The Blue Phoenix Inheritance

  “Hello, I’m Wayne Moto. My father was Manny. He said when the time came, I should pay my respects when your husband passed. I’m sorry for your loss.”

   “I’m Amelia. My husband didn’t like your father.”

   “They were friends once.”

   “I don’t know about that. My husband said he lost half his business when your dad opened his shop. My husband was here first. He said because you dad was Japanese people wouldn’t buy anything oriental from us after that. We couldn’t sell Occupied Japan China. We couldn’t sell any China. We couldn’t sell incense. We couldn’t sell statues. Buddha’s not Japanese but people wouldn’t buy them from us anymore.”

   “Yea, I’m sorry, it was between him and my dad. I had nothing to do with it.”

   “What do you want?”

   “I came about the Blue Phoenix Urn. I wanted to talk to you before you did anything with it.”

   “It’s gone.”

   “Oh, no, you didn’t sell it?”

   “It’s broken. My husband was storing it in the barn with other things and the barn burnt down. Careless smoking. My husband smoked. It’s what killed him. That urn was supposed to be my inheritance. It was for my retirement and I know my husband destroyed it out of spite.”

   “I’m sorry. Would it be okay if I had a look?”

   They went out to the back of the half house, half antique shop to where the barn was. Or where the barn used to be. Amelia led Wayne to a pile of fallen blackened beams where amongst them was a small glittering of blue porcelain.

   “That’s what happened to the urn.”

   Wayne picked his way closer and inspected some of the shiny shards. “This isn’t the Blue Phoenix Urn.”

  “What? He said it was.”

   “They look like they’re from Dutch Blue Windmill plates. See, they’re all flat. No curves in any of the pieces. These aren’t from an urn.”

   “Oh, so he didn’t destroy it? He just didn’t want me to have it. He never loved me. All he left me was the shop. I hate antiques. Your father is why we could never afford to get away from here. He got my husband to open this place to sell his imports. And once we built the business up your father opened his own shop down the road.”

   “I’m sorry. I should go.”

    Amelia grabbed Wayne’s arm. “What was it worth? Do you know what my husband did with it?”

   “I don’t think my father was trying to take all your business. I don’t think he thought it through.”

   “They were both misers. Did your dad leave you anything?”

   “He left me his shop, but he gave all his money to a pet charity. He said I’d have to work for mine.”

   “See, misers. They didn’t love anybody. What is the Blue Phoenix Urn?”

    “My dad said the Blue Phoenix Urn held the ashes of Sun Ce, or Oda Nobunga, or some other famous man. My dad wasn’t always straight with his histories. His story about it was they took the ashes of some great man and put them in an urn with the pattern of a phoenix so that one day, in a fire, in a palace of gold, that man would be reborn.”

   “He sold that to my husband?”

   “No, no, he didn’t. He kept it for himself. He told your husband about it to make him jealous, but he wouldn't sell it to anybody. That’s all. But then it was stolen from my father, and your husband recognized it and bought it from whoever. My father felt bad about that and tried to buy it back from your husband, but your husband wouldn’t sell.”

   “What is it worth?”

   “I don’t know. You know how antiques work, it’s whatever you can get for it. The story always has more value than the object. My dad told a lot of stories. Did your husband ever suggest a price?”

   “Did you come here because you think it belonged to your father? You think it belongs to you now? Because you’re not getting anything here.”

    “No, no, it’s yours. I thought I could clear some things up about it, though.”

   “I know it's mine. Jonathan said if the Motos think they have any claim on it, they can flush it.”

   “He did?” Wayne thought for a moment. “Can I use your bathroom?”

   Amelia narrowed her eyes. “It’s at the back.”

   Inside, Amelia heard an odd noise from the bathroom. “What are you doing?”

   Wayne opened the door and Amelia could see the lid had been removed from the toilet. “I think your husband didn’t want anyone to have it, but thought it was too valuable to destroy. Can I go in your basement? I want to follow the pipes.”

   “What are you doing?”

   “I think I know where the urn is. Would you like to find it?”

   “The stairs are in the kitchen.”

   Wayne returned after a few minutes. “Your pipes go out to the road, but there’s an older sewage line that goes out the side of the house.”

   “Oh, that’s was a septic tank.”

   “Can I borrow a shovel?”

   “You think he’d…? Yea, he would do that to me.”

    Wayne dug beside the back of the house until he uncovered a trap door lid. He pried it open with the shovel. Attached to the underside of the lid was a chain. He pulled on it without success. He brought his car around the back yard and attached a bungee cord as far down the chain as he could. The car pulled the chain up. At the bottom of the chain was a metal toolbox wrapped in garbage bags. He pulled it up out of the septic tank while Amelia watched.

   Together they hosed down the bundle, tore off the wrappings, and pried open the box. Inside were crumpled newspapers, and loose packing foam, and the Blue Phoenix Urn.

   “Look at it. I was always asking him to sell it. I wanted to live by the lake. I hate this shop. Look at it. It’s beautiful. It smaller than I remember.”

   “May I? I just want to show you something.”

   Amelia reluctantly gave it over and Wayne gently laid it in his open car trunk. He took out a penknife and started prying open the urn.

   “What are you doing? Stop that.”

   Wayne took the lid off of the urn, licked his fingers, and dipped. He held his fingers to his nose, then took a lick of them.

   “Don’t.”

   “It’s cigarette ash. My father was a chain smoker. It’s what killed him, too. Smell.”

   “Please.”

   “They’re not real ashes, they're cigarette ashes. Let me show you something else.” Wayne went to his car and from the trunk took out a box. He opened it and showed Amelia five more urns. All with the Blue Phoenix pattern. “They’re not even people urns. They’re for cats. They’re pet urns. That’s why they’re small. My father wanted to make your husband jealous, but then my father really did get robbed and your husband paid someone for the urn, and that’s what my father felt bad about. The joke went too far. It’s not worth anything. Unless you’re saying good-bye to a cat.”

   “So, now I’ve been cheated twice? You can get out of here.”

   “I was trying to set the record straight. Now that they’re both gone. I thought you’d want to know the truth.”

   “Get out, and don’t come back here.”

  Wayne collected his bungee cord and put it back. Before he could close the car trunk Amelia reached in for the urn.

  “That’s not yours. My husband paid for this one.” She then grabbed the box of the other urns. “I think entitled to these, too. Now, don’t come back.”

   Months later, down the road, Wayne sat in the back of Moto’s Curios and Antiques studying online for his accounting exams when the bell rang for a customer. He went to the front where a well-dressed lady waited to be waited upon.

   “Hello, have you ever heard a Blue Phoenix Urn? I just left a shop down the road where a woman has one, and she claims it holds the ashes of the Emperor of Japan and I thought you people might know something about that.”

   “No, not us. We sell incense, and lucky cats, and spiritual things. It’s all cheap stuff here.”