by Winfred Wong
I didn't understand what he meant. “Mad at him?”
“Don't tell me you don't know who I am referring to. You're still mad about what happened a year ago, aren't you?”
“You mean Robert?”
“Yeah, I know you two haven't been on good terms since that day. You never talked to him again. I can still remember, as if it's yesterday, the angry look on your face on that morning when you finally managed to get aboard the plane and came back. You were so enraged that you reached out and nearly strangled him to death, yelling so loudly like a gorilla. I've never seen a man so angry. You literally lost your temper.”
Then a sudden flash of hazy memory drifted into my mind, reminding me of the reason why I couldn't cast my vote last year, bringing up a burst of grief mingled with remorse and hatred inside me.
“I can never forgive him.”
“But hadn't he apologized once?”
“Yes, yes, he had, but first of all, what he had said can hardly be construed as an apology, and secondly, I think he did it deliberately, and it's unforgivable regardless of how many ‘I'm sorry’ he said. He wrongly deprived me of my right to vote just because I don't share the same political ideology as him. It's absurd.”
“Wasn't the flight delayed because of inclement weather? I mean, no one could have seen the storm coming.”
He was obtuse. This wasn't the first time we had this conversation, but he could never see from my point of view. So I went silent for a minute that seemed ages, then gave a perplexing sigh of indignation, feeling bothered, and scratched my head, as if it was the biggest irritation of all. I didn't want to talk about it any more even though I was certain Robert had deliberately bought me the flight ticket of a flight that would be delayed, and I just wanted to have that irksome conversation terminated quickly because, considering him as a fervent supporter of the idea of the-best-policy-is-to-stay-neutral, I knew he would never understand my fury.
“I don't want to talk about this any more, at least not today. It's painful. Let's just get to work.”
With my lips pouted, I then stormed away squarely toward the ‘barn’, the pantry, which appeared stylish with an elegant sliding barn yellowish door, built right opposite to the manager's room, and I hauled open it, dragging it violently until it hit the wall, and entered. It was about the size of the ‘grassfield’, and it was the only place here where I could compose and seclude myself for a quick moment of tranquil meditation. Every time after picking a quarrel with someone, mostly Betty, I would go in there for some quiet moments to recover.
The rest of the day was just like another day in the office and was pretty uneventful as I just packed up my things and causally instructed Aaron as to what he needed to do in the next few days. Time flew so fast I didn't realize the hour hand had already reached six and the sky had already engulfed the world in complete darkness when my mind was occupied with pleasurable fantasies of leaving the country soon. And when I gathered up my bag and stood up, ready to go, Betty, a mature-looking woman with a ponytail, who was well-known for never gossiping with anyone, approached me.
“We'll all miss you, Ashton, keep in touch,” Betty said, gave me a quick, distant, friendly hug, and cackled with laughter.
She seemed really happy about me departing my post because that would mean one less contending competitor for her, and obviously, Aaron was not a threat looming to her, but that was not a problem I should concern myself with any more, so I glanced over her shoulder to the manager, who was seemingly hoping I would look at him, with a rueful grin on his big fat face, standing by the door of his room.
And he said, with an apparently forced smile, judging by the angle of how his lips parted, “Ashton, hope your new place is full of fun. Take care, and wishing you all the best.”
“Thank you, I'll miss you guys so much,” I said, though I doubted if I would miss him, walked away and shot a sidelong glance at Brian, who was again smirking and standing by his swivel chair, and he ‘popped’ me furtively, with his back facing Betty, to come over.
So I went to him, leaned in as he requested, and he heaved out a sigh, then whispered, “Nine O'clock. Tonight. King's Bar. I have something to tell you. Be on time.”
“Tonight?” I grimaced and kept my voice as inaudible to others as possible like we were conferring about a dirty little secret between us, this was our usual way of talking when someone else was watching.
“What? You are not free tonight?”
“Yeah, my sister has been saying she will throw away all my stuffs if I don't tidy up the room. So...”
“Well then. What about tomorrow night? Look, what I have to tell you is important. So tomorrow night, same time, same place, okay?”
“Sure, of course.”
And I resumed heading to the elevator after he nodded. Back then, it never occurred to me that what he had to say would be something as far-fetching as something like him getting married in a few days because he had never even hinted he was seeing someone, and I had completely no clue that the bar he had chosen would eventually become my greatest nightmare. But I guess even if I knew in advance what was going to happen, there would be nothing I could do to change anything. Whatever can happen will happen.
Then as I jabbed down the elevator button, “Ashton,” Oli said, with a soft, alluring purr that compelled me to suck in a gulp of air in order to calm myself down. “Aren't you going to say goodbye?”
Her charismatic voice was tinged with the perfect sum of gloominess and happiness, not too little, not too much, just enough to enthrall me, and was so magnetic and captivating that it literally paralyzed me. With my cheeks blushing crimson, I just couldn't bear to turn around and look at her no matter how much I desired.
“Yes, I was about to – ”
With every ounce of courage I can summon, I finally looked back at her, but when I tried to direct my eyes at the reception desk, I saw something that was too close to be seen clearly jumping right into my arms. Startlingly, I realized it was an enthusiastic goodbye hug from her.
“I'll miss you. Call me when you are free,” she whispered in my ears seductively and wiggled out of my arms tantalizingly like a wet salmon, her hair soft and fragrant, but had an oddly salty smell, which fortified my impression that she was some kind of a fish.
When she was in my arms, my heart skipped a beat and I had actually forgotten to breathe. I wasn't even aware of her wiggling away until my brain rebuked me for not respiring afterward, so I had to catch up with huge big gasps. “I'll miss you, too,” I said with the softest voice I could emit, and I felt like I was falling in love at that moment.
Then she smiled when the elevator bell chimed and the floor vibrated slightly, signaling the arrival of the elevator.
“Goodbye, Ashton,” she said sweetly.
After some difficult vacillation between impressing her with a goodbye kiss and leaving just like that, I strode into the elevator and had my eyes riveted on her until the elevator door slid shut. “Goodbye.”
I wasn't brave enough, but at least, I knew the feeling of the hug would remain imprinted in my mind and wouldn't fade away for quite a long time, and to me, that was more than enough, I tried to convince myself.
The elevator bell dinged sharply again, which woke me up from a light trance induced by my erotic fantasy, as it stopped descending on the ground floor. The trip back home usually took longer than expected due to the nasty evening rush hour, which was the cause of a long line of vehicles getting stuck behind trucks and vans that clogged up the roads in this teeming city, and being single-track roads, there was no way to go around the traffic jam or to avoid the annoying din of unrelenting car horns.
Everything seemed outright ordinary on that day, except one thing very unusual I noticed as the bus jerked forward to a stop. A batch of naked freedom-pursuers was dancing in the middle of the road, singing the national anthem, apathetically and unnecessarily magnifying the impact of the congestion like they didn't have anything better to concern them
selves with, like the anthem could not be played at somewhere else more appropriate, but that wasn't the most unthinkable thing I'd seen on that day, not even close, because very soon, dozens of irrational drivers, who were supposed to be the agitated victims, trapped in the jam actually began sounding horns in a way that it synchronized with their song while clapping appreciatively.
I thought I should have been furious about the stupidity I was witnessing, but instead I felt like dumbfounded, and I giggled. Perhaps I was the only fool who wanted them to go. So, harboring a feeling of detached from others, I pondered maybe it's really time for me to set off on a trip back home, real home, back to a place with an effective government.
It was almost about eight when I finally got home, and mysteriously, the radio was already on.
“Breaking news. We have just been told that a homeless man, who has spent most of his life drifting from one corner on the street to another, struggling honorably to become the most creative man in the world, has just given up on his dream and has decided to embark on a career in finance, claiming he has had enough and he has been suffering for too long. He even threw a punch at our photojournalist, causing a nosebleed, and –”
I switched it off at the second when I almost choked on a swelling rage aroused by the outrageousness of what I just heard, and it stiffened my resolve to leave the country as soon as possible. It's preposterous for them to report this story like they were trying to blame a helpless man for giving up his unachievable dream just because he yearned for a decent place to live, which, apparently, wasn't even worth reporting. Giving him a helping hand instead would be the right thing for them to do. Didn't they have better stories to report? I didn't know, but there was one thing I was certain of, I was going to leave tomorrow.
Looking back, I would say it was a reckless decision, but I know that even if I have been given a chance to relive that moment, I would still have made the same decision as long as I don't know about what will happen next. I guess what I heard at that time had only acted as a trigger. And about the homeless man, Alvin, I think I have met him once or twice in the house a week after I have arrived. He was telling stories about himself to some kids when I was wandering around looking for something interesting to do. So I joined the kids. Of course, he didn't know me and I didn't know it was him at that time. But as his story unfolded, it occurred to me that he was actually that homeless man. And I still remember how he described it when the story came to a climax, the punching a photojournalist part, and this is what he has said, “Kids, I was blinded.” It wasn't something very deep or meaningful, but the way he said ‘he was’ did strike me as very intriguing because that's something I could easily relate to.
But anyway, I then needed to get my suitcase packed, so I started dumping and shoving things, like razor, toothpaste, towels, papers, into my stainless silver suitcase I put in a wardrobe in front of the dining table I had bought a long time ago. After that, I placed a phone call to book myself an airline ticket, a one-way ticket, to my home country despite that I didn't even know what I could do to earn a living over there or where I could stay for a night, but I guessed I would be able to figure everything out once I arrived. The packing took longer than I thought. It wasn't until eleven o'clock that I could squeeze out a second to peek at the ‘fe-fee’, and as it ‘fe-feed’ over to eleven, the doorbell rang, twice.
“Coming!” I yelled, walked over to open the door and saw a fashionable man with a greedy look, one hand securely holding my sister, who was apparently drunk, her forehead and cheeks red, but was still half conscious, with his arm round her neck, the other hand clenching a key with a leather key holder that had my sister's name etched on it.
His greedy look then instantly turned into a shocked expression like he wasn't expecting to see someone behind the door, and by then it occurred to me that it was my sister who rang the doorbell. It wasn't the first time she had been brought back by a complete stranger, and I'd seriously warned her about how dangerous it was for so many times that I couldn't remember. But she just wouldn't listen.
“I will take her from here. Thank you for escorting her back,” I said calmly, grabbed the key in his hand dexterously as if robbing him, pulled her into my arms and away from his hand, took a big step back while dragging her and slammed the door shut, all in one single fluid motion, before he was able to react.
“I thought you won't be back until later. Today is Friday, isn't it?” I said to her.
“Put me down!!” she piped, with a repulsive odor of alcohol puffing out from her short breaths, wrenched herself free of my grip, elbowed me away weakly and reeled her way in, stumbling and almost falling, and I had to grasp her arm to assist her to get to her bed, though the fusion of smell of alcohol and cigarettes on her was so nauseating that I had to cover my nose in order to be able to proceed.
“Leave me...alone!” she roared suddenly, flailing her arms wide to push me away, then flailed widely again as she sought to maintain balance as I lost my grip on her arm, but she still fell down flat on her rear, right in front of the bunk bed and next to the dining table, luckily it wasn't too bad a fall.
“How many times have you been drunk this week!?” I whimpered.
“N...O...” She struggled to get up, but to no avail, as she could barely move with her weak-as-grasses feet. It was a rather ridiculous but hilarious scene to see her getting up and down continuously, and I chuckled as she eventually gave up on it and passed out, drunk, but then my chuckle gradually fizzled out in silence when I started to worry about her. And I imagined what would've happened if I wasn't home at that time.
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
The next morning was windy and peacefully soundless with only nourishing chirping of birds that sounded like a violin serenade reverberating across the azure sky, where thin streaks of cloud spread and slowly unfurled into a frizzy row of transparent vapor.
Grabbed the U-shape handle of my silver suitcase in my hand, I was fully ready to set off when my sister began to snore louder than a pig while asleep, just like what she would always do on a typical Saturday morning, but still, I had to leave. Every time when a vague thought of staying sneaked up into my mind, it would vanish into the black void of space right away as my resolute to leave was so unswerving that it didn't allow me to give in to anything. I just couldn't stand the people in this place, they were all so hypocritical, so short-sighted, so dull-witted, and so unsympathetic. And I left, without even leaving a trace of primordial regret, nor a notice.
That said, I remember I had cold feet about it a couple of times the night before when I was hauling her up to her bed and I decided to sleep on it. Leaving a place where I had spent all my life in wasn't as easy as resigning from a position after all, and that unswerving resolute to leave hadn't come to me until I woke up that morning. And this is what Kaylen has asked me when we were on a road trip nearly a month ago to a pond filled with some sort of golden liquid crystals, he asked, “Have you taken her into account when you were thinking about it?” I think I didn't give a straight answer to him and just equivocated to get away with it. But yeah, back then, I didn't really care much for many others besides myself.
So, lugging my suitcase behind on an unoccupied sidewalk, I sauntered to the usual bus stop and waited for the airport express bus, which approached in less than ten minutes. The bumpy ride to the grand airport erected on an outlying island was kind of poignantly nostalgic as I knew there wouldn't be any red double-deckers in Felomeim, where, as far as I knew, cabs was the main public transport.
And as soon as I got off the bus when it came to a stop in front of the giant, see-through main gate of the terminal, I headed to the check-in counter to get the boarding ticket, then went to the departure level, lined up, put my carry-on luggage through the x-ray machine and slithered through the narrow metal detector. According to the information printed on the colorful boarding pass, there wasn't much time left before the scheduled boarding time, so I scurried for it. Upon
my arrival at the boarding gate, the final boarding announcement could be heard calling my name, and just my name, and, after showing the gate agent my pass, I hurried aboard the plane and was then urged into one of the five available seats on the first row.
Knowing it would be a tedious three-hour flight, I drifted off to sleep shortly after the breathtaking takeoff, making up for last night, and the next thing I knew was the rapid deceleration on the runway, which roused most of, if not all the passengers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we've arrived at the Felomeim International Airport. The door will be opened once the plane came to a complete standstill. Until then, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened.”
It was an announcement made by the captain, his accent made him sound like he was slurring every words together, like one whole sentence was one single word, probably because he omitted the little pauses between words. As the aircraft came to rest and the door creaked open, I, taking advantage of sitting at the first row, darted to the exit and waltzed through the grim jet bridge with a developing glee kindled by my illusory enthusiasm of feeling like going back home for the first time and marching into a new chapter of my life, and thanks to that, I wasn't even perturbed even though I still hadn't worked out where I was going to stay for the night when I queued up for the immigration clearance for foreigners, where only three people, including me, were lining up, and I proceeded forward when the officer at the counter beckoned at me.
“Hi, I am –” I said to the clearance officer, who had an impish poker face, behind a counter that looked like the reception desk at the office, as I had my papers ready in my hand.
“Documents,” he said in a solemn tone with a weird intonation that resembled the aircraft pilot's.
“Of course.” I handed my documents to him, with both hands, sincerely.
After taking a brief look at my passport, he took out a document holder from somewhere and began reading aloud, “Now, repeat after me. I hereby swear, in my name and that of all my descendants,” he paused when he realized I wasn't speaking. “Repeat AFTER ME. Are you deaf?”