Diary of One Who Disappeared

by Jason Erik Lundberg

  Supplemental

  I just removed my wedding ring, placed it in the bottom-most pocket of my suitcase, then zipped it closed and stowed it in my closet. I surprised myself by not crying about it; the ring has been a part of me for so long. Ailene hadn’t worn hers for at least the last five years, claiming that it just got in the way. There’s now no longer a reason for me to wear mine either.

  Thursday, November 15

  I tried, with varying success, to concentrate on my work today. My Range report: the initial destruction of Disneyland in 1999; the devastation of the American Midwest, the power plants, the pipelines, the key components of infrastructure; and then the civil unrest and the food riots; the formation of the NAU; the triumph of the Citizens United Party. So strange to write in such a distanced way about history that I’ve lived through.

  I knew that the Range had only attacked Tinhau once, but this was all the information I’d been able to dig up prior to coming here. Thinking that it might add some depth to the report as a point of comparison, I asked Aya how I could find out more about the event. The military and intelligence reports have been sealed off to anyone not at the very highest levels of government, but she was able to point me towards lower-level reports that had not been so heavily redacted.

  It was called the Irruption, and it was clearly a defining moment in Tinhau’s recent history, just as the Range’s first strike at Anaheim had been for America. It led to a nine-month Crackdown on subversion and dissent, and a suspension of civil liberties in the name of security. Sounds very familiar. But the difference is that Tinhau managed to mostly shift back to pre-Irruption policy starting in the first few months of 2016, even though some of the architects of the Crackdown are still in the Cabinet to this day (Minister Yeo being the most prominent). From what I could tell, it was this progressivism that allowed the country to flourish in those tumultuous years.

  Although…why would they want to keep this a secret? Do they see the Crackdown as some kind of stain on their international reputation? I’m debating asking Aya about this because of the sensitivity of the topic, but I wonder. Yes, they went through a nasty period of governance, but they learned from it and made their country a better place; why wouldn’t they want to share this? It’s now been almost a century since World War II, but the Germans still confront their Nazi past; they don’t hide from it, or try to suppress it. Strange.

  This is the exact kind of information I was hoping to find out when I conceived of the mission to Tinhau in the first place. Although I don’t know what good it does me now.

  Friday, November 16

  Yu-Wei returned to the office today and, incredibly, she was there to see me.

  Aya was in meetings all day, so when Yu-Wei poked her head in my doorway, I assumed she hadn’t been told about it. But instead she smiled and said she had come to take me to lunch. That Aya had told her about my week from Hell, and she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it and wanted to cheer me up.

  We walked to a Nipponese restaurant at the end of the block with one of those automated sushi carousels. I didn’t know what to order, so Yu-Wei chose a soup for me with udon noodles, and a rice dish for herself. As soon as the waiter left our table, she asked how I was doing. I gave her some vague mumbles of assurance, but felt strange talking about my situation with a woman I barely knew.

  She pointed at my left hand and said, “You were wearing a wedding ring a couple of days ago. Not anymore?”

  I mentioned that I hadn’t felt like I was in a proper marriage in some time, and with Ailene’s death, there was really no reason to wear it anymore. I wasn’t sure if it was cold to think like this, or if it made me a bad person, but I felt guilty about it regardless; Yu-Wei was very quick to put a hand on my arm and reassure me.

  “That’s understandable,” she said. “It’s a complicated situation, and you’re bound to have lots of conflicting emotions about it.” I replied that she was very insightful, and she said, “Of course, darling, I’m a poet.”

  Just then, our food arrived, rather more quickly than I’d expected. My udon soup was quite good, although I couldn’t use the chopsticks to save my life, and had to ask for a fork. We made a bit more small talk, with most of it focused on me; it did actually feel good to talk about it with such a friendly face. Yu-Wei seemed genuinely interested, although I hardly found out anything else about her.

  We finished eating and Yu-Wei paid for both of us; I said she didn’t need to do that, but she said I was being silly and that she’d declared at the beginning that she was the one taking me to lunch. I could pay next time. So of course I asked, “There’s going to be a next time?”

  “Sure,” she laughed and asked for my Wave.

  I dug the device out of my pocket and handed it to her; she pulled hers out of her handbag and pressed both together lightly, like they were kissing. The squares glowed, then pulsed several times like a heartbeat. After the glow faded, she handed mine back to me. “Now you have all my contact info, and I have yours. Message me later today. I have a thing this afternoon and tomorrow, but I can meet tomorrow night for coffee.”

  She leaned in for a hug and gave me a quick peck on the cheek, then sailed out the door of the restaurant. I’m still a bit stunned by the whole thing.

  FROM THE PAPER JOURNAL OF LL

  Saturday, November 17

  What an amazing evening. And only marred for a moment.

  I arrived at Pacifica fifteen minutes early. I could have taken the streetcar one stop, but the weather was more breezy and cool today, so I walked. The café was separated into four rooms: the front counter and cashier, two dining rooms with wooden tables and chairs, and a lounge with long sofas and low tables and deep, crowded bookshelves made of some dark red wood. I picked the one unoccupied couch and waited, drying my palms on my slacks every few minutes. I thought about going to the shelves and taking down one of the books to distract myself until Yu-Wei arrived, but then thought that it might seem pretentious for some reason, I don’t know why. There was a group of stylish, boisterous women on the sofa across from me, talking loudly in another language and gesturing for emphasis, resplendent in expensive-looking Punjabi suits.

  Finally, Yu-Wei arrived, right on the dot at eight o’clock, and dressed in blue jeans and a frilly white top. She placed a packet of tissues on our table to reserve it while we went to the counter to order: a lemongrass herbal tea for me; for Yu-Wei, a latte with an extra shot of espresso. As we were waiting, a television above the counter was silently playing a new report of Minister Yeo’s series of rallies all over the country.

  Yu-Wei sucked her teeth. “This asshole and his anti-swee garbage. If he didn’t have so much political influence, the rest of the Cabinet would shut him down, like that. No good can come of this.”

  We brought our drinks back to the couch, and she told me more about herself: she’s an only child, and her parents died when she was only sixteen; she was raised afterward by a strict auntie who saw her mostly as a nuisance. I was awkward at first, aware of how close we sat together; I kept glancing around, feeling the stares at our incongruous pairing. I asked about her poetry, and if any poems were available in English. She said no, and then I surprised myself by asking if she would recite one of them in Chinese.

  She thought for a moment, then in a quiet but confident voice began speaking in Mandarin. I had no idea what she was saying, but there was a quality to the rhythm and musicality of it that made me feel something, that touched a part of my brain and made the back of my neck tingle. Like a song in another language, reaching the heart regardless. Yu-Wei’s poem started off with tones of joy and excitement, and ended in melancholy. After she finished, I asked her what it was about, and she said that it was a memory of sitting on her father’s lap as a child when he would drive into downtown to meet up with his “kakis” (which I’m guessing is the same thing as “buddies”; I don’t even know if I’m spelling it right). She would put her hands on the steering wheel on top of his and feel
like she was the one driving, perfectly safe in her father’s arms.

  At that point, my attention was drawn to the group of ladies across from us, where another young woman had sat down while Yu-Wei had been talking, a girl with light skin. Something about her was familiar, and then it hit me like a gutshot: it was Chlöé, the prostitute I’d visited a month ago. She only glanced at me once, but my ears burned guiltily. I couldn’t believe it, that out of all the cafés I could have picked, a blazing reminder of my iniquity had found me.

  I must have looked terrible, because Yu-Wei asked what was wrong. I excused myself and hurried to the bathroom. The stalls were all occupied, so I splashed some cold water on my face at the sink and tried to calm down. When I came back out, Chlöé and her friends were gone, and I breathed a brief prayer of thanks. Yu-Wei was tapping something on her Wave, but put it away when I came back to the table. I made the excuse that I wasn’t feeling well, and she said, “Well, let’s get you home then.”

  As we left the café, she paused outside at the fogged glass of the large front window, then, with a whimsical grin, placed a finger in the condensation and quickly drew the stylised outline of a naked woman with large breasts, complete with nipples and pubic hair. As she finished, I could just make out the other patrons inside the café turning to gawp at her hurried art, some with horrified stares, others with delighted smiles. I wasn’t quite sure what to think, but she seemed pleased with her handiwork.

  We took the streetcar to my apartment block, and as she walked me to the lobby door, she took my hand and held it—and at that simple human contact, that easy show of affection, the floodgates opened. The tears poured out of me, no matter how much I wanted to avoid being a blubbering mess on a date with such an extraordinary woman. And even more remarkable was that instead of running away, or awkwardly offering clichéd platitudes, she pulled me forward into a hug; she only held me, and I held her, and we rode out the storm together.

  After the worst was over, she passed me a tissue to wipe my face. Then she kissed me on the lips, softly, quickly, barely more than a kiss between friends. I looked into her eyes, leaned forward again and kissed her this time; I was surprised at how similar it felt to kissing Ailene. She stepped back and smiled, although the look in her eyes made me feel as if I’d gone too far.

  “You Wave me, okay?” she said, placing a hand on my cheek. “We’ll go out again when you’re up to it.”

  I watched until she disappeared around the corner before I entered the building. I barely remember unlocking the door to my apartment and drifting inside.

  I know I’m not going to sleep tonight.

  Supplemental

  Your wrists. Your blue fingernail polish. Your generosity. When your hair was down and partially obscured your face. Your long thighs. How your shoe dangled from your toes when you sat, leaving your heel naked and free. Your knowing smile.

  Monday, November 19

  I woke up terribly ill yesterday morning, feeling even worse than I had aboard the Zior. I have zero energy; I’m more exhausted than I think I’ve ever been. I saw a small bump on my cheek when I looked in the mirror, the size and shape of a mosquito bite.

  I called in sick this morning, and at lunchtime a delivery person dropped off some mushroom soup and half-litre bottles of electrolytic water that Aya had ordered for me, along with a note that told me to rest well and give her a Wave if I needed anything else. It was incredibly sweet. When I pointed out the bite on my cheek, the delivery guy was quick to assure me that Tinhau had eradicated both malaria and dengue fever long ago.

  Okay, just writing those two paragraphs has tired me out, so I’m going back to bed.

  Wednesday, November 21

  I seem to be finally regaining my strength. I can’t remember the last time I’ve slept so much.

  And I’ve been having these very vivid dreams. They take place here in Tinhau, and sometimes in New York, and sometimes in both places at the same time. Yu-Wei was in all of them, and most were very sexual.

  It stings a little that she hasn’t called or sent a Wave message to see how I’m doing. Sure, it’s only been a few days, but I’m sure Aya has told her how sick I’ve been. I’m probably overthinking it.

  I should be well enough tomorrow morning to go back to work.

  Thursday, November 22

  Took it easy at work today, didn’t push myself. Just plodded along on my Range report. I actually should be finished with it by tomorrow.

  Should I Wave Yu-Wei and let her know that I’m better? I don’t know if I’m still up for seeing her; she’s probably not even thinking about me anyway. Plus, I don’t want to look too desperate.

  FROM THE PAPER JOURNAL OF LL

  Thursday, November 29

  This week, I have simply done my work and come straight home. It’s been difficult to concentrate on anything else. Yu-Wei has not tried to get back in touch after our bizarre Wave thread, and I haven’t screwed up the nerve to seek her out again either. I really hope that I haven’t blown things with her already. Maybe I’ll ask Aya tomorrow if she knows anything.

  No more news from O’Brien about the treason charges either, so maybe that’s a good thing. Although not knowing definitively makes me feel a bit like I’m in Limbo; I know I shouldn’t tempt fate, but I’d really like this to be resolved soon. I wish he’d just send me an update, but I reckon he’s also trying to keep his own career alive. Patience is hard.

  I haven’t heard from Dad either.

  Aya and I had lunch in the canteen a few times this week, and she has been sensitive about asking questions aimed at my current political predicament, letting me know that if I need her help, I only have to ask. Strange, but I’ve started having dreams about her lately, just like the dream I had aboard the Zior, except now the female figure is most definitely Aya. Just ordinary going-about-your-day kind of dreams, contented with a normal life. I could be transferring my feelings towards Yu-Wei onto Aya, I don’t know.

  Minister Quek came in to the office today to make the rounds, and said that I was doing a good job, and to keep up the good work, which was nice to hear. But then, as she was leaving, she stopped and looked hard at me, like there was rojak sauce on my face. I asked if something was the matter, and then she asked if I was feeling all right. I told her that I’d been pretty ill lately, but that I was mostly well again. She kept staring, then turned abruptly and went into Aya’s office next door; I didn’t see her again after that. Very odd.

  I’ve been spending most of my time at home staring out the living room window. There’s a small neighbourhood playground nearby with a sand pit; the playground equipment itself is shaped like a Chinese dragon; a slide even empties out of the dragon’s mouth. Lots of things for kids to climb on and over, and every night after dinnertime, they’re out there, creating a joyous racket, oblivious to the realities of the world.

  I’ve been thinking about Many Worlds Theory since Yu-Wei brought it up. There’s probably a universe out there where I have a child, maybe a little girl, maybe with Yu-Wei, maybe with Aya, and that kid is playing on the same playground outside my window, swinging on the monkey bars at the dragon’s raised tail, climbing the coil up to its head, sliding out of its toothy mouth. Maybe her name is Jessa; I’ve always liked that name. Would she love me? Would I be a good father?

  Although by the same logic, there would have to be worlds where I’m the worst father of all time; I wonder if that asshole dad version of me is more miserable than I am right now.

  Friday, November 30

  During lunchtime today, I asked Aya if she’d heard from Yu-Wei lately; at the mention of Yu-Wei’s name, Aya’s face fell, as if I had just told her I’d kicked her dog.

  “She’s leaving tonight,” Aya said, “although she wouldn’t tell me why or where she’s going. And we were just getting on together so well.” I didn’t know if “getting on together” meant “dating”, even as that was the vibe I was getting from Aya, but I didn’t pull at that thread. I’d thought Y
u-Wei was straight, and Aya too, but maybe I was mistaken.

  “I would like to say goodbye to her,” I said, and my expression must have been similarly crestfallen and pitiful, because she told me where Yu-Wei is staying: the Maugham Suite at the same hotel I was put up in when I first got to Tinhau.

  I left work early and came back home to change. I’m heading to the hotel in about fifteen minutes. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I want to see Yu-Wei before she supposedly leaves forever.

  DECEMBER

  FROM THE PAPER JOURNAL OF LL

  Saturday, December 1

  I’m a swee?

  How in the hell could this be true?

  I’m a swee?!

  What the fuck?

  WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUU

  Supplemental

  Okay, I’ve calmed down a bit, although I’m still freaking out.

  It’s nearly 3am. My brain is full of impossible images and new information. Hopefully, if I write this down, I’ll get it out of my head so I can make some sense of it, and maybe actually get some sleep tonight.

  Just before five o’clock yesterday evening, I arrived at the colonial hotel and asked the concierge where to locate the Maugham Suite (on the first floor in a rear corner). I found it and knocked. After several seconds, there was no answer, so I knocked again and Yu-Wei immediately opened the door, looking exasperated. She asked what I was doing there. I told her what Aya had said, and that I was hurt she hadn’t told me she was leaving, since it had felt like there was a connection between us. As I was talking, she went to the bed, picked up an overstuffed backpack and heaved it onto her shoulders.

  “Lucas, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it’s complicated,” she said. “And I have to go now.”

  I asked if I could contact her soon, and she just shook her head. I reached forward to hug her, but the motion must have startled her; as soon as I touched her arms, the sound of static filled my ears and the whole world went white. I thought that I was fainting, but I also seemed to be conscious at the same time, even though I could sense nothing other than that blinding light and hissing noise.