but my friend Georgia, and her little girl, Holly, now live in Hong Kong, where Georgia works for her bank. Remember how much fun we had with them on those weekends together? Holly and Mattie had such a fantastic time, and Georgia went from being my best friend to our friend. You enjoyed her company as much as I did.

I’ll never understand why Frank cheated on her. He killed a part of her, but she was strong. She moved to Hong Kong, taking Holly with her. She’s lived there for two years now.

For the past few months, I’ve e-mailed her several times a week. She’s been a wonderful friend. A lovely mate, as you would say. She hopes to come visit me, but for a reason I can’t explain, I don’t want her to see me like this.

Anyway, I’m asking you, as your lover and your best friend, to visit Georgia and Holly before you leave Hong Kong. I want you to share a smile with another woman, Ian. I know that you’ll avoid such sharing, that you’ll run from it. But Georgia and I grew up together. She made me laugh. And I know that she could make you laugh too. And there is nothing wrong with laughter, my love. It doesn’t speak of betrayal, of surrender. It makes us all stronger. It means that we have chosen life over death.

I have been working on capturing these thoughts in a poem. Here it is:

Tomorrow

Yesterday I felt your touch,
I heard your joy,
I watched you watch me.
Yesterday my dream was real.
The dream of you,
Of how you and I made us.

Yesterday I never thought about tomorrow.
Only the moment,
The mingling of our thoughts, our shadows, our love.

Today is here.
A new, darker dawn.
A frontier I hadn’t wanted to cross.

Today is pain, is suffering.
Many of my dreams are gone.
Shattered.
But many dreams remain.
Like tulips beneath a spring snow.

Today I have hope.
For you.
For Mattie.

Tomorrow you must let go.
Of me.
Of us.

You can hold me in a secret place,
But in the light you must hold another.

Tomorrow you must laugh again.
You must take a hand that is not mine.

Tomorrow your heart must swell,
Must grow large enough to shelter love beyond us,
Must grow strong enough to welcome such love.

You will not forget yesterday.
Love like ours never dissipates, never wavers.
We were one and we will always be one—
Pages within the same book.

But life is long and you should not walk alone.
Please don’t walk alone.