Lichuen's Legacy

“Stalemate.” Lichuen raised her eyes from the game to meet mine. Her fingers trembled slightly as she released them from a bishop and clasped her hands together on her stomach. This was our third game of the week. Lichuen won most of our games, but I’d picked up some of her best tricks and could outmaneuver her at her most weary. I snapped a picture of the board and turned it sideways as the pieces slipped onto the rust hued quilt. We nattered away while I pushed the pieces back into their felt houses on the board’s underside and folded it in half to close.

We both peered through the window to grass thick with frost, glistening gold under the streetlamp. Frosts like these were typical in Río Grande this time of year. Lichuen kept her home warmer than most. She was sick, you see. Had been for about two years. I was hired as her after-school cleaner, and we had formed an unlikely friendship. An unwell, forty-something ex-Navy nurse and an eighteen-year-old high school student trying to make a buck. Lichuen couldn’t move about her home a lot, so I drove over a few times a week to clean, tidy and do her washing. Her mother would often visit, and she also had a live-in nurse who had never really warmed to me. When I arrived, she would knit her brow and retreat to her room.

A few years ago, my parents had moved the three of us here from Río Gallegos, about five hours to the north by car. It was a reluctant move for me, and I resented my parents for some time afterwards. I couldn’t relate to many people at school (my values differed to most my age), and my parents seemed too distracted by their careers to be very involved with my life. My only refuge was my studies and time spent alone in nature. Hence, I had decided to save money and start life afresh in Buenos Aires when I was finished high school. It was only when Lichuen and I became friends that I finally felt connection again.

After our chess games we would talk. Me of my high school woes, for which Lichuen would give such wise advice, and Lichuen of her plans for when she got better. She knew her condition was improving and it was just a matter of time before she could realise her dream. Lichuen had enjoyed her time with the Argentine Navy, but she had grand plans to open a food bank in the heart of Río Grande to serve those suffering in the community. All her notes were scribbled in a little black leather notebook with rounded corners and a matching ribbon placeholder. The book always sat beside her bed, its pages ready for their daily fill of plans, ideas and sketches.

“Catalina, Ayudar es ser ayudado,” Lichuen loved to quote, meaning to help is to be helped. I would nod and smile, but never fully appreciated its meaning.

Sometimes I’d help her move to the living room for a change of scene. We’d slouch in her big, squishy armchairs, the leather worn and soft. Next to the armchairs was a grand piano, its ivories yellowed, its plaque tarnished and illegible. Although I didn’t play, Lichuen knew I was fascinated by it; but I’d once seen pain in her eyes when I asked about its history, so I didn’t ask again.

Lichuen was naturally warm and charming. She had a generous, heart shaped face and her hooded, hazel eyes would scrunch up when she laughed. When she listened to me talk, she would tuck her thick, chin-length bob of raven hair behind her ears, forming a permanent bend on both sides. Visiting Lichuen was my favourite part of the week.

One Wednesday after school, I was warming up the engine of my car, about to drive to Lichuen’s place when I received a call. Lichuen’s condition had taken an unexpected turn and she had passed away hours earlier.

The rest of that day was a blur. My only close friend in town had passed away and all too soon. All I remember is sitting on the grass beside my car, my head in my hands.

Three days passed. The grief stayed with me and everyday tasks seemed onerous. The funeral was now only a few days away. I had received a voicemail from Lichuen’s mother, asking me to visit her solicitor’s offices. Perhaps they needed some information from me on the whereabouts of certain belongings. After all, I knew that place better than anyone else.

The solicitor didn’t fit the profile I’d imagined. With spirals of pale blonde hair and a surfer-like glow, he slid a page toward me on his desk. “You play?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood. I scanned the page for context. Description: grand piano; Original estimated value: $4,000; Assessed value: $20,000.

Lichuen’s mother was slumped in her chair, her head resting on the wall beside her. Her tired eyes met mine. “Lichuen had underestimated the piano’s value. It was formally owned by her father, who was quite a well-known classical pianist in Buenos Aires before his passing four years ago. His concerts always sold out, but his real passion was to play for the Navy veterans as a kind of music therapy. It’s been left to you.” She paused, giving me time to process. “I know you’ve been saving for your move to la capital. You could find the piano a good home and give yourself a nice head start. And this was left to you too…” She reached for a mesh bag on the floor and placed it in front of me. Still silent, I peered inside. It was the chess set.

Once home, I slunk to my room and lay face up on my bed, studying the ceiling. On one hand I was honoured to be left the grand piano. At the same time, the civil mindedness of Lichuen and her father made me feel undeserving of it. I was just a high school student with a casual cleaning job.

I sat myself up and reached for the chess set. When I unclasped the board, something fell out onto the bed. I recognised it instantly: the black notebook.

Lichuen’s funeral was held in the gardens at the end of her street, overlooking the ocean; her favourite spot to find calm. Everyone was bundled up with mittens and scarves as they found their seats on the crunchy, frosted grass. Their breath was visible against the frigid trunks of the flag trees, bent at extreme angles by relentless winds.

Speech after speech, there were many people whose lives were touched by Lichuen, and I enjoyed hearing the tales they shared. When my turn came, I stepped up to the podium. I took a moment to scan everyone’s faces and felt a sense of calm I hadn’t recognised since Lichuen’s passing. I described the relationship I’d formed with Lichuen, the fun we’d had and the help she gave me. I could feel the crowd breathing with my words; even Lichuen’s nurse, sitting with crossed arms in the corner of the far back row. Then finally:

“Lichuen has left me her grand piano, once owned by her father. It turns out it’s worth a pretty penny and I could really use that for the move I’ve been planning. But she also left me a notebook, in which she recorded her plans for opening a food bank in our community. In fact, it was Lichuen who brought me community in the first place. After some thought, I’ve decided to sell the piano to a good home and put that money towards a new food bank in the heart of Río Grande. I invite all of you to be involved. Let’s help Lichuen to continue her legacy, give back to our community and heal from our grief in the process. As Lichuen would say, 'ayudar es ser ayudado.'”