Diary of One Who Disappeared

by Jason Erik Lundberg

  Last Thursday, I hired a water taxi (called a bumboat) to get a view of the heart of Tinhau from a different vantage point; I saw lots of locals fishing off the bridges that span the river, as well as small recreational boats like canoes and rowboats and a few sailboats on the water. The entire area was suffused with the aroma of milky tea, though I couldn’t figure out where it might have come from. No other motorised vessels on the water besides the bumboats (which are considered public transport, even if they’re more expensive than the road taxis, subway trains and streetcars); I’m guessing that bigger ships are prohibited from using the river as a thoroughfare.

  It was quite a peaceful experience, and reminded me of taking the ferries around New York City. There was a bit of chatter from the other passengers on the bumboat, but it was subdued. However, after we stopped somewhere near what the captain told me was an affluent neighbourhood, this riotous group of middle-aged, well-dressed women boarded. They were just so fucking loud. I gritted my teeth at every burst of braying laughter that exploded behind me. At first I thought it might be a cultural thing, like maybe I just wasn’t used to the noise, but it went way beyond my tolerance, like they didn’t give a shit that anyone else was sharing the boat with them. Fucking rude, and it nearly ruined the rest of my day. For a brief moment, I wished them all a horrible watery death just to shut them up. It was a huge relief when I exited the bumboat only a few minutes later.

  Anyway.

  The new job: today was mostly orientation, getting the low-down on MinStab, configuring the software on the ordinator in my new office (adjacent to Aya’s), meeting with personnel, getting introduced to the rest of the team at Cultural Affairs (and forgetting their names almost immediately; Wong Kee is the only other person I already know). The young Indian man from the previous meeting wasn’t there, so I assume he works more closely with Minister Quek, whose office is on another floor.

  Aya was the one to take me around, my personal guide today. A remarkable woman, and even more friendly than I’d first thought. Even though her mother is a Minister, the other Cultural Affairs employees treat her as an equal, rather than kiss her ass. At the DESD, I didn’t interact with many people in our division other than Ailene, but it seemed that everyone there was always striving for promotion, ambition and ego thick in the air; but after only a day of working here, it already feels quite the opposite. Advancement seems to be something that any of them would accept with humility, but only as a side effect of excelling at their work anyway.

  Part of showing me the ropes on my first day involved lunch at one of MinStab’s three canteens, arranged like a food court. The many stalls there produced an assault on the senses; there were so many different kinds of smells coming at me at once that it was hard to make any of them out individually, so I just followed Aya’s lead. She led us to a circular table and had me sit down to “chope” our spot, while she headed off towards one of the stalls. While waiting for her to return, I remarked once again (silently to myself, of course) how seriously Tinhauans take their food. Most of the people I know back in New York (or maybe that should be “knew” now?) treat food purely as fuel, something to shove in your mouth just so you have energy for the day. But in the two weeks since I first landed in Tinhau, I’ve overheard enthusiastic praise and strident insults over the dishes served at various eateries, as well as heated discussions of where the best roti prata or laksa or something else is prepared.

  Aya came back to the table with a plate in each hand piled with a mound of rice, on top of which sat some kind of sliced roasted meat. When I asked what kind it was, she smiled and said, “Duck. The uncle who runs the stall here makes the best duck rice in Tinhau.”

  I didn’t have a way to challenge that assertion, but man alive, was it delicious! Crispy skin and juicy meat, complemented by the rice, which was far more flavourful than the white rice I was used to. As we ate, an older lady with a circular tray approached us to ask what we wanted to drink. Aya said, “Two barley drink, warm but not hot,” then looked at me and said, “Trust me, it goes really well with the duck rice.” And once again, she was right; the cloudy beverage was naturally sweet, but not too much, and the barley grains at the bottom of the glass were chewy.

  “So,” Aya said, “you’ve been in Tinhau now for a couple of weeks, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I know you did research on us before coming here, but what has surprised you about actually being here?”

  I thought for a moment, then said, “Probably the heat. I didn’t realise how oppressive it could be.”

  She chuckled and said, “That’s what I hear from most ang mohs who visit. They all have difficulty acclimatising. Imagine how it must have been before aircon.”

  “Ang moh?”

  “It’s…hmm, how to explain. It’s a Hokkien phrase; it literally means ‘red hair’, but it’s used to refer to any Caucasians regardless of their hair colour. It’s technically a racial epithet, but it’s usually said with affection.”

  “Ah,” I said, thinking back to my high school days. “Like ‘white boy’. Or ‘güero’. I get it now. Although that’s another thing: when I walk around the city, I’m often stared at, and even though most of it is benign, I sometimes feel like an animal in the zoo. Are ang mohs rare here?”

  “No, not rare, but they tend to keep to themselves. They don’t really mingle with the locals, so when we see one of you in a residential area, or someplace unexpected like that, it’s usually a surprise.”

  “But wasn’t Tinhau a British colony for a long time?”

  “Yes, but we’ve been an independent nation for seventy-five years now. Not that colonialism still isn’t present in our advertising: ads on television and in print for hair-straightening systems and skin-whitening creams.”

  “But that’s so strange,” I said. “Tinhau, and Asia as a whole, is doing so much better than the rest of the world right now, so why do they still want the trappings of the West?”

  Aya took another bite of duck and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s complicated.”

  Supplemental

  I was watching the news just now before going to bed, and the big story of the day was a fatal boating accident on the Tehtarik River this afternoon: a bumboat water taxi caught fire and sank. The captain was able to jump clear and is recovering at Tinhau General Hospital, but the dozen passengers, all women, were killed. The news anchor made a special point of mentioning how this didn’t appear to be domestic terrorism (although the authorities are looking into the possibility).

  I hope it was the same group of noisy-as-hell ladies from last week. They’d certainly deserve it.

  Supplemental

  I just read over that again and I feel ashamed. How selfish and heartless could I be? The viciousness of the thought really bothers me; it’s certainly not Christian. Plus, what are the odds that they were even the same women?

  Tuesday, October 30

  The quotidian work routine has already done wonders to help me acclimatise to my new home. I’m getting the hang of the TMRT system, which is much simpler than New York’s subways and even easier to navigate. Nearly everyone in Tinhau speaks English; those who don’t are usually found behind a food stall, but I can always point to the picture of the dish I want to order. I’m starting to feel like I’m not a tourist or visitor anymore.

  I’m also impressed with how safe I feel here, at all times. The laws are so strict, with fines for even minor offences and harsh penalties for major ones, that the policy seems to have manipulated people into self-policing their actions. Crime still happens, but it’s dealt with swiftly and severely. Guns are banned altogether, except for use by the police and military; all potentially deadly swees are registered with MinStab, but there is not a single recorded instance in the past ten years of unauthorised use of powers. I’ve lived in big cities for my entire life, but I’ve never once felt this at ease, like I can finally breathe; the constant tension in my neck and shoulders, which I’d thought wa
s because of job stress, is almost gone. For Tinhauans, this is just how it’s always been, but I’m truly grateful to be able to live without that constant hovering fear. It is, simply, miraculous; if I could bottle this feeling, I would be set for life.

  Blessed Travels, the anthology I picked up at Indah Books, has become my steady night-time reading; thick as it is, it’ll still take some time to finish. I’ve also got back in the habit of carrying my æ-reader at all times, so that during TMRT trips to and from work I can get some reading done. It was something that I used to do back home on the subway, and I like being able to dive back into a book whenever I want, although, strangely for such an advanced country, I don’t really see many dedicated æ-readers in Tinhau.

  Speaking of, I was walking through the small public park near my apartment complex the other day on my way back from work, and a teenage girl was sitting on a bench there, a tablet on her lap, a holographic display hovering before her. She made several gestures in the air, and a number of musical instruments could suddenly be heard, like she was directing a virtual symphony. I tried not to stare too openly, but stopped some distance away and just watched. She tweaked and manipulated, and then a song suddenly rang out from the device, something with a heavy beat and lots of string instruments. It played for a while, then the girl reached up and stopped it; after some more editing, she relaxed her arms and started the music again, with added harmonies and syncopation. Amazing. After listening for another minute or two, I continued home.

  Wednesday, October 31

  This afternoon, Aya mentioned that she and some other folks at MinStab were taking the TMRT up to Negeri Biyuron for a Halloween party in the Artists District, and that I was invited as well. I should have taken her up on it, but I hadn’t slept well last night (insomnia) and just wanted to go back to my flat. So I skipped the party, and came home to what sounded like a demolition crew: my upstairs neighbour, apparently doing renovations on his unit, despite the fact that all the flats in this building are rentals, and fully furnished.

  I don’t know the customs here very well, and I didn’t want to be the asshole neighbour who complains right after moving in, but at 11pm the noise was still going, so I went upstairs and knocked hard. The door cracked open just enough for a balding man to poke his head through, blocking my view of what he might be doing in there. I asked if he wouldn’t mind keeping the noise down, and that it was late and I’d have to work in the morning. He immediately started screaming at me that he had no other time in the day to improve his home, that he worked hard all day long as well, that the previous neighbour in my unit hadn’t ever groused like this (I tried pointing out that the noise might have been what drove them out, but couldn’t even get a word in), and that I was a selfish, selfish person for making a fuss. Then he slammed the door in my face.

  I called the building manager, but she must not have been home, because the phone just rang and rang. So then I called the police and asked them to intervene; part of me felt like a tattletale for doing it, like I was breaking some code, but I couldn’t imagine going through the rest of the night like this. As I was talking to the policeman, the racket started again, and I held the phone up to the ceiling for proof; he said they’d send a couple of officers over.

  Twenty minutes later, I heard a pounding on the door upstairs and some muted conversation, and then the merciful halting of noise for the next ten minutes. I thought that it was the end of the matter, at least for the night, but then something came crashing down on the floor above me, as though the bastard had waited for the cops to leave and then pushed over an entire bookcase full of cinderblocks. Then, for the next ten minutes, he kept slamming his door to the garbage chute, which echoed through my apartment. I called the police again, and this time when they arrived, I could hear the jackass’ incoherent ranting through the ceiling, then the slamming of his door, and then a minute later his frantic yelling from the parking lot downstairs as, I assume, he was hauled away to sleep off his rage in a holding cell. Good riddance.

  NOVEMBER

  ENCRYPTED DISPATCH

  #73F5ACBF2A17D397C4F43B1921

  Sent: Thu, 1 Nov, 10.43am

  Rick,

  Thank you for letting me know, and for your kind words. I’m not entirely surprised that Ailene has accused me of defecting, but it’s maddening to hear. I still love the North American Union, and that won’t change. I also really appreciate you sticking up for me in my absence.

  My head is spinning. Things don’t look good, but I don’t know what I can do from here.

  Lucas

  FROM THE PAPER JOURNAL OF LL

  Thursday, November 1

  I got a worrying message from O’Brien today: apparently Ailene did exactly as I had suspected and tried to push all of the blame onto me for her spectacular failure. She even accused me of defecting to Tinhau! Tried to make it sound like it was my plan all along, that I never intended the mission to succeed, but only used it as a pretence to travel to Tinhau on the DESD’s dime. In any event, I won’t let it occupy my mind, because that’s just what Ailene would want.

  Aya mentioned this afternoon that I would need to get a Wave device, so that I’d be contactable anytime; everyone at the Ministry of Stability has them apparently, as well as most of Tinhau. She gave me the name and address of a shop that has decent prices, and said that MinStab would reimburse most of the cost. So after a quick dinner nearby, I took the TMRT five stops into Negeri Hadwan, and followed Aya’s directions to the old shopping centre she’d claimed was the mecca of affordable electronics in Tinhau. Up the lift to the fourth floor, and then it took some searching to find the recommended shop, tucked between two huge stores selling larger appliances like televisions and stereo systems. Suriani Gadgets Pte Ltd was small, but filled with all kinds of handheld mobile devices, none of which I recognised.

  Sitting behind the counter along the back wall was the owner, a Malayan woman in her early forties who was missing her right arm above the elbow; with her left hand, she manipulated a holographic display emanating from a tablet. She looked somehow familiar, but I couldn’t place from where. As I stepped further into the shop, she looked up at me and said, “Help you?”

  I told her what I needed. After mentioning that I worked for MinStab, she chuckled and shook her head, although she didn’t let me in on the joke. She asked if I had a local bank account, since I clearly am not from here. I told her that I’d recently opened one (with Aya’s help), and asked why that mattered. She explained that to set up a Wave account, she’d need to establish a digital wallet and link it to my bank account. She unlocked one of the cabinets at floor level and took out a slim white box decorated with a silver W73. Apparently it was the newest model, only released a few months ago in Tinhau and Nippon. She removed the wafer-thin, transparent square from the box and placed it on the countertop. From a small wall-mounted shelf she grabbed a purple plastic egg with a slot cut lengthwise through the centre; she placed this on the top edge of the Wave, and a pinkish display flickered to life in the air above it. As she tapped and swiped and gestured, it finally dawned on me where I had seen her before: the black-and-white photograph of the aerial cyclist in my hotel room, when I first got to Tinhau.

  “That was a long time ago,” she said when I mentioned it, “a dumb stunt in my twenties, out in the reclaimed Artists District. Almost killed me, you know. The lines weren’t secured well enough to the buildings; I nearly didn’t make it across before the whole thing snapped.”

  Since it was so dangerous, I asked why she’d done it at all.

  She stopped manipulating the display and looked directly at me. “You know how life is with one arm in Tinhau? It sucks. You’re looked down on, like you’re rubbing your disability in people’s faces. I was in my last year of junior college when this happened,” she raised her truncated right arm, “not by choice, yeah? But I was still treated like a pariah by all my so-called friends. That shit gets to you, so I did all kinds of dangerous stunts afterward, just to show
that I still could. That velocipede trick was the last, though; I came too close to dying. So I settled down into this life of luxury you see before you.”

  The last sarcastic comment hung in the air for a moment, before she said she needed my account. I told her the number and she fed it into the pink vapour. She performed just a few more manoeuvres, then detached the purple egg, placed the Wave back in the box with a wireless earbud and handed the whole thing to me. “There, you’re all set. Welcome to the modern era.”

  I reached for my wallet, but she shook her head and said, “It’s already been deducted from your bank account, direct debit. If you want, you never have to use cash again.”

  Friday, November 2

  My cacophonous neighbour was either still in police custody last night, or has learned his lesson, because the whole evening was quiet for a change. I’m now halfway through Blessed Travels, having read more than a hundred pages last night alone. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when your concentration isn’t being blasted apart by a symphony of destruction. There was a passage from an essay called “One People, One Nation, One Tinhau” that has really stayed with me: “Regardless of where we come from, whom we pray to, how much money we make or who we love, we are all Tinhauans. We respect each other’s differences, and celebrate the many ways in which we are the same. Just as our island-nation is named after the sea goddess who protected our sailors so long ago, we also look out for one another and raise each other up. We remain prosperous so long as we do not forget our inborn generosity of spirit.” What aspirations to have!

  At work this morning, I got in quite early. Aya arrived after I did, and asked if I knew anything about the candlelight vigil being held tonight for “that bunch of tai-tais”. I asked what she was talking about, and she explained that she meant the group of women who had drowned in the river a few days ago. After she left, I turned on my ordinator and went online to find out the details of the vigil; I felt oddly responsible, like my ill will had somehow caused them harm.