Transparency Read Online Free Page B

inside but stood on the frozen sidewalk, waving
     at her. She knew he would stay there until her car was no longer in sight. It was his way of seeing her off, and he would
     do this no matter what the weather.
    In June, her father called to see if Agnes had any photographs of his wedding banquet. He and Lily were going to be interviewed
     by an immigration officer next week in order to secure. Lily’s green card, and her father planned to present the photos as
     evidence. Agnes could find only one photograph. She had dumped it into a shoebox, to be lost in an ever growing stack of useless
     pictures. Years ago, she had stopped putting her family’s photographs in an album. Now whenever their pictures were developed,
     after her daughters’ initial enthusiasm of looking at themselves, Agnes put the photos back into their original envelopes
     and tossed them into a shoebox.
    The photograph she found was of Lily, her father, and two old couples seated at their table. Lily was looking away from the
     camera, her mouth oddly pursed, as if she were in the middle of chewing her food while smiling at the same time. A pair of
     chopsticks rested between her fingers. It was an odd moment. Lily appeared sociable yet also removed. Her eyes were lively,
     though they looked at nothing in particular. It was as if two versions of her had been captured in the same photograph.
    Actually, there were two photographs of Lily that Agnes found. Two copies of the same picture. Agnes wanted to find a difference,
     something very small—a gesture of the hand, the curve of an eyebrow—but the two pictures were exactly alike. Another photograph
     of Lily would reveal another world. But there she was—Lily could never break out of the picture, an elegant woman caught in
     the act of chewing. Beside her, her father looked radiant, a little too well satisfied, two red carnations and a wisp of baby’s
     breath pinned right over his heart. He was the only person in the photograph looking at the camera.
    “Do you want to come over on Saturday to pick it up?” she asked her father. “You can stay for the weekend, and I’ll drive
     you to your interview on Monday.”
    Her father hesitated. “You don’t have to come in with me. You can just drop me off at the immigration office.”
    “Fine,”Agnes said.
    The morning of his interview, her father ironed his own dress shirt and put on a suit that still smelled of the dry cleaner’s
     fumes. He shaved the tiny white hairs that had begun to sprout on his chin, and even sprayed himself with an old bottle of
     cologne that he found in a bathroom drawer. An hour before his appointment, he began to fidget, looking at his watch and pacing
     around the room. “Shouldn’t we be leaving?” he asked.
    “Sit down. We have plenty of time.”
    “I don’t want to be late,”he said, picking up his bag. “Qiulian will be waiting.”
    Agnes sat down, tapping a pack of cigarettes in her hand. Smoking was one of the bad habits she blamed on her father, even
     though he had quit twenty years ago. “You realize, don’t you,”Agnes said, blowing smoke to the side away from him. “It’s a
     certain fact. She’ll leave you as soon as she gets her green card.”
    Her father cleared his throat and switched the bag to his other hand.
    “You want her to stay, am I right?”
    He sighed, heading toward the door. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”
    “I’m not taking you,”she said. She flicked the ash off her cigarette onto a plate. “It’s for your own good. I won’t let her
     have it.”
    Her father shook his head. “Unbelievable,”he said.
    “I wrote a letter to the INS already. In the letter, I informed them that your marriage—your wife—is a fraud.”
    Her father closed his eyes, shaking his head. He began breathing heavily and grasped his collar.
    “What would Mother say?” she said. “You were such an easy dupe!”
    “You and her!” he said, looking at Agnes. “You make me want to