The Memory Mines by Evelyn Ka-Kwok Lo A thesis presented to the University of Waterloo in fulfilment of the thesis requirement for the degree of Master of Architecture in Architecture Waterloo, Ontario, Canada, 2016 © Evelyn Ka-Kwok Lo 2016 AUTHOR’S DECLARATION I hereby declare that I am the sole author of this thesis. This is a true copy of the thesis, including any required final revisions, as accepted by my examiners. I understand that my thesis may be made electronically available to the public. ii ABSTRACT She is eighteen when she leaves home. She leaves shortly after her father’s inexplicable disappearance – an event she neither understands nor accepts. She does what everyone on the cusp of adulthood does: she moves abroad to forget her past. Now, ten years later, her ageing mother is taken away. The family home is empty. The young woman returns. It is here, in her childhood home, she makes the deliberate decision to remember. Even after so many years, the house is the same. Here, her childhood memories still live, in the spaces between walls, in the cracks in the floor, in the weft of the brocade curtains. Stories are awakened with the turn of a brass handle, the swing of a glass door, the scent of sour yogurt. The memories surface of their own will, appearing suddenly, sometimes violently. She moves through the house, reliving each memory with startling lucidity. The line between her parents’ memories and her own begin to blur. She remembers things she never knew. iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I would like to thank my supervisor, Donald McKay, for supporting this endeavour, for your insight and critical perspectives during this process, and for helping me find my voice as a writer. I would like to thank my committee members: Dereck Revington, for encouraging me to explore dark places for creative inspiration; Eric Haldenby, for your enthusiasm throughout all my years as an architecture student. I would like to thank my parents, John and Lana, for always providing for me; my sister and brother, Adrienne and Derek, for our shared history of laughter and tears. I would like to thank my other half, Sava, for always believing in me. v To my family vii TABLE OF CONTENTS AUTHOR’S DECLARATION, ii ABSTRACT, iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS, v CITY OF LOST EMPERORS, 1 THE ICON ABOVE THE DOOR, 17 ATTIC SOUNDS, 41 FEAR OF GLASS, 59 HALLWAY PERCH, 77 MY MOTHER’S ROOM, 99 PURGATORY, 115 NOTE TO READER, 127 ix We are born into a family and into a home. In the Chinese language, there is only one character for both these things; one enduring symbol that represents these things simultaneously: family, house and home. xi CITY OF LOST EMPERORS 1 THE MEMORY MINES She remembers only her name. She wears a thin silk slip with spaghetti straps. She might as well be naked. There is no one there except for the monkey. He bounces up and down with joy. He claps his hands. Flash of pink fleshy palms; when they meet the sound is surprisingly loud. Sharp claws graze her thigh. She looks down, sees his hand – hooked and gnarled at the knuckles. Moist pink flesh on one side and wiry brown hair on the other. Tiny black mites spring from his hide as he leaps on his toes. His mouth is stretched wide showing all his teeth. Two rows of teeth, four flat teeth in the front like hers, framed by sharp incisors. His lips flip back showing a wet and fleshy interior. White foam collects at the corners of his mouth. He grabs her hand, lurches forward, pulling. This way, this way. She looks around for the first and last time and sees nothing. She allows herself to be taken. The monkey knows where to go. He drags her through empty 2 city OF lost emperors space. There is nothing around, yet she feels a resistance like a thick fog. They arrive at the city walls. The city did not appear gradually in the distance. There was nothing and then there was the city. The walls are high, fifty feet at least, and made of yellow stone. The walls continue in both directions without end, without any openings. The monkey tugs on her hem; cocks his head to the left; reaches up with his right hand; scratches his temple with exaggerated gesture. What now? Hmm? He pauses. Brings his right hand to his chin. Forefinger extended and slightly curved, he taps his chin three times while looking up at her. Aha! He takes her hand and leads her away. They move quickly along the wall. She sees no openings, no gates. Come on, come on! He breaks into a run. She trails behind, dragging her feet, leaving parallel tracks in the sand. An enormous archway appears out of nowhere. Iron grating spans the opening like a cage. She looks through the iron bars to see the empty landscape continue beyond. The monkey pats her thigh, reassuringly. His palm is moist and leaves a print on her bare skin. He pulls a key from around his neck. The latch is on the bottom right hand corner of the gate. The monkey inserts the key. The gate springs open. It rises on its own with invisible mechanisms, absorbed into a recess in the yellow stone. They enter the city together. 3 THE MEMORY MINES The monkey hops from foot to foot and smacks his palms together repeatedly. We’re here! We’re Here! The gate falls shut without sound, causing a slight ripple in the sand. She looks around. There are people everywhere. The buildings are strange, inexplicably so. The houses are upside down. They balance precariously on peaked roofs, teetering back and forth like giant see-saws. The townspeople move in steady streams around her. Nobody sees her. The monkey tugs on her hem. He unfurls his right hand, stretches it outward, palm up, pointing forward: Voila! The Grand Tour! The girl and the monkey weave through the crowds. Hand in hand. She scans the faces around her. She sees people of different size, age and colour. They move with purpose but in no particular direction. The monkey motions for her to stop, gestures her to look. She sees a group of men. Their bodies bulge with overgrown muscle. They stand in line lifting weights. Only, instead of weights, they lift peas. Small green peas that are sold in the frozen section of the supermarket. Each bodybuilder cups a handful of peas in each palm and lifts them high above his head. Their faces contort in pain; they groan in orchestral unison. Beads of sweat swell on their temples and stream down their cheeks. Faces split into wide grins showing clenched teeth. The monkey pulls her along: On to the next! A gathering of old 4 city OF lost emperors ladies. All sit in pairs. One knits as the other unravels. The ladies are old but their fingers are nimble. They move with inexplicable urgency. One knits at a furious pace, the other pulls the strands apart. All brows are furrowed. All lips pursed. The knitted portion never grows beyond one or two rows. Come on, come on. The monkey gestures. This time, it’s children. School children dressed in uniform. Matching skirts, pants and ties. Girls’ hair in braids, boys’ hair swept neatly to one side. The children crouch low in a circle. She peers over the tops of their heads. The children don’t notice her watching. They are busy stacking marbles as if they are Lego. A small boy plucks a fallen marble from the ground and places it on top of the pile. The pile shifts under the weight and splits apart. Marbles scatter in every direction; the children scurry on hands and knees to catch them, return to the circle, try again. The monkey tugs on her hem. Smiling. Pieces of purple fruit cling to his yellow teeth. His eyes are searching, forcing her to meet his gaze. So? And what do you think of our little town? He clasps his hands in front of him, and bows deeply – ingratiatingly. She says nothing. Her eyes say nothing. She does not betray her feelings. He spreads his arms wide; his grin stretches across his face, beady eyes gleam beneath lashless lids. Welcome, welcome, to your new home! She whips around in all directions, looking for the iron gate. She 5 THE MEMORY MINES sees only high walls made of stone: yellow ochre - the colour of the sand beneath her feet, the colour of the monkey’s teeth. The gate is nowhere to be found. She hears a cackle below. It is the sound of monkey laughter. The monkey clutches at the key hanging by his neck. Twirls it around his index finger. She begins to understand: she is a prisoner - he is the warden. She rushes through the crowds, spreading them apart with her hands as she moves. Everywhere she goes the monkey follows. She breaks into a run. The monkey leaps effortlessly above shoulders and tops of heads. The girl pauses in front of the old ladies. She approaches the one closest to her. The one wearing the faded green dress with small pink flowers. A thin white shawl wraps around her neck and shoulders. Gold rimmed glasses perch on her beaked nose. She hunches over her needles, shoulders curve inwards, neck stoops low. Her fingers move frenetically; the needles click at furious pace. The ball of yarn shrinks rapidly in her lap. Her partner unravels as she knits.