The Astonishing Color of After(78)

“Do you think she did?”

Fred’s eyes grow wide and he nods. “Yes. Definitely. Everything I have now, I have because of Chen Jingling. That’s why I still keep my apartment in Taipei. I only go back a couple times a year. But I keep the apartment for her, because of everything she help me.” He sighs. “I should go back to Taipei again soon probably. Always have things to take care of there.”

I try to imagine a life touched by a ghost. Changed by a ghost.

A fresh breeze gusts past, and as if summoned by my thoughts, I think I hear the faraway beating of wings. I look to the sky, search for a sign, a silhouette, anything.

The wind recedes. Everything stills once more.

“What was the wedding like?” I ask.

“It’s like normal wedding, but they made, like, a doll for her. Using bamboo and paper. She wear real clothing and jewelry. And afterward, everything was burned. We send it all to the spirit world.”

“At your wedding, did you—” I pause. Wait for the words to settle on my tongue. “Did you meet my mother?”

Fred shakes his head. “No. Your grandfather mentioned that Chen Jingling has a sister. But I didn’t meet her. Why didn’t she come with you to Jiufen?”

The question comes so unexpectedly that the breath hitches in my chest. “She, uh. She couldn’t.”

“Too bad,” he says. “Next time.”

“Next time,” I echo.

He takes a pull on his cigarette, tilts his head back to blow the smoke upward.

A new thought occurs to me. “Have you ever seen Jingling?”

“I tell you, she died, that’s why—”

“No, I mean”—I lean in a little closer—“you know. Her ghost? Her spirit?”

He wrinkles his eyebrows. “I see and hear and feel enough to know she is there.”

“Have you ever seen any other ghosts?”

Fred looks angry again. He flicks at his cigarette with the tip of his thumb. A chunk of ash falls onto the table. “Why you asking this?”

“You seem to know a lot about ghosts.”

“Of course,” he says almost defensively. “I was married to a ghost.” He looks out over the water, and something in his face softens. His voice grows quiet. “It’s Ghost Month. Not a good time for ask these questions. Especially here.”

“Why especially here?”

“We’re near Jilong. The Ghost Festival there is so big it brings the attention of many ghosts. And because of higher concentration of ghosts, they are more noticeable to the living. Like when you can see in the trees. When ghosts come up here, they become more visible. I tell you before. Gui yue hui peng dao gui.” Fred mashes the end of his cigarette into the edge of the balcony wall and stands up. “I’m going to sleep. You want to stay here?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll sit for a bit longer.”

“Okay. Just close the door when you leave. Don’t stay out too late. Remember—it’s Ghost Month.”

I listen to the sounds of his feet on the stairs diminishing, until all that’s left is the noise of the wind rustling the trees, the occasional car or moped wheeling past on the road below.

I stay until the shivers set in, and my skin is cold to the touch, goose-bumping. I’m about to leave when I hear something.

The sound of wings. Wind, coming in pulsing waves.

I blink, and there’s the bird, just as huge and beautiful as the first time I saw her. The reddest feathers turned almost purple by the darkness, slick with oily moonlight, long and sharp and curling. She swoops low. She turns in circles overhead, in figure eights, carving her way across the sky.

Every time she goes so far that I’m sure she’s gone for good, she circles back.

There’s urgency and joy in the way she soars. With each powerful beat of her wings, she gains height. She arcs in the air and dives back down. The longest feathers trail behind her like a kite tail, like a dancer’s ribbon.

I stand up, jump with all the force I can, swinging my arms overhead.

Why won’t she come down and talk to me?


I want you to remember



It’s impossible to tell if she’s seen me. But I can’t help believing that she knows she’s being watched. She dives, turns, flips.

“Mom,” I say, the word finally crawling its way up my throat.

The one syllable breaks the spell.

High up in the air, the bird falters, just for a millisecond. She dips down one more time, and then she flies away.





80





Forty-seven days.


All the colors around me are oversaturated and melty. Neon blues dripping out of the sky. Deep greens spilling into the sea, onto the roads. My head pounds. My ribs ache. I guess this is why they tell you sleep is important.


The forty-seventh day has flashed by in a blink. Breakfast. A temple. The bus. Train. Metro. Transfer to another line. Walk home.

Time, gone.





“Did you find anything in Jiufen?” Feng asks.


Two days left. Two days to find her.


I need sleep so badly; I couldn’t sleep at all last night after the bird flew away. I sat there watching the sky until morning. The sun crawled up over the water, pricking the world awake, and there were long curls of mist rising up the mountain like a trail of spirits. The bird didn’t come back.