Lily and Her Sisters

When he was a young boy, my grandfather lived on the stretch of 2nd Avenue, which has since transformed into the bustling freeway. One fateful night, he was stirred from his slumber by the sound of soft, wailing cries echoing through the stillness of the night. He found it curious that this haunting noise failed to awaken his father, a notoriously light sleeper whose temper could ignite if his rest was shattered without cause. Curiosity overcame my grandfather as the plaintive cries persisted, and he slipped out of bed, quietly maneuvering through the darkened house and stepping out into the cool night air. He stood there, breathless and attentive, as the cries resounded again. Then, he discerned where the sorrowful sound was coming from—just beyond the fence that divided his yard from that of his neighbor, Mr. Wong. Curiosity piqued, my grandfather craned his neck over the wooden fence, and there, shrouded in the dim light, he spotted a young girl, her arms wrapped around herself, her delicate frame trembling as she wept quietly. Concerned, he called out to her, inquiring about the source of her despair. The girl glanced up, her tear-streaked face reflecting a sadness that tugged at my grandfather's heartstrings. She explained that the man who owned the house had met her in the old country. He had brought her to his home, nurturing her daily, and in return, she provided him with companionship that fed his soul and spirit. On one of his trips back to his homeland, he had gathered her six remaining sisters, bringing them along as a gesture of gratitude for the love she had shown. As my grandfather listened, the girl spoke of their life together and their existence as one harmonious family. The man introduced them to his friends and colleagues, who admired the sisters' beauty, but none could compare to the young girl before him, who radiated a special light. "Then what's wrong?" my grandfather pressed gently. "Why are you crying?" The young girl's voice faltered as she explained that the man who had once lavished them with attention had begun to withdraw, his presence diminishing day by day, leaving her and her sisters with a growing sense of anxiety. Finally, he had retreated to his room, leaving them in a state of worry. "Would you," she implored my grandfather, "inquire of him tomorrow and see what ails him? My sisters and I are deeply concerned." Her genuine worry resonated with my grandfather, filling him with compassion for her plight. "I will," he promised. With that, the young girl slipped away into the shadows, and my grandfather returned to his room, hoping to avoid his father's inquiries, who might wonder why he had ventured outside in the depths of night. After completing his chores and homework the next afternoon, my grandfather felt a pull to check on Mr. Wong, motivated by his encounter with the girl. He mentioned his intentions to his parents, who seemed supportive yet cautious. "Go and see how he's doing and ask if he needs anything," his mother suggested. His father nodded but warned him to be careful as he ventured next door. Several firm knocks on Mr. Wong's door went unanswered. Undeterred, my grandfather circled the house, calling for Mr. Wong until he finally heard a weak, strained voice in one of the large picture windows. "Who is that outside?" the voice called out, strained and feeble. "It's me, Mr. Wong, James Halona," my grandfather replied earnestly. "I'm here to check up on you." "James," Mr. Wong began slowly, "please go around back. You'll see where the wind has blown a large canvas over the roof. Take it down, and call out to me once you see my courtyard." Obliging, my grandfather navigated around the house, and when he arrived at the back, he was greeted by the sight of an open courtyard bathed in sunlight. His gaze fell upon a square-shaped pond, its surface dappled with lily pads. "Mr. Wong? I took the canvas down; what do I do next?" he called out, his heart racing with curiosity. "There's a water hose nearby; please fill the lily pond. It needs sunlight and water; otherwise, the lilies will perish," Mr. Wong responded, his voice still faint but gaining strength. Before him, my grandfather saw a nearly empty pond, its water lilies fading in color, their once vibrant greens now wilted and glowless, their magnificent purple and yellow flowers drooping as if succumbing to despair. The largest water lily, regal and enchanting, captured his attention; it stood like a pedestal crafted for the most esteemed, calling him to admire its beauty. My grandfather couldn't help but feel gratitude for nature's delicate wonders. Days later, he witnessed a remarkable transformation in Mr. Wong. No longer confined to his home, he was outside on a small stool, meticulously tending to the grass beside his walkway. Each passing day, Mr. Wong regained his vitality, eventually presenting my grandfather with a basket of star fruit as a token of gratitude for watering the lilies. This metamorphosis reinvigorated my grandfather's spirit, filling him with hope and an appreciation for the bonds forged through care and connection. "Did you speak to her?" Mr. Wong inquired, an expression of surprise mixing with curiosity. "Yes," my grandfather replied. "She shared how you brought her here from the homeland and her six sisters." "Did she say if she was happy?" Mr. Wong pressed anticipation in his voice. "She was," my grandfather affirmed. "But she was worried because you stopped coming out. She was the one who asked me to check on you." "She did?" Mr. Wong repeated, a flicker of melancholy crossing his features. "Yes, she was distraught," my grandfather confirmed. "Those water lilies came from Giverny in France," Mr. Wong revealed, his tone shifting to nostalgia. "The old man who gifted them to me spoke of their magic, but I was skeptical. James, I've only ever seen her in my dreams—she is beautiful, kind, and astoundingly intelligent. Her younger sisters are similar, yet none possess her unique brilliance. You, James, were fortunate enough to see her in person. How I envy you," Mr. Wong sighed, a bittersweet sadness enveloping his words.

"It's you she cares for Mr. Wong," I reassured him.

He nodded and smiled to himself. After that day, Mr. Wong asked my grandfather's parents if he could pay him to help upkeep his property, seeing as he was not getting any younger. My grandfather's folks agreed, and every day, Mr. Wong would show my grandfather how to care for his seven water lilies. He also told my grandfather that the older man from France told him he should talk to the lilies, have conversations with them, and treat them as if they were people. This Mr. Wong did all the time, and at night, he would dream that the eldest of the lily sisters would sit and keep company with him in the courtyard.

"Mr. Wong lived until he was ninety-three," my grandfather told me.

"What happened to the water lilies?" I asked him.

"I have them now," my grandfather smiled. "Want to help me?"