LITMIR.BIZ

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from boats were reflected in the water, and lights from highrises shone across the harbour. She couldn’t deny it, the view was a perfect ten.

      “Help yourself,” Valsaid when she returned to the kitchen. “Here’s a glass of milk.”

      “Thanks. It’s a great view.”

      Her father beamed. “What did I tell you?”

      “Good Nanaimo bars.” Jasmine smiled at her aunt and pointedly ignored him.

      “Well,” he said after an awkward silence, “I’ve got to rush off. Anything you want to say before I go?”

      Jasmine took a butter tart and remained silent. Don’t look at him, she told herself firmly. Look at him and you’ll start to cry. So don’t look She tried to swallow but the pastry stuck in her throat. What’s he waiting for? she wondered impatiently. Why doesn’t he just go?

      After another awkward silence, he said, “Good luck then, honey.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek and gently wiped the tear that was starting to fall. “Γ11 phone when I arrive and write two minutes later. Thanks for everything, Val. Take care.”

      Then he was gone.

      “Can I work on my quilt?” Jasmine asked.

      Her aunt looked surprised. “There’s nothing on TV you want to watch? No homework?”

      Jasmine shook her head.

      “There’s a sewing machine in the spare room,” Val said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

      Within minutes, Jasmine had set up her cutting board and emptied the bag of scraps. “A memory quilt,” her mother had said when she started the project. “Every bit of fabric will remind you of something, a time or a place or a person. With any luck I’ll have it finished for your birthday.”

      “Can I help?”

      “Why not? Here, sort these pieces into lights and darks.”

      Later, her mother showed her how to cut four triangles at once. Before long there were hundreds of triangles, from pale blues to deep forest greens, from flowery pastels to wild fluorescent pinks. “Is this enough?”

      Her mother laughed. “This quilt has to cover your bed, you know. We’re not even half-way there.”

      Two months later they celebrated the halfway mark by drinking raspberry ginger ale and listening to the summer rain. The night before the accident.

      “That’s all she wants to do, Val.” Surrounded by fabric scraps in her aunt’s spare room, Jasmine remembered her father’s words, that horrible Wednesday evening. The phone was down the hall and he was trying to speak softly, but she could hear every word. “Since Heather’s death she’s lost interest in everything, even tai chi. Never sees her friends, except at school. Just stays in her room, reads or works on that quilt. Maybe a change of scenery.... Seems happy enough, but...always been independent, but now so reclusive....” On and on and on. Analyzing her. Arranging her life.

      She stroked her cheek with a piece of red velvet, remembering her first special Christmas dress. A flash of metallic silver brought back a wizard’s cape and a party for Halloween. “That’s all she wants to do.” It was true. She felt safe, leafing through the fragments of her past. As if putting the pieces together would bring back something that was gone, and make her feel whole again. Even though the configuration could never again be the same.

      Lights and darks, like the yin and yang she learned about in tai chi class. Yin—Earth, Female, Moon, Darkness. Yang— Heaven, Male, Sun, Light. Together, a balance in the universe. Harmony.

      Triangles into squares, small squares into larger squares. Fitting together to make a whole. Everything ordered, the way it was supposed to be. Clean, straight lines. Clear, sharp edges. Perfect points. Mom would be pleased it’s getting finished, she thought. Pleased that we’re almost there.

      When Val came to say good night, Jasmine remembered. “We’re going on a field trip to Chinatown tomorrow, so I’ll meet my class there and you won’t have to drive me to school. Did Dad tell you?”

      Her aunt nodded. “I’ll drop you off at eleven.”

      “We can wear something Chinese if we like, but I don’t have anything.”

      Val grinned. “I’ve got just the thing.”

      In a minute she was back holding a dark bundle and a wide-brimmed hat. “What do you think?” she asked, placing the hat on Jasmine’s head.

      Jasmine looked in the mirror. “Great!”

      “Now this.” She held a jacket against Jasmine’s chest. “Looks like it might even fit. Try it on.”

      The jacket was lined inside, heavily padded with cottoa It had wide sleeves and hung loosely over her jeans. Jasmine did up the frog fastenings, closing herself in from neck to hem. “It fits perfectly.”

      “It’s what the Chinese coolies wore when they came to work on the railroad. Try on the pants.”

      Jasmine slipped them on. “A bit long.”

      “That’s OK. We’ll just roll them up, like so. Now, the shoes.” She handed her a pair of black cotton shoes.

      “These fit too.”

      Val smiled. “You’ve certainly got the hair for it. One long pigtail, like the Chinese had in those days.”

      The clothes felt good, well-worn and comfortable. Jasmine grinned at her reflection. “I look just like a Chinese coolie.”

      Val’s face suddenly fell. “What’s wrong?” Jasmine asked, surprised at her aunt’s reaction.

      “Nothing,” Val said, laughing it off. “It’s the way you looked just then, as if—have you ever had the feeling that something has happened before? Déjà vu, it’s called. When your mom was about your age, she went to a Halloween party. She didn’t know what to wear, so I suggested the coolie clothes. She put them on, stood in front of the mirror and said exactly what you said.”

      “Did she wear them to the party?”

      “Yes, and had a horrible time. The kids teased her and called her names. She came home in tears, tore off the clothes and kicked them out of the room. This is the first time they’ve been worn since then.” Seeing the look on Jasmine’s face, Val said, “Don’t worry. I’m sure the kids in your class are more enlightened.”

      For a long time Jasmine couldn’t sleep. Night sounds hummed outside the window, and in spite of the closed curtains, city light crept in. She buried her face in the pillow, willing her mind to bring Bright Jade and the sanctuary of the garden.

      But this time, there was no garden. The dream was a ragbag of images. Mist rising above a swollen river, like a dragon’s breath. Flood waters, flashes of white. Bright Jade, weeping. And mud! Grains of yellow sand, turning to mud. The claws of a tiger, sinking in mud. A river, churning with mud. Then turning to waves, blue-black and clear, whipped into spray by the wind.

      A ship, crowded with hundreds of bodies. A boy about her age, standing alone, head bowed, sick with anxiety. All of a sudden he looked up and locked his gaze into hers. For one brief moment she felt a tug, as if some force were trying to pull her in.

      She moaned, reeling with the lurching motion of the ship, nauseated by the stench that permeated the quarters. She woke with a start, certain she was going to be sick.

      The instant she opened her eyes she felt better. Too many Nanaimo bars? Or just muddled thinking? She groaned at the awful pun, rolled over, and tried to get back to sleep.

      But the strange assortment of images would not go away. Like her scraps of fabric, they were fragments of light and dark. But somehow they were related. Somehow they fit together, if only she could discover how.

       Chapter 6

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