Red Skies (The Tales of the Scavenger's Daughters) (19 page)

Chapter Eighteen

A
n Ni wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. She was too hot. She tried to lift her head to look for Mei, but the effort made her dizzy, so she lay back again. She heard something clacking together, then realized it was her own teeth. Around her face, her hair stuck to her head in sticky wisps, arguing the logic that it had been washed only the night before.

“Mei?” she called out weakly.

Mei was up in a second, throwing the empty rice sack off so she could lean over An Ni. She’d changed back into her regular clothes, and the faded pink of her jacket reminded An Ni that she was just a little girl—one burdened with the job of taking care of her. An Ni could only see the outline of her face, lit by the small fire behind her, and An Ni was sorry that she’d put them in such an impossible position, but she was glad to know she wasn’t alone.

“What is it, An Ni?”

An Ni struggled to speak. Her throat felt parched and dry. She gave it another try. “Water?”

Mei went to the desk and retrieved the tin bowl she’d filled with water before they’d gone to bed. An Ni used her elbows to prop herself up enough that she wouldn’t spill the water, then Mei held it to her lips, letting her sip it slowly.

“My leg, Mei. It feels even more puffed up, and it’s burning hot.”

Mei set the bowl down on the floor. “But your teeth were chattering. I thought you were cold?”

“I’m cold. And hot. I don’t know, Mei, but my leg hurts further up.”

The last time Mei had helped her a few steps out the door to relieve her bladder, An Ni had noticed the skin just over her knee and spreading up her thigh was redder than it had been. Now she suspected it was even worse. It throbbed so bad that An Ni had to grind her teeth together to keep from screaming out. She didn’t want to scare Mei, but it was hard to keep control.

“What do you want me to do?” Mei asked, her voice shaking.

“Help me outside and let me pee. While my pants are down, I’ll try to take a look.” She rolled over and bent her good leg, supporting herself on it along with her two arms.

Mei brought her the crutches, and An Ni attempted to stand. She couldn’t. She was too weak and her leg hurt too much.

“I’m going to have to crawl, Mei. When I get to the door, I’ll sit on the top step, and you can pull my pants down, then I’ll hold myself off the step with my arms and go.” An Ni was embarrassed, but Mei scrambled around, moving things out of the way and opening the door. A freezing cold gust of wind blew in, threatening to put out their fire. An Ni shivered again but started crawling.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could help,” Mei said.

An Ni spoke through her clenched teeth. “You are helping. Don’t worry.”

A few more feet, and she made it to the door. She rested a moment, then stretched her good leg out and rolled over onto her backside. She took a moment to scratch at her head, realizing the war against the lice hadn’t been won after all. Carefully she brought her legs around, almost screaming when she had to move the bad one, until they were both dangling over the ground in front of the shack.

“Now, help me get my pants down enough.”

Mei moved in front of her, and once An Ni unbuttoned the top, she pulled gently.

With the first tug, An Ni couldn’t help it—she screamed once and threw her hand over her mouth.

“
Dui bu qi
, An Ni!” Mei called out, letting go of the pants.

“No, Mei, don’t be sorry. Keep going. I need to see it.” An Ni started breathing in through her nose and out of her mouth, concentrating on staying calm.

Mei tugged again and this time the pants came down quickly, along with her underwear.

“
Hao le
, let me pee first,” An Ni said, though the steady and hot stream was already forcing its way out of her body. The moonlight shone down on her, illuminating the dark red blotch that had climbed even higher on her leg.

Releasing her bladder burned like fire, but An Ni didn’t want to alarm Mei any more than she already was, so she didn’t say anything about it. When she finished, she leaned back against the doorframe and helped Mei tug her pants back up. Jiggling her legs was excruciating, even more so now that she’d seen the color of her skin. She felt light-headed, feverish.

“Let me turn back over and crawl in, and bring me the last two pills,” she said. She turned to the side and stretched her hurt leg out, then before she could warn Mei, she spewed vomit all over their floor.

Exhausted from the effort, she dropped to her stomach and lay limply with her cheek flat against the wood planks, her eyes only centimeters from the chunks she’d sent flying out of her mouth. She just couldn’t go any further. She couldn’t even fake it for Mei. She was done. Beaten down by fate once again.

The wind caught their fire again, and Mei scampered over her and into the shack. When An Ni heard her groan, she opened one eye to more darkness and watched Mei scramble to throw things on the fire, afraid to let it fizzle out.

An Ni tried to move again. She at least had to get in and shut the door to keep the wind out. She struggled onto her knee, supporting herself with her arm, and moved a few feet until she was out of the door. Mei came around and shut it, and An Ni dropped to her pallet, dragging along a trail of vomit as she moved.

“I’m so sorry, Mei.” It was An Ni’s fault. The wind almost blowing out the fire, the clean floor ruined—all of it. Everything was her fault. With her distress came more pain—this time in shooting streaks up her thigh, much higher than where she’d thought the break was.

“You’re really sick, An Ni,” Mei leaned over her and put her small, cool hand to An Ni’s forehead. Her touch felt so smooth and soothing—An Ni wished she’d just leave her hand there. She started to tell her that, but then she felt her body being lifted, and she just let herself go, releasing her hold on the here and now, and embracing the possibility of a forever of nothing. As she faded away, she thought she heard Mei calling her name.

Chapter Nineteen

M
ax paced the floor in his apartment, staring at the frazzled piece of paper in his hand. He hadn’t found a story, but as for what was on the paper—the real reason for his trip to China—he’d done almost all of it. Or at least the things that he understood. So why did he still feel the same bitter turmoil rolling in his gut? He tried to think, but his concentration was broken by the thought of Mari on her way to the train station. He’d waited and waited for her to call, hoping they’d meet once more. But when the day had come and gone, and the hour drew close for the night train he knew they’d be boarding, he’d realized she was leaving without saying good-bye. And that felt wrong.

He looked at his watch. There was no chance he could make it across town and to the station before Mari and her parents pulled out. Or was there? He looked at the paper again, scanning with his finger down to the last item. Could Mari hold the key to fulfilling it and allowing him to put it behind him? What if he never knew and he had to live with the same restlessness forever? He couldn’t. He knew that leaving this elusive task undone would be his downfall—he’d finally succumb to the demons that chased him, hot on his trail, enticing him with the oblivion that only the burning liquid poured down his throat could bring. If she—not Mari, but the
other
she—could see him now, what would she think? He knew what she’d think. She’d be disgusted.

He stuffed the paper back into his pocket and grabbed his phone from the table. He at least had to try. Her parents might think him crazy, but he just had to say good-bye. He ran out the door, not even bothering to take the time to lock it. He could only pray a taxi was waiting at the curb, hoping for a patron. Then traffic needed to cooperate. But he knew that only if the stars aligned just right could he have a chance in hell of making it before it was too late. And if he was basing his luck on everything else in his life… she’d be gone before he got there.

Mari stared out the window, watching Beijing fly by in a blur as they moved closer to the train station. Her parents sat on either side of her in the taxi, doing their best to show their support as the car moved away from the only home Mari had known for at least ten years. The finality of her leaving added to her depression over the end of this part of her life, though she’d have to return if and when the apartment sold, to pack up her things. Conversation was stilted—a little chitchat here and there, interspersed in the stretches of silence as the driver weaved in and out of traffic.

“I hope all is well at home,” her mama said as she fiddled with the clasp on her purse.

“Mama, I’m sure all is fine, or they would’ve called.”

“Yes, you’re probably right.” Her mama pulled a tissue from her bag and blew her nose. “It was a fine ceremony for Bolin, wasn’t it?”

Mari nodded, not sure what to say. It was all too soon. Too final. Words couldn’t really match up to the thoughts that swirled in her mind about everything.

“It was a fine showing,” her father answered, taking up her slack. “His parents obviously brought some family and friends from their village. And even your neighbors pitched in at the end there, giving his street procession the respectability he deserved.”

Mari snorted. He didn’t know that not a single one of those people had ever spoken to her before Bolin’s death. They’d only come out of curiosity. Or maybe she was being too harsh? But what did it matter, after all? She’d never see them again.

“And your friend—the foreigner—he came. What does he do?” Mari’s father asked.

“He’s a photojournalist,” Mari answered, her mind wandering back to the last time they’d spoken. She wondered what Max thought of her, since she hadn’t called him to say good-bye. He knew she was leaving, but time had flown since the day before when he’d walked in the funeral procession, and she hadn’t had a chance to call him. It’s not as if she wanted or needed to see him—she just felt bothered by the fact that they didn’t have any finality. She almost felt as though she was leaving a job undone. Something niggled at her, telling her that Max hadn’t found what he was seeking in China and still searched for that elusive thing, whatever it was. And she only wished she could’ve helped him to find it.

“A very respectable profession,” her mama murmured.

“But a difficult one in China,” her baba added. “If he’s looking to be published in China’s papers, he’ll hit more than a few brick walls. Censorship is still strong, despite rumors the government feeds to the rest of the world.”

“What do you mean, Baba?” Mari was thankful for the conversation on any topic other than Bolin.

“Well, you can put it this way: I still remember back in the late seventies when it got out that one of the upper staff members of the most famous paper in China,
The People’s Daily
, said lies in their newspapers were like rat droppings in clear soup—both apparent and appalling. He was not proud of his position but could do nothing about it.”

“But that was decades ago, Benfu,” her mama said.

Her baba snorted in derision. “Don’t let them fool you, Calla Lily. Not much has changed since then, other than the fact that now the government has a full-time battle on their hands as they try to police the Internet, even with their many filters. They print what they want to print, or twist a story into what they need it to be. But I’ll say this—their obsession to censor everything is much harder with the inception of the World Wide Web.”

Mari didn’t answer. Her father’s dislike for the communist party and their many ways of controlling China’s people were sore spots that ran long and deep. He’d lived through many a trial brought on by poor leadership, and he had a right to the opinions he held. Her baba was an intelligent man, and one of the things she loved about him was that he wasn’t afraid to have intelligent daughters. He’d taught them one of the most important tools in life: to think for themselves. For the daughters who hungered for history—like Linnea—he fed them everything he knew, from both sides of opinion. But for those who didn’t have a thirst for it, he didn’t try to shove it down their throats. But now that Mari was older, he was much more transparent with his views than he’d ever been before.

The driver slammed on his brakes, closing the subject abruptly as he narrowly missed a motorcycle carrying a man, woman, and their child. Her mama gasped, throwing her hand to her heart.

The rest of the ride to the train station was quiet. Mari stayed immersed in her own thoughts of mortality, brought on by Bolin’s funeral and the near-miss of an entire family in one split second. Mari knew human life was frail. And at this stage in it, she didn’t even know if it was worth fighting for. She looked over her mama’s head, wishing she could reach the window, to lean her head against it, and let the coolness of the glass soothe her. Sitting between her parents was supposed to bring her comfort, but she longed for solitude. Or at least for someone who could truly identify with her deep sadness.

The driver pulled them up to the curb, and her baba paid him, then went to the trunk and lifted all their bags out, setting them on the walkway. Mari looked around, feeling claustrophobic from the sudden onslaught of people. It felt as if all of Beijing was packed into and around the station, and her first instinct was to bolt. She looked up, seeing another red-sky night, and though she wouldn’t miss the pollution of Beijing, she would miss the dreamlike backdrop it created on rare occasions.

But she needed to return to her childhood home. At least to retreat for a while, to try to put the pieces of herself together again. Still, she felt as if she were forgetting something. A feeling she couldn’t quite place pulled her to keep looking behind her.

“
Guo lai
.” Her mama beckoned her to join them. She and her baba had moved quite a few feet ahead and waited for her to catch up.

She let out a long, mournful sigh. “I’m coming, Mama.” She picked up her one of her bags and looped the strap around her shoulder, then grabbed the handle of her rolling suitcase. With one last look behind her, she moved toward her parents. As she drew closer, she kept her face down.