didn’t seem so garish, just aged and world-weary. She could have been my grandmother.
She led me to an apartment building a few streets away from the café, stopping every so often to catch her breath. A baby’s crying echoed around the courtyard and I could hear two women trying to comfort it. The building’s cement walls were cracked and weeds poked through the spaces. Water leaked out of a rusted drainpipe, creating pools of slime on the steps and pathway. A tabby cat was lapping up water from one. The scrawny animal blinked at us before clambering up a wooden fence and disappearing from view.
The building’s entranceway was cold and piled with garbage. Hundreds of flies were buzzing over the food scraps that spewed from the overfilled cans. I squinted at the figure of a man at the end of the hall, backlit by the muted light of a single window. He was mopping the floor and I was surprised to see that the building had a cleaner. His eyes followed the old woman when we passed and I noticed there werecrimson marks on his arms, one in the shape of a dragon. He rolled down his sleeve when he saw me looking at it.
We stopped in front of a metal door with a grille at the bottom. The old woman pulled out a key tied around her neck with a piece of string. The lock required some jiggling and, when she finally unhooked it, the door groaned open in protest. The woman rushed into the basement apartment but I stood on the threadbare doormat, peering inside. Pipes ran across the ceiling and the wallpaper was stained. Old newspapers covered the floor. The sheets were yellow and ripped, as if some animal lived there, sleeping, eating and urinating on the paper floor. The smell of dust and bad air made me queasy. When the woman realised that I hadn’t followed her inside, she turned to me and shrugged. ‘I can see from your clothes that you are used to better. But this is the best I can offer you.’
I blushed and stepped into the apartment, ashamed of my snobbery. In the centre of the room was a worn sofa, stuffing protruding from its seams. The woman brushed it with her hand and threw a musty-smelling rug over the cushions. ‘Please. Sit,’ she said. It was hotter in the apartment than it was outside. The mud-stained windows were shut, but I could hear footsteps and bicycle bells in the street beyond. The woman filled a kettle and lit the stove. The stove made the room even hotter and, when she wasn’t looking, I lifted my handkerchief to my nose, trying to find relief in the fresh, laundered scent of the material. I glanced around the apartment, wondering if there was a bathroom. I couldn’t understand how she could appear quite clean and yet live in such a filthy apartment.
‘So many, many people in pain,’ the old woman muttered. ‘Everyone has lost someone: parents, husbands, sisters, brothers, children. I try to help, but there are so many of them.’
The kettle boiled and the woman poured the hot water into a chipped pot, setting it and two cups on the table in front of me.
‘Did you bring me something of hers?’ she asked, leaning forward and patting my knee.
I pulled the scarf from my pocket and unfolded it, placing the contents on the table. The old woman’s eyes fixed on the necklace. She picked it up and dangled it in front of her face, captivated by the sight of it.
‘It’s jade,’ she said.
‘Yes. And gold.’
She cupped her other hand and dropped the necklace into it, weighing it in her palm. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘And very old. You can’t find jewellery like this now.’
‘It is beautiful,’ I agreed, and suddenly heard my father saying the same thing. A memory came to me. I was three years old and my parents and I were celebrating Christmas with some of their friends in the city. My father called out, ‘Lina and Anya! Come quickly! Look at this magnificent tree!’ My mother and I rushed into the room and found him standing by a giant evergreen, every limb decorated with
She led me to an apartment building a few streets away from the café, stopping every so often to catch her breath. A baby’s crying echoed around the courtyard and I could hear two women trying to comfort it. The building’s cement walls were cracked and weeds poked through the spaces. Water leaked out of a rusted drainpipe, creating pools of slime on the steps and pathway. A tabby cat was lapping up water from one. The scrawny animal blinked at us before clambering up a wooden fence and disappearing from view.
The building’s entranceway was cold and piled with garbage. Hundreds of flies were buzzing over the food scraps that spewed from the overfilled cans. I squinted at the figure of a man at the end of the hall, backlit by the muted light of a single window. He was mopping the floor and I was surprised to see that the building had a cleaner. His eyes followed the old woman when we passed and I noticed there werecrimson marks on his arms, one in the shape of a dragon. He rolled down his sleeve when he saw me looking at it.
We stopped in front of a metal door with a grille at the bottom. The old woman pulled out a key tied around her neck with a piece of string. The lock required some jiggling and, when she finally unhooked it, the door groaned open in protest. The woman rushed into the basement apartment but I stood on the threadbare doormat, peering inside. Pipes ran across the ceiling and the wallpaper was stained. Old newspapers covered the floor. The sheets were yellow and ripped, as if some animal lived there, sleeping, eating and urinating on the paper floor. The smell of dust and bad air made me queasy. When the woman realised that I hadn’t followed her inside, she turned to me and shrugged. ‘I can see from your clothes that you are used to better. But this is the best I can offer you.’
I blushed and stepped into the apartment, ashamed of my snobbery. In the centre of the room was a worn sofa, stuffing protruding from its seams. The woman brushed it with her hand and threw a musty-smelling rug over the cushions. ‘Please. Sit,’ she said. It was hotter in the apartment than it was outside. The mud-stained windows were shut, but I could hear footsteps and bicycle bells in the street beyond. The woman filled a kettle and lit the stove. The stove made the room even hotter and, when she wasn’t looking, I lifted my handkerchief to my nose, trying to find relief in the fresh, laundered scent of the material. I glanced around the apartment, wondering if there was a bathroom. I couldn’t understand how she could appear quite clean and yet live in such a filthy apartment.
‘So many, many people in pain,’ the old woman muttered. ‘Everyone has lost someone: parents, husbands, sisters, brothers, children. I try to help, but there are so many of them.’
The kettle boiled and the woman poured the hot water into a chipped pot, setting it and two cups on the table in front of me.
‘Did you bring me something of hers?’ she asked, leaning forward and patting my knee.
I pulled the scarf from my pocket and unfolded it, placing the contents on the table. The old woman’s eyes fixed on the necklace. She picked it up and dangled it in front of her face, captivated by the sight of it.
‘It’s jade,’ she said.
‘Yes. And gold.’
She cupped her other hand and dropped the necklace into it, weighing it in her palm. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘And very old. You can’t find jewellery like this now.’
‘It is beautiful,’ I agreed, and suddenly heard my father saying the same thing. A memory came to me. I was three years old and my parents and I were celebrating Christmas with some of their friends in the city. My father called out, ‘Lina and Anya! Come quickly! Look at this magnificent tree!’ My mother and I rushed into the room and found him standing by a giant evergreen, every limb decorated with
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