Dead end on Memory Lane
Print Edition
HAZEL was typing furiously on her decrepit laptop. It was late and she felt a dull ache pulsating within her head, but she couldn’t afford to stop. The publisher had been accommodating for the past three months but last night, he didn’t mince his words.
“If I do not receive the script by Saturday, you can forget all about it!”
I’m too much of a perfectionist, she thought. She had written and re-written the script until she thought it was perfect.
It wasn’t until the warning message flashed on the screen that she realized her battery was low. While rummaging through the jumble of papers and files on her desk, in a bid to find the cord of her 13-inch “scrap-book,” she swept most of them onto the floor. Plugging in, she tried to read through the script.
She rubbed her eyes. The weather reflected her mood. It had been raining since morning. The sky was invisible under a thick cloak of clouds. The patter of rain on the windowpane was drowned by the shrieking of the air conditioner, which pumped out lukewarm air ineffectually into the bitterly cold hotel room.
This morning she had been so optimistic about finishing her book. She had gone to interview Chen but his house was locked.
She waited until noon, hoping he would turn up. By the time Chen came, it was evening.
Despite her pleas, Chen was disinclined to talk.
“Please, Chen, I just need you to tell me a few things from the past ... I am writing a book …”
“ No! I don’t talk to reporters. You are all bad. You will write something, you will write lies, and I will get into trouble! Go away!”
“I am not a reporter!” She protested but it fell on deaf ears. He waved her away and went inside.
She turned to the young woman who had walked in just then. “Please, can you explain to him that I am not a reporter?”
“ Who are you? What do you want?”
“My name is Hazel. I am a writer. My grandparents were living here in 1940. My grandfather was French. My grandmother was Chinese. They moved to France after my mother was born. My mother used to tell me the story of how they met and so many things about Shanghai. My dream was to write a book about their story. My mother knew only that my grandfather was a musician who used to record music in that ‘Little Red House’ ... and that my grandmother used to live here, in this building.”
After a lot of research and questioning I came to know Chen is the only one who might know something. Are you his relative?”
“ I am a volunteer from an organization which takes care of the elderly. My name is Lily.”
“Oh, I was hoping you would help me to convince him …”
“He is very old you know, I am not sure he remembers anything ... most of the times he forgets where he is and wanders off. That’s why I come to check on him.”
“Please, if he would listen at all, I just want to ask a few questions. This book is my life’s work. I really need to complete it, and I don’t have much time. I don’t have much money left, either.”
“Alright, I will talk to him. But it’s late now, he should eat his dinner. Why don’t you come back tomorrow morning? He is always in a better mood in the morning. I will explain your problem to him now.”
“ Thank you! Will you be there tomorrow morning? He might feel comfortable with you around.”
“If you want, I can come over tomorrow. Give me a call tomorrow morning. I will tell you whether he is willing to talk or not.”
“Thanks a ton!” Hazel felt relieved. But a shadow of doubt was lingering as she made her way back to the hotel. Would he talk tomorrow? If not, she was in real trouble.
As she took her key from the desk, the manager came to her. “Is everything alright, Miss?” he said.
“Yes, except the room is too cold.” She replied bluntly.
“No, Miss; I don’t mean that. I want to check with you if anything is amiss with your work.”
“Why are you asking me such strange questions?” Hazel asked.
“Just that some men came enquiring after you left …” The man stopped in mid sentence. The clerk at the desk shook his head.
“Who? I don’t know any one here… what do you mean? What did they want?” Hazel asked.
“Oh, nothing, nothing, its not you, sorry my mistake.”
Puzzled, she made her way to her room. It took her a while to realize something was different. When she left her room in the morning, it was a mess. Most of her papers were scattered around the table, as she had tried to search for her cord.
She dialed the front desk. “Yes, Miss?”
“Did you send a cleaner to my room?”
“No, Miss, you said not to, no one went into your room.”
Next morning, she called Lily. Her heart was pounding as the phone rang.
Lily’s soft voice sounded excited “Hello Hazel. Chen says he will talk to you.”
When Hazel arrived, Lily opened the door with a smile.
“What is that you want to ask?” Chen said when Hazel sat.
Suddenly, three uniformed men burst in and two of them grabbed her arms. The third took out handcuffs.
“Wait, what is this? Why are you arresting her?” Lily protested.
“Arresting? No, no you got it wrong ... She has escaped from the Shanghai Mental Health Center!”
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