Read Online Everything Under the Sky by Matilde Asensi - Free Book Online Page A

“Don't forget that in about an hour Fernanda and I will be going to visit a friend who lives on the Bund.”
    “Thank you, tai-tai, ” she exclaimed, and crossed through the fullmoon door of Rémy's office, much calmer now, bowing with both hands together in front of her face.
    “You were right, Auntie,” Fernanda reluctantly admitted as soon as Mrs. Zhong had stepped into the garden. “The story that Englishman—”
    “Irishman.”
    “—told you was true. They really are watching us. Do you think it's wise to go to this meeting?”
    I didn't reply but walked back to the bishachu and lifted the shelf again. I could now bring the object out and examine it carefully. It took a bit of work, because the cupboard had been designed for a longer arm than mine, but I was finally able to get a hold of the wooden object that felt like a small jewelry or sewing box. As soon as it was out in the light, I was surprised to discover a chest, a beautiful Chinese chest that was so old I thought the simple pressure of my fingers might destroy it.
    Fernanda jumped up and rushed to my side, filled with curiosity. “What is it?” she asked.
    “I haven't the faintest idea,” I replied, setting the chest on the desk next to a small stand that held Rémy's calligraphy brushes. There was an exquisite, gold-colored dragon contorted into spirals on the lid. I couldn't believe how beautiful the piece was, the myriad of details in the drawings, the strange strips of yellow paper with red ink characters that must have sealed it at one time and now hung softly off both ends, the smell of sandalwood it still exuded. It was absolutely perfect! I was astounded by the artisan's meticulousness, the patience he must have had to make such a thing. Just then, without the slightest consideration, Fernanda opened it with those chubby paws of hers. Good Lord, the girl was completely lacking in artistic sensibility!
    “Look, Auntie, it's full of little boxes.”
    When the chest was opened, it unfolded like a staircase into a series of steps that were divided into dozens of small pigeonholes, each of which contained a lovely tiny little object. My niece and I began to pick each one up and examine them carefully, unable to believe our eyes. There was a small porcelain vase that could only have been made under a powerful magnifying glass; a miniature edition of a Chinese book that unfolded just like the big ones and appeared to contain a complete work of literature; an exquisite ball of incredibly carved ivory; a black jade stamp; a small gold tiger cut lengthwise in half with a row of inscriptions on its back; a peach pit on which we saw nothing at first, but then, when we held it up against the light, discovered that it was completely covered in Chinese characters no bigger than half a grain of rice—characters that also appeared on a handful of pumpkin seeds in another of the pigeonholes; a round, bronze coin with a square hole in the middle; a little horse also made of bronze; a silk scarf that I didn't dare unfold in case it fell to pieces; a green jade ring; a gold ring; pearls of various sizes and colors; earrings; strips of paper rolled up on fine wooden spools that, when unrolled, contained ink drawings of incredible landscapes…. In short, it's impossible to describe everything we saw, much less our astonishment at seeing such treasures.
    I may have already mentioned that I was never very fond of Chinese artifacts, despite the fervor they aroused all over Europe, but I had to admit I'd never seen anything like what lay before me, a thousand times more exquisite and beautiful than any of the expensive but crude trinkets sold in Paris, Madrid, or London. I'm a staunch believer in sensitive understanding: understanding through one's senses and feelings. How else can we enjoy a picture, a book, or a piece of music? Art that doesn't move you, that doesn't speak to you, isn't art, it's fashion. Each one of the tiny objects in the chest contained the