Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [51]
“Hmmm,” said Amy, and lapsed into silence. Then she went on: “Finally you’re really getting me interested, Auyung.”
She got up and went to open the wardrobe.
The wardrobe was made of the same red rosewood as the bed. A mirror was mounted on the door, and the mirror frame was carved in the same dragon-and-phoenix designs as the bedposts. But the mirror glass was covered with a sort of mottling, so that things were reflected dimly as if from a distance. Amy opened the door. It was empty except for a woman’s jacket decorated with a wide border around the edges, and flowers embroidered at the neck under the collar. The flowers were big and showy, probably peonies, but their colour was a dull yellow. Amy could not help sighing. Nothing could withstand the ravages of time. No matter how vivid the original colours, it reduced everything to this muddy hue.
Amy opened out the garment and discovered a pair of sheer silk stockings folded inside. She took them out and saw a tiny hole in the calf of one. It started out as small as a sesame seed, but had burst into a hole as big as her hand farther up the leg. Amy imagined her great-grandmother walking down the narrow village lanes in a pair of sheer stockings like this, and smiled in spite of herself. She put the jacket around her shoulders. It amply hid all her curves, and she guessed that her great-grandmother must have been a woman of generous proportions. How did she carry herself then, in this village of short people tanned dark by the tropical sunshine? Was she demure and self-effacing or did she walk tall and proud?
Amy stuffed the stockings back inside the jacket and began to button it up. These were traditional Chinese knot buttons, intricately made of fine strips of satin coiled into tight circles and sewn securely—although the stitching had long since come loose. Frowning intently, her thumb and forefinger joined at the tips, Amy carefully pressed the buttons against the front of the jacket,
Suddenly she stopped; her fingers froze, forming a circle in mid-air. She looked up to see a pair of eyes reflected in the mottled mirror.
Just eyes, two faceless eyes. Deep black in colour. Melancholy. Flickering. Staring out at her.
Amy felt a cold draught of air starting at her fingertips that crawled up her spine until the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
She shoved the jacket back into the wardrobe and hurried Auyung down the stairs. “Take me to the hotel to check in. We can come back tomorrow.”
Outside, Amy got quickly into the car, and curled up with her chin resting on her knees. Her hands would not stop shaking. “I expect the jet lag is catching up with you,” said Auyung. “You look like you need a rest.” Amy shook her head. “I don’t need a rest, I need a stiff drink.” “Well, as it happens, the O.O.C.A. is hosting a dinner for you tonight, and it’ll be awash with drink.”
They had booked Amy into the best hotel in town. She took a shower, then followed Auyung. The banquet was taking place in the hotel dining room and was, naturally, an ostentatious affair. She was given a glass of wine and her hosts started in on lengthy words of welcome. Amy interrupted almost immediately: “I don’t want this wine. I want something with a real kick—a whisky on the rocks.” There was general puzzlement at her request, until Auyung explained to the wine waitress: “She wants a glass of whisky with ice cubes in it.” She was given her drink and, without waiting to clink glasses with anyone, tossed it back.
It was a splendid meal. Abalone, sea snails, grouper fish, suckling pig, pigeon breast and other seasonal delicacies. But Amy ate little. She gulped at her whisky and, after two glasses, relaxed and found herself becoming quite garrulous.
She tugged at Auyung’s sleeve. “My mother told me that all of Great-Grandmother’s family died in Tak Yin House. Is that right?” Auyung nodded. “How did they die?” Auyung made an effort to distract her by raising his