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Authors: Marilyn Land

Tags: #Fiction, #Sagas

Clattering Sparrows (9 page)

BOOK: Clattering Sparrows
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Although the station viewed it as a temporary—let’s see how it goes—concept, I decided early on that I would do everything possible to make it a success. I worked very hard at resolving the sparse initial concerns that came in, but it wasn’t long before an assistant was hired to help me sort out the growing daily requests. Initially, I had a two-minute slot on the Wednesday six o’clock evening news. But after two short months, Sara Miller was becoming a well-known name, and my segment was featured Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

Of course it helped to be a part of CBS evening news with Walter Cronkite especially since my father never missed the show. I took a lot of teasing from our friends and relatives about being a big TV star, but Sam and Mindy seemed to handle it just fine. And Jon continually showed me how proud he was of Sara Miller’s Consumer Connection by hardly ever missing a segment. As my biggest fan, I fell into the habit of using him as a sounding board and seeking his approval and/or comments before airing.

The Wednesday my segment debuted, it was the main topic of conversation at our weekly Mah Jongg game. First and foremost, the girls credited me with getting home in time for the game, and then they all lauded me with kudos and champagne toasts. Sandy announced she had been saving the bottle of bubbly for a special occasion and brought it to the game so we could celebrate.

***

For our fifteenth wedding anniversary, Jon and I went to the Mayflower Hotel for a nice quiet dinner. He had been working on a couple of cases over the past few months that were both time consuming and required a good deal of travel, making the evening alone, just the two of us, a special treat. Over dinner, we reflected over the twenty-three years we had known each other and the past fifteen years of our marriage.

Jon held my hands in his as he said, “Sara I feel as though my life began twenty-three years ago when we met. I can still picture you in your powder blue sweater, pleated navy skirt, and saddle shoes standing at your locker next to mine trying to remember your combination.”

I loved Jon’s sentimental side, mainly because not many men will admit to being sappy or gushy or just overly-romantic like he often did. My eyes immediately filled with tears. “Well I don’t really remember what you were wearing, but I think I would be safe to say dungarees and a tee shirt. I do remember looking into your blue eyes and thinking who is this gorgeous hunk? I might add, I still feel the same today.”

“Did you really forget the combination or were you just flirting with me?” Jon asked.

We both laughed, and then Jon reached into his pocket and took out a packet and handed it to me. As I looked at my name in the familiar handwriting, once again tears filled my eyes. “No fair, I didn’t bring your gift with me. I planned to give it to you when we returned home. I opened the packet and saw that Jon had booked a two-week trip to San Francisco in May.

Jon smiled as he watched me look through the brochures. “I thought it would be fun to go back to the beautiful City by the Bay where we spent our honeymoon. I’ve made arrangements to rent a car and after spending a week in San Francisco, we can drive the coastal route to Los Angeles, stopping at Carmel or Big Sur or San Simeon or anywhere and everywhere else along the way.”

I was delighted and leaned across the table and kissed him. “Jon, thank you. I love San Francisco, and it will be such fun. I can’t wait, and the nice part is that I have a few weeks to get my act together, plus it’s the perfect time of year to go to California.”

As we sat holding hands across the table and staring into one another’s eyes, I couldn’t help thinking that although I had known Jon since high school, through fifteen years of marriage, and raising our two children, he never ceased to amaze me with his endless surprises. How fortunate and secure I felt in knowing that the depth of our love even after all these years could still make my heart skip a beat at the mere thought of him.

 

9

MY PARENTS CAME TO our house to stay with Sam and Mindy, and on a beautiful May morning Jon and I flew out of Dulles International Airport on an 8:00 a.m. flight to San Francisco. We stayed at the St. Francis Hotel overlooking Union Square. After checking in, we took a few minutes to freshen up and anxiously headed out to explore the City.

We caught the cable car in front of the hotel and went down to Fisherman’s Wharf where we lunched on bowls of clam chowder, salads, and sourdough bread. Then we walked for blocks along the wharf before catching the cable car back to the hotel for a much needed rest before dinner. We had been on the go for twelve hours, and we were really beginning to feel the time difference between coasts.

We ate dinner at our hotel that night and fell into bed exhausted. For the next three days we explored almost every inch of the City’s seven square miles. We visited Golden Gate Park, enjoyed tea at the Japanese Tea Garden, spent a day in Sausalito starting with breakfast at The Alta Mira Hotel overlooking San Francisco Bay, and toured the Cakebread and Viansa Wineries in the Napa Valley.

But mostly we simply enjoyed the rarity of being together just the two of us, with no deadlines to meet, no carpools to drive, and no one else to worry about. Our love for each other had only grown stronger through the years, and we acted like a couple of star-struck teenagers holding hands and giggling as each day brought a new adventure.

On our fourth night in San Francisco, we decided to go to Chinatown for dinner. San Francisco’s Chinatown begins at the dragon-crested gate at Grant Avenue and Bush Street. The gate which was a gift from the Republic of China in 1969 was erected some ten years after our previous trip. San Francisco’s oldest street, Grant Avenue, runs eight blocks through the center of Chinatown and is home to almost two million people of Chinese descent.

We left early so we could stroll through the open markets on Stockton Street and in and out of the colorful alleys and side streets between Stockton and Grant. We wanted to pick up some souvenirs to take home, and it was fun just browsing and looking at all the beautiful imported items. After hours of shopping and loaded down with packages, we started walking back towards Grant Avenue where Jon had made dinner reservations at the Golden Palace.

We turned onto Grant Avenue and passed several shops before coming to the restaurant which was located in the middle of the block. We entered the Golden Palace and were seated immediately. Our waiter was kind enough to offer to put our bags in the coat room while we ate dinner. I guess he could see there was hardly room for us at the table. Dinner was an eight-course meal which was the restaurant’s signature offering and it was incredible. As the waiter placed each course before us, he briefly described each delectable dish. Our sumptuous meal was topped off with a two-inch square of coconut and orange Jello garnished with orange slices and served with almond and fortune cookies on the side.

Jon broke open his fortune cookie first and read, “Never underestimate the power of love.”

He thought for a moment and said, “I thoroughly agree. I do know I love you and can’t imagine life without you. I never have nor will I ever take your love for granted.”

I responded, “Nor will I yours, and I love you with all my heart. Let’s see what mine says.” I broke open the cookie and pulled out the small piece of paper and read, “Our present is never without our past.”

Not willing to change the light mood of our wonderful day and evening to a solemn one by trying to decipher my fortune cookie’s message, I laughed and said, “I’ve eaten too much to think right now,” and in my best interpretation of Scarlet O’Hara, I replied, “I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

After a final cup of tea and fully sated, we retrieved our bags and set off for the hotel.

A few doors down from the Golden Palace we came upon an art gallery. The shop was closed and the windows were dark, but the name above the gallery was well lit, and to my amazement it read: Magic Paintbrush Gallery.

As I gazed into the window, there on an easel was a larger but exact duplicate of the paintings Su Ling had given to Judy and me for graduation. The familiar Mahjong Set resting on the altar table with the butterfly hovering above were one in the same. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I continued to stare at the familiar scene.

Jon staring at the painting, as well, spoke first. “Isn’t that the same picture your friend painted for you and Judy?”

Jon had never met Su Ling because she and An Lei moved away before I met him, but I told him the story of our friendship and the Mahjong set, and the picture was prominently displayed in my office. He also knew that many years had passed since they moved away, and that we had never heard from them.

After seeing the gallery, I again was at a loss as to why Su Ling and An Lei never wrote to us after they were settled in San Francisco. If the gallery was connected to Su Ling, she was obviously doing quite well.

“Yes it certainly is—down to every last detail! Even the colors in the butterfly are identical.” I replied.

“Why don’t you jot down the number and call in the morning.” Jon reached into his pocket for a pen. “You can write it on the corner of one of the bags.”

“No, I don’t think I want to call. I’d rather walk over and speak to whoever is here in the morning.”

As we continued walking the few short blocks to the St. Francis, I tried to recall if we had passed the gallery when we were in San Francisco on our honeymoon. We did have dinner in Chinatown, and since Grant Avenue is a major thoroughfare, I was certain we had shopped in and around the location the gallery now occupied. This fact alone further led me to believe with certainty that the gallery had not been there. There was no way I could have walked past it without noticing the name. I would simply have to wait until morning to see what we could learn.

We rose early, had breakfast at the hotel, and went for a walk around Union Square. The Magic Paintbrush Gallery did not open until 11:00 a.m. and my thoughts were pervasive. I kept going over and over the many questions I wanted to ask, and I wasn’t even sure that Su Ling had anything to do with the gallery.
The Magic Paintbrush
was an old Chinese folk tale and obviously had been passed down from generation to generation and certainly known by many people, but then I recalled the painting in the window.

As eleven o’clock approached, we left Union Square and began walking towards the gallery. We arrived at ten past the hour, and noticed the open sign in the window. We entered through the double doors and were immediately smitten with the simplicity and elegance of the exhibited artwork. To the left of the entrance was a display case introducing Su Ling and briefly outlining her history. It explained in detail her exclusive method of adding sand to the oils she painted with to produce the unique and realistic texture that gave her artwork a most unusual lifelike quality.

A tall Asian woman approached us. “Welcome to the Magic Paintbrush Gallery. If I can answer any questions for you please let me know. The paintings are priced as marked, and since no two paintings are alike, they are all available for immediate purchase, and I might add that we do ship worldwide, as well.

Glancing around the gallery, I noticed that all the paintings were of birds, butterflies, flowers, garden scenes, and nature in general. “What is the price of the painting in the window—the one of the Mahjong Set?” I asked.

“Oh I’m sorry that painting is not for sale. It is a personal matter with the artist. Although the painting has been on display in the window since the gallery opened seven years ago, she has emphatically stated that it is not for sale to each of the many inquiries we have had. It was obviously painted many years ago and does not feature the method of oil and sand that the artist now utilizes.”

“Does Su Ling ever come into the gallery?” I inquired.

“Yes, she certainly does. She is here every day unless she is traveling, and I expect her by 2:00 p.m. this afternoon. If you care to meet her and speak with her, please come back.”

We thanked the woman and left the gallery. Over lunch we talked endlessly about Su Ling and An Lei. Although Jon knew the story well, we went over and over our last day together to try to understand their hasty departure, and the fact that we never heard from them again. In the note they wrote to Judy and me, they said they were relocating to San Francisco, but could they have been in one place the entire time, and what course had their lives taken for the past twenty-five years? Was An Lei still alive? If she were, she would be well into her eighties or possibly over ninety. No matter how I rationalized, the question why we had never heard from them remained the most puzzling.

After lunch we returned to the hotel to freshen up and once again we were headed to Grant Avenue. It was a sunny but cool day, and the balmy breeze made the walk that much more enjoyable. As we were about to enter the gallery, there on a flower petal in the planter outside the door was a beautiful gold and black butterfly. It didn’t fly off in our presence, but sat perched on the leaf almost as if it were not real.

As Su Ling rose from the desk and approached us, the moment seemed lost in time. For an instant, my mind envisioned the smiling face of my childhood friend, as she opened the door to admit Judy and me for our weekly afternoon visit. The face of the woman who stood before me, though no longer a child’s was unchanged. Her flawless complexion and perfectly chiseled features had only grown more beautiful with each passing year. For what seemed like an eternity, we simply stared at one another, neither of us willing to believe we were actually seeing what was real, and not an illusion that would quickly disappear as had happened to both of us so many times before.

There was no uncertainty on either of our parts. I knew she was Su Ling, and she knew I was Sara Miller. All at once, we were children again and we fell into one another’s arms laughing and crying and asking numerous silly questions, as Jon stood quietly watching with a contented smile on his face.

At last we let go of one another, and I introduced her to Jon. For the most part, we simply held hands and continued looking intently into each other’s eyes as though we could read one another’s mind. After a while, two people entered the gallery and Su Ling left us to approach them. When she returned, she jotted down an address and directions.

“I would be most pleased and honored to have you as my guests for dinner this evening that is if you are available. I do hope you will come.”

Before I could say a word, Jon had already decided. “We are delighted to accept your kind invitation.”

“Good, then it’s settled. The directions are easy enough. I live on the Kearny Street side of Portsmouth Square across from the pedestrian bridge that leads to the Chinese Culture Center. The house is not big but ample and reminds me somewhat of our home in Washington, D.C.

“I will call my assistant to come into the gallery so that I may leave for home and prepare for tonight. Is seven o’clock a good time?”

“Yes, that will be fine.” After a few more tears were shed and several more hugs were exchanged, we left the gallery and returned to the hotel. No mention had been made of An Lei and not knowing if she were still alive or not, I decided against broaching the subject. There would be time enough to revisit the last twenty-five years when we went to Su Ling’s house for dinner.

***

When we arrived at Su Ling’s we were immediately captivated. The three-story house was built in the late 1880s then-current and popular Victorian townhouse style. Four steps led to the front portico which featured large elaborately carved double doors with glazed windows and an arched glass transom. The detailed ornate gables over the front bay and overhanging attic windows on the third floor, fish-scale shingles, pendants, and beadwork were all embellishments that added to its unique charm. As a finishing touch, eight jewel tones: Empire colors of aubergine, turquoise, mustard, black, navy, teal, clay, and green added a vibrant coat of many colors.

Su Ling greeted us warmly and led us into the parlor. The inside of the lovely home was no less charming. I quickly noticed that it was disciplined in the art of Feng Shui, and several pieces of furniture were one in the same as their house in Washington, D.C. She smiled when she realized that I fondly recognized the beautiful altar table.

There were pictures on the table of a man and several of a small boy. I, of course, had no idea who they were. It was then that I noticed the picture of Su Ling in a beautiful red dress with gold and silver designs. As Su Ling ushered us into the living room, we could see that her paintings were displayed prominently on the walls.

She had prepared a variety of Chinese pastries for appetizers, and as we sat drinking the cold plum wine and relishing the tasty pre-dinner treats, I looked up to see An Lei entering the room.

 

BOOK: Clattering Sparrows
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