by Winfred Wong
He raised his voice menacingly, but his accent made it sound extremely amusing, and I had to hid my impulse to roar with laughter behind an awkwardly freakish giggle, which prevented me from speaking normally.
“I'll have to arrest you if you keep on laughing and don't start to comply,” he threatened in a low voice, his eyes protruding beneath his monolids, so I bet he meant it.
And although I found it very ludicrous, “I'm...I'm sorry. I hereby swear, in my name and that of all my descendants,” I acquiesced to his demand and pushed myself to repeat his words, yet the hardest part was not to laugh between breaths.
He resumed, “that I will never act to undermine the sovereignty of this state, and I will never try, aid, assist, abet, or encourage someone from this state to do so,” then he stared at me, prompting me to speak.
“That I will never act to undermine the sovereignty of this state, and I will never try, aid, assist, abet, or encourage someone from this state to do so,” I recited.
“Now sign.” He airily tossed the document holder onto the desk, and this stirred up my suspicion as I never knew a document had to be signed before entering and had never expected one.
Scrupulously, I scanned through the A4-sized document with a government watermark on it, which was written in a language I couldn't comprehend, probably their mother tongue. It was a three-page document with no blank space on every page, even the headers and footers were used, and I flipped through it quickly, barely reading.
“What is this? I can't read this. Do you have an English version?” I asked, flipping through it back and forth.
But there wasn't a reply. He remained silent. And as the silence went on for so long that I had to direct a gaze of wonderment on him, he slowly placed the pen he had been holding in his hand the whole time on the desk, then interlocked all his fingers and gawked at me, with a snigger on his solemn-looking face. And we spent the next two minutes looking at each other purposefully in disbelief. He never talked. But that suffocating two minutes were long enough for me to understand there wasn't an English version and there was no chance I would be allowed into the country if I refused to sign.
How was I supposed to put my name on a document that I couldn't even read? I didn't know, but I eventually signed it after a short vacillation in a pensive mood and put it back onto the desk. I knew it was foolish not to refuse it, but I couldn't bear the risk of having no access to the country and being sent back by the authorities.
He seemed glad when the document holder reached the desk. “You're good to go,” he said.
“Thank you.”
And after being further pestered by another stony-faced officer asking me the purpose of my visit right behind the clearance point, I strolled through a wide corridor carpeted in a gloomy shade of gray to the arrival hall, which looked much more shabby than I'd imagined, with already worn off paint and dull-brownish iron stains everywhere. It did give me a bad first impression on this place, but at that time I hadn't really cared much about what kind of a condition the airport was in, probably because my mind was still filled with that false enthusiasm that made everything look a lot better in my eyes than it actually was. Anyway, the first thing I had done then was to find a map or someone to tell me where the nearest hotel was, so I headed to the information center located in the middle of the hall, which, I remember, was the first thing I saw, and maybe the only thing as well.
“Hey mister, can you please tell me where the nearest hotel is?” I asked the staff, wearing a black suit with an eye-catching but old-fashioned red tie that looked incongruous with the blue shirt he wore underneath, sitting leisurely on a short, hard bench situated behind a foldable plastic desk.
Reluctantly, the man withered me with a swift glance, jumped to his feet, turned to me and said in a firm tone, using signs and gestures to make himself understood, the ends of his tie dangling, “No, no, no.”
I bet he wasn't answering my question, so I asked again in a different way, “Ho – tel.”
“No, no hottow,” he repeated in an even firmer tone, and my hope ebbed away. “No.”
Gazing at his waving arms, the opportunity of overcoming this insurmountable language barrier looked bleak, thus, I left slightly agitatedly and headed to a small booth covered with a large white cloth that had come into view just now. It looked like a SIM retail dealer selling SIM cards, judging by a banner holding up by a petite lady behind the booth saying “Telecoms”, though I was pretty sure the banner wasn't up in the air when I first looked around and that's why I said the information center was the only thing there.
“Good afternoon, madam, do you speak English?” I questioned.
“Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you with anything?” she replied deferentially with her naturally pouted lips parting into an enchanting smile, her black and smooth long hairs finding a way to curl behind her ears, her voice not as sexy as Oli's but was sweet in her own way, but the most attractive thing on her had to be the watch, which looked like a red version of ‘fe-fee’, on her right wrist, and I bet she always smiled at customers.
“Perfect. I need a top-up card for my mobile phone.”
“For prepaid top-up cards, we only sell a $100 card that is valid for a year.” She put down the banner on the ground, hauled open a drawer under the booth, rummaged about every corner of the drawer before successfully fishing out a credit-card-size package and gave it to me.
“Great, thank you, just exactly what I need.” I gladly received the package, pulled out my wallet from my trousers pocket, removed a hundred dollar banknote and handed it to her when there was a short announcement in the background, probably broadcast of weather information, made in their language.
“Thanks,” she smiled, bent down to grab the poles of the banner and held it up again.
“By the way, do you know where I can buy a radio? I forgot to bring mine.”
“A radio!? The last time I saw a radio was about ten years ago.”
“Never mind.”
Then, promptly and a bit clumsily, I removed the original SIM card from my phone out, nearly dropped it onto the ground but managed to catch it midair, unwrapped the package and inserted the new one, and as it detected a SIM service, I got a prompt on my phone and tapped yes for confirmation. It was clear that the connection had been established when a 6GS symbol revealed itself on the top right corner of the screen.
So I tapped the screen to launch an app that was supposed to show me the locations of all the nearest hotels, but it failed to initialize properly as a message saying “Database connection failed” popped up. I tried again twice, but to no avail, the same message just kept popping up, and therefore, I hazarded a guess that the culprit was the stability of the connection, which was not as reliable as it seemed to be, especially in an indoor environment.
In order to test out my theory, I headed for the exit, walked out through an automatic door expecting nothing more than some fresh air, but then choked abruptly and hectically shielded my mouth and eyes with my hands at once when I found out the entire area around was actually engulfed in mist-like smoke and felt a never-before-experienced irritative, stinging sensation in my eyes, which was beyond doubt – judging by the tiny particles that were continuously grazing my eyes – a manifestation of the catastrophic consequence of decades of unbridled air contamination, though the insane amount of smoke had for a second made me wonder if it was the airport on fire or not.
And so, I had my eyes shut for about a whole minute, praying the air quality in other parts of the country would be finer, until it gradually got used to the poor environment. Then at the moment when I thought it was okay to open my eyes, a petrifying shriek from somewhere to my left caught my full attention.
Instinctively, I looked to that direction and saw a bolting man, with a headband adorned with a feather of a white pigeon fastened to his forehead, being chased by two fierce-looking police officers with batons in their hands. And unfortunately, I found myself standing in their way.
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br /> “走開呀!” (Out of my way!) the man yelled despairingly, then motioned me to get out of his way frantically and unwisely slowed down at the moment he set eyes on me with a delicate gaze that zapped into me then through me, as if he knew me, I was certain it was the first time I saw him though.
Although I didn't understand a word he said, he did transcend the language barrier with his nimble hand movements, and I sidestepped back to the entrance of the airport in order to stay away from a collision with him, inadvertently triggering the automatic door.
Seizing the chance, the police officers caught up, shoved him down to the ground violently by punching him from behind and began kicking, pummeling and battering him mercilessly with their steel-made batons – mostly going for his already blood-stained forehead – while chortling wickedly. The hysterical wail of the defenseless man, who was futilely attempting to protect himself by hugging his bleeding head and squeezing his bruised inner thighs together, was so heart-wrenching that it made me feel like I could feel the pain being inflicted on him. It was so brutal I had to swivel my eyes away unwittingly so as to resume normal respiration when his groan dwindled into the sound of a breathless murmur, which presaged his death. It all happened in a flash of time, and that's why I was just standing and watching for some ten seconds. And by the time I was able to react, I looked around for help, though I realized it was a mistake in no time.
The pedestrians, all had a heavy dusk mask clamped on, were acting like they hadn't even registered the man's presence; everyone just walked straight past him without even casting a glance at him. So I despised them all. I despised them all for turning a blind eye to such an atrocity. And I thought to myself, if no one would help him, I will. So I stepped forward uncompromisingly, my head shot up and my mouth parting. But as I was about to say something, I realized I was unable to produce a voice regardless of how much I wanted. It wasn't like I was suddenly a mute, but it was my dramatically convulsing throat that prohibited me from speaking.
The quivering then began intensifying to a point that I had to clear my throat twice in a row to suppress it. But even so, even the quivering in my throat did mitigate, I couldn't possibly stop the trembling from spreading down to my fingers and to my toes and to every part of my body. And it occurred to me that I had been frightened the whole time but I just didn't realize. So I scolded myself, scolded myself for my untimely timidness – I could somehow understand why the people all turned a blind eye by then, maybe because the same thing that made them do so had permeated my mind too.
Then, as an irresistibly growing compulsion aroused by the grunt of the man stimulated me to at least give the two evil-doers a glare of contempt, one of them noticed it, glowered back at me with a pair of piercing black eyes, frowned, and strode toward me, flailing his arms quickly, and I had to admit he looked ferocious as I shivered more at each step he took.
And when he was close enough, he placed his baton on my shoulder intimidatingly, injecting terror into me by further unnerving me, as if he was goading me to punch him in his ugly face, “You got a problem with me!?” he then barked.
We were so close that I could feel his harsh exhalation, which was very stomach-churning, on my face. And he glared into my eyes snobbishly like he could do whatever he wanted, like murdering and beating me to death, without having to worry about the ramifications. And I reflexively craned backward to evade his piercing eyes and gulped nervously when my impulse to punch him petered away, tension was high though.
“Walk away, and you'll be fine,” the officer whispered and tried to press me down with the baton on my shoulder, so I had to take a step backward to find my balance.
After emitting a coarse breath sound, he turned around, walked away and unleashed a kick, aiming precisely at the forehead of the suffering man, who had already passed out, probably ending his life with this one sharp blow, when he was within reach. And that's the moment I knew I had to choose a side. Either I would simply walk away, staying out of trouble, or I would march forward and reason with them, knowing they would kill me. And so, a tranquil contemplation ensued.
But by the time my pondering ended, the two officers had already left, with the dead body together, and I swiftly snapped my head around because I wanted to tell them what they had done were completely wrong, at least it was morally unjustifiable, at least the last kick was unnecessary, at least they could've just handcuffed him and bustled him down to the police station, at least..., but then I suddenly realized one thing that gave me a terrible shock at that moment.
I didn't even know what kind of a sinful crime the headband man had committed before jumping to the conclusion that they could've just handcuffed him. I didn't know, but that's the moment I first acknowledged the power of terror, and that's the moment I realized my trembling had actually begun even before I took that step forward, and that's the moment I found myself no different from those cold-blooded passers-by, and that's the moment someone patted my shoulder and jolted me out of my dismaying panic. I believed I would've sunk into a more dreadful mood – for this matter I have made her a two-layered chocolate birthday cake a few days later after meeting her at the pond side on that same road trip with Kaylen, who had deliberately kept me from knowing that Kriss would be with us on that day just because he thought it's funny, though I have never regretted telling her about my dreadful mood back then – if not for her.
“Hey, are you all right?” said she, with a coarse tone.
“Sis!?” I said without thinking, glimpsed over my shoulder at once and saw the SIM card dealer's staff. “Sorry, I thought...”
“Oh, I'm sorry, it's not your sis. But I just want to let you know you should have just walked away earlier. Never ever think about stopping them. There's no stopping them alone,” she warned me kind of angrily like I was a child behaving badly, but her voice was wobbling dangerously.
I didn't know what to say to her back then, maybe still in shock. So I had simply expressed my gratitude to her and showed her a helpless look. Then she walked off in a way I couldn't tell if she was stomping, maybe half-stomping, when I noticed there was a blood-stained feather of a white pigeon landing right in front of my feet.
As I happened to see a puddle of blood on the edge of the pavement, I stomped on it resentfully.
CHAPTER FOUR
* * *
After taking another few minutes to gather my mind, I shook my head and headed back into the arrival hall as I decided to approach the staff again.
“Hi, I'm wondering if you know why this message kept popping up every time when I tried to launch this app?” I asked and showed her the message.
“Wait, let me see,” she said with her sweet voice back and took my phone. “Oh, I'm sorry to tell you this, but this app is banned.”
“Banned?”
“Yes, as required by law, this kind of apps that will potentially disseminate confidential information of the country are banned, and, as a personal advice, I suggest you uninstall it now, before they find out you have it installed on your phone. You won't be fond of what they will do to you when they discover it.” And she gave me back my phone.
I felt a little bit weird as what she had implied was kind of perplexing, though not as ludicrous as what I had encountered before. And at that time, I just wasn't able to see the stupidity of acquiescently deleting the app just because the government wouldn't like me to have it installed on my phone – perhaps I had already got used to this new culture I was drenched in back then, I don't know. But anyway, I then quickly got my phone back and uninstalled it.
“Why did they do such a horrible thing to him?” I asked on a whim, then realized it might be an improper question to ask, and so stared at her to see how she react.
“Oh, the man with a headband?” she said. “He is one of – them. The freedom-pursuers. Have you ever heard of a place called Port Aroma, the state with no government?”
Out of startlement, I hesitated for a moment, wondering if it's all right to reveal my ide
ntity, and finally decided it's unnecessary to lie to her. “Well, yes. I'm actually quite familiar with that place.”
With an anxious visage emerging, she gave me a suspicious look and mumbled, “You're from the Port?”
“Well, yes – ”
“Are you one of them?” she interrupted.
“No, of course not. Honestly, I am not a fan of them, not at all. It's now that they are in control of everything in the Port, leaving is the only option left for those who don't support them. And that's why I have traveled so far just to get here, a country with a strong government, isn't it?”
“Pretty strong when it comes down to hunting down dissidents,” she said ironically, her gaze of suspicion tapering off. “But, yeah, the government here hates them, purely because they like to voice out their thoughts, which is, I guess, has been declared illegal. But the situation has only deteriorated after the news of the dissolution of government in the Port spread out widely here. Many people took it to the streets and chanted, demanding election reforms, and most of them ended up being rounded up and imprisoned while some of them got killed in a way similar to what you've just witnessed.”
“Great, that explains everything, though I think they have gone too far by beating him to death.” As my voice faded, her face turned pale in a second, and she frenziedly motioned me to stop speaking, as though she had had enough of what I was saying.
And I whispered when she stopped making all those weird gestures after a few seconds, “Did I say something wrong?”
She didn't say a word and had her watery eyes narrowed in consternation as she kept staring at the floor with a somber look, which appeared to be portending something as bad as the atrocity I had just seen, and just by the thought of it, there was a drastic surge of adrenaline that paralyzed me happening in my body when an awkward ambiance of silence that wasn't there before was springing up.