The Dark Becomes Her

In the morning, I try my best to piece together for Shen everything Tina told me.

Me: temple is linked to soulful heart somehow

Me: tina said that they’ve been planning this for a long time

Shen: Shit. I’ll tell Shu-Ling

Me: it’s all happening together. fate, like delia said, but not in the way she expected. fhe temple, luring people in again with false promises. hope returning to vancouver. delia being taken…

Shen: We still don’t know if Delia was taken

Shen: But you’re right, it’s too many coincidences in a row

Shen: I should have made Shu-Ling pay attention

I clean up my room in an attempt to ease my nerves. When I fold my jacket, a piece of paper flutters out of the pocket and lands on the floor. I pick it up and see the card for the Temple of Fortunate Tidings. In the chaos of last night, I forgot all about it. It’s slightly bent in the corners, but the smudged red seal seems to be an ominous warning. A bad sign. Something is going to happen tonight. I take a photo of it and send it to Shen, the back and the front.

Shen: Tonight? Where???

Me: it doesn’t say where, only a time

I check it again and again. I hold it up to the light. Dampen it with a bit of water. As if it will reveal a secret, hidden message, for those clever enough to decipher it. But there’s nothing. Even holding for too long though, gives me a bad feeling. I rip it up into pieces finally and throw it into the trash. It’s a lure, a trap, that’s what Delia’s binder said.

Shen: Stay away from the mall for now. Just in case

Shen: Until we figure out what’s going on

Ma calls me then for breakfast, and I have to spend the morning with her figuring out what pieces I’m going to play for the performance.

My hair is curled into waves that fall below my shoulders. I wear a black dress that leaves my shoulders bare, but I have a lacy maroon shawl that I can wrap around my shoulders to keep warm. Ma applies the lightest makeup that she deems tolerable, eye shadow to my eyelids, a bit of blush to my cheeks, and a light pink lip gloss.

Tina is quiet through all this, eating her oatmeal, lost in her thoughts. Except for a cut on her hand and a small bruise on her chin, she seems to have emerged from yesterday’s incident relatively unscathed. Physically, at least.

“Do you want to stay home?” Baba offers, a rarity these days for him to permit one of us to skip out on “family bonding” activities. Tina refuses, a flicker of worry on her face that I understand. She doesn’t want to be left home alone. Who knows what could still be lingering in our house? Who is still watching her?

We pile into the car to head downtown to the Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Chinese Garden. My parents refer to Dr. Sun as “國父,” the Father of the Republic, because he is acknowledged as one of the influential leaders who led the revolution against the Qing Dynasty, and formed the Republic of China as the leader of the Nationalist Party. The members of that government eventually lost the civil war and then moved to Taiwan, where the resultant effects are still felt to this day. Though the rule of the Nationalist Party has not always been the best for the people of Taiwan, Dr. Sun is regarded in mostly a favorable light as an idealist, a philosopher, a leader of the people. That he once visited the gardens in Vancouver himself is what my parents talk about on the drive there, a bit of history I didn’t know.

When we walk through the doors, the white walls provide a barrier between the gardens and the bustle of the city. They remove all the cars and the noise and the people, so I can almost pretend that I’ve been transported back to what China once was. Despite the snow, yellow, red, and gold leaves still remain on most of the trees or have fallen in drifts in the pond and on the sides of the paths.

The sound of the piano trickles out from one of the rooms down the hall. At the entrance there is a poster of the event: AN AFTERNOON OF TRANQUIL MUSIC & REFLECTION. FUNDRAISER FOR THE OWNERS OF SUNDAY RICE BOWL. SPONSORED BY THE FORMOSA FRIENDSHIP ASSOCIATION. There is an image of a smiling family. Happy Asian parents, two kids in their best clothes: a girl wearing a red polka-dot dress, a red bow in her hair, while the boy is in a white shirt with a gray polka-dot bow tie.

“I heard about what happened.” Ma tsks. “Such a sad story. The restaurant was doing really well, even won an award for the best curry rice bowl in the city. The father is from Taiwan, the mother from Japan. I had been meaning to go there and try the curry. But there was a fire in the store. The little boy died, the little girl got smoke-inhalation damage in her lungs and is still undergoing treatment. Both parents were burned badly. What a tragedy.” She shakes her head.

“I know, it truly is tragic what happened to them.” Mrs. Tsai is suddenly there. “That’s why we must all come together in support.”

She puts a hand on my arm and says, with great seriousness, “Thank you, Ruby, for your help. We appreciate you filling in for us. I promise it will be very low-key.”

I pull my face up in a smile. Tina clings to me a little and has to let go when Mrs. Tsai leads me away. She looks so small and sad as I’m walking down the hall, that I almost turn and run back to her, but I’m pulled into another room and handed off to a smiling woman who calls herself Mrs. Lin. There are other musicians here too. A boy who’s about Denny’s age, tuning his violin. Another girl in a long, floaty dress, playing a flute. They all seem happy to be here, to be part of the program. The opposite of how I feel.

“Can I get you anything, Ruby? Snacks? Drinks?” Mrs. Lin offers, but I shake my head.

I stare at the calligraphy on the wall while I wait for my turn. I feel like I should be nervous, I should have that feeling that I’m going to throw up, like I’ve done in my previous attempts at performing, but I’m strangely calm. I know the pieces. I am certain of it. I know that I am able to play them, and I know that I am able to perform them well. It’s all the pressure, the expectations weighing on me, that tears me up inside and out. But I reach for the pendant at my throat, thinking of the letter hidden there: peace. A feeling of serenity drifts over me. I look at the fluid brushstrokes, thinking about how Shen once referred to calligraphy as meditation, a way to look within.

I don’t play piano to impress teachers, to have something to list on the résumé, for my parents to brag about my achievements with their friends. I play piano for me, because of how the music makes me feel, how it unravels all my worries and anxieties, throws them out for the audience to hear. For them to experience. To accept me as I am. Flaws and all.

“Hehehehe…” Suddenly, I hear giggles from behind the shelves in the room. Eyes watching me somewhere up above. “She thinks she’s safe…but it’s almost time….”

I shudder but stay focused on what I’m about to do. I also have to trust that Shu-Ling is going to communicate with the guardians. Tell them about what is happening. Have them save Chinatown from the dark force of the temple. Protect girls like Tina.

“It’s your turn, Ruby!” Mrs. Tsai waves at me from the door. I walk out, standing tall. I don’t look back.

The performance is in a lovely room with folding doors that can keep out the chill or be opened to the garden. I can still see the view of the garden if I turn my head, and the people walking by, pausing with drinks in hand, to listen to my performance. I pretend that I am at the manor, performing for the Chorus of Aunties. Mrs. Sui and Mrs. Wang sitting at the very front seats, waiting to hear me finally play a piece for them.

I close my eyes, and even though I had prepared myself to play the Moonlight Sonata, it’s the Rachmaninoff that pours out of my hands. The Rachmaninoff that starts as a steady wave, moving forward, pulling back, building and building upon itself. I move to the sound of the music, the rich and dark chords, let it flow through my body. I imagine myself as a channel, for the emotions that course through me as I work through this piece. The gentle lull in the middle, that rumbling current that still ripples under the surface.

Again and again, relentless in its power, the sound swoops through my hands, dragging out what is hidden in the deep. It comes back, rising, more powerful each time, my hands flying across the keys. I become the ocean, sometimes gentle and calm, an illusion of safety, but other times I break through and nothing can hold me back. When I finish playing, I can feel myself sweating a little from the exertion, something inside me trembling as the last notes fade away.

The audience applauds, and I stand and bow, resisting the urge to wipe my hands on my dress.

“Wonderful, wonderful.” Mr. Lee goes up to the microphone and thanks everyone in the audience for attending, along with a speech of appreciation for the performers.

I hurry away to stand beside my family, eager to be out of the eyes of the audience. I survived. I played one of the more challenging songs in my repertoire. A sense of relief flows through me as I think about my performance—how I did it without panicking, without my stomach in turmoil, without thinking about the Tanakas and their harsh criticisms, and I steady myself against Denny, who looks up at me and smiles.

Suddenly, my mother grasps my arm, making happy noises of excitement, disrupting my inner dialogue. I had zoned out from the speech, but all the eyes of the audience have turned to me. Everyone is clapping. I’m confused.

“They’re giving you a scholarship, Ruby!” Ma shakes my arm. They’re all watching me for a reaction. The applause continues. I plaster what must look like the fakest grin on my face as I approach the microphone.

“The Formosa Friendship Association and the Sunrise Foundation are pleased to present this cheque to you in support of our brilliant future generations!” Mr. Lee pumps my hand several times, grinning, while handing me a large cheque to hold. I stand there beside him while cameras flash. The name Sunrise Foundation sounding vaguely familiar in my head—maybe something Delia mentioned? I feel a pang of worry as my thoughts drift to where she could be, but before I know it, the event is over and other parents come by to offer my parents their congratulations, their mouths forming similar praises and platitudes, until they all run together. Many of their children stand sullenly behind them, looking like they wish they could be anywhere else but here.

Mrs. Tsai is there again, shaking my hand as well. I finally look down at the cheque. Five thousand dollars. A good start to my university fund. I should be grateful.

“Aren’t you happy you agreed to do this, Ruby?” Baba nudges me, beaming. “To think you almost turned down this opportunity!” Another thing they can add to their list of things to hold above my head and tell me that every decision they make for me is for the best.

I almost laugh when Mrs. Tsai’s next words are to tell us to join her in Soulful Heart Studio so we can sign some papers and she can give us the real cheque, and to invite us to the fundraising dinner.