Beautiful as Yesterday Read online

  They keep talking till dusk, till they can hear neighbors’ kitchen exhaust fans and smell stir frying. They eat at a restaurant nearby, and afterward Ingrid asks Aunt Zheng to take her to the courtyard where her mother and aunt lived when they were little; she cannot wait.

  The taxi stops in front of a nightclub. Aunt Zheng and Ingrid step out and stand on the street. “Here it is,” Aunt Zheng says, pointing at the club, which has a gilded double door and a neon sign of a long-haired white man playing the saxophone like a drunkard. At one side of the door stands a scrawny girl in a red Qing Dynasty dress with blue and green edging and an elaborately decorated hairdress, who curtsies to every client who goes in and out. On both sides of the carpeted stairs and in the space outside the door are dozens of flower baskets; on the ribbons hanging from the handles are written auspicious phrases such as “Business flourishes,” “Treasures all year long,” and “Plentiful money.” Apparently the club has been opened recently. Across the street is a commercial building with underground parking.

  “Was the courtyard here?” Ingrid asks with skepticism.

  “That’s right. It took me a while to find it. Well, it’s the most expensive nightclub in the city,” Aunt Zheng says. “It opened last week. It looks neither Chinese nor Western.” She shakes her head with a helpless smile. “Before, it was a Japanese restaurant. And before that, it was a real-estate office. Things happen fast here. All the alleys, houses, stores, and trees I remembered are long gone, and the only things left are the traces of the three wells.”

  “Three wells?”

  “Yes.” Aunt Zheng walks toward a sycamore tree. Ingrid follows her. The receptionist in the Qing Dynasty costume looks at them curiously.

  “Here is one.” Aunt Zheng stops at the tree, pointing at the space in front of it, between two parked cars.

  Ingrid looks down and sees a slightly protruding ring on the road. “You mean this?” She bends to look closely.

  “Yes. It’s a well’s opening. Two others are over there. I’ll take you to see them. The construction workers filled in the wells with dirt and ran the paving machines to build the street, but over time the dirt and asphalt compressed.” Aunt Zheng begins to walk with measured steps. “It’s fifteen steps from this one to the second. I was little then, so my steps were small. Then it’s twenty more steps to the third one. Your mother, aunt, and I called our courtyard Three Wells and called ourselves Three Wells’ Three Pirates.”

  Walking behind Aunt Zheng, Ingrid counts her steps. After they check out the remaining traces of the last well, Aunt Zheng, squatting, begins to draw a map, tracing the outlines of the past onto the street. “Your grandparents lived right about here…my family lived here…here would be the garden…the walnut tree…the date tree…”

  Ingrid squats next to Aunt Zheng and gazes at her invisible drawing, trying to visualize the courtyard’s layout.

  When both feel sore from squatting, they raise their heads simultaneously to look at the front of the nightclub. Aunt Zheng is silent, her eyes glittering, as if she could pierce the brassy façade, recover history, and see the brick houses, the walnut tree, the date tree, and the arched door to the garden.

  Earlier today, Ingrid recalls, she had sighed over Chinese people’s forgetfulness. Now she’s been brought back to an earlier time, a past laden with puzzles, secrets, and unspeakable subtleties.

  Why should I know about all this? she wonders.

  She has no answer, though she isn’t looking for one. But she knows in her heart that her existence is connected with the past, that she is a witness to history whether she likes it or not.

  At this very instant, the ancient bell from a Tang Dynasty temple nearby rings. The sounds are deep and soulful, resonating in the sky.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’m grateful to my agents Jennifer Joel and Toby Eady. From the very beginning, they have believed in my work and have provided all the support a writer could wish for. I feel fortunate to have Johanna Castillo as my editor, whose talent, intelligence, and enthusiasm have made this book possible, and our delightful conversations span much more than writing. My gratitude also goes to Jamie Coleman, Laetitia Rutherford, Sam Humphreys, and John Joss for their generous editorial advice, and to Susan Brown, my copy editor, for her meticulous reading.

  Thanks to Judith Curr for her trust, and her staff, especially Amy Tannenbaum, for being so helpful and efficient.

  And, finally, my gratitude goes to my husband, Mattias Cedergren, whose love, patience, and support have helped me go through all the ups and downs during the writing of this book.